To some folks, they are called nightdresses.
To others, they are nighties. But to Our Dear Girl, they are nightingales!
And why not indeed?
In an Ode to a Nightingale, John Keats wrote
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!No hungry generations tread thee down;The voice I hear this passing night was heardIn ancient days by emperor and clown:Perhaps the self-same song that found a pathThrough the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,She stood in tears amid the alien corn;The same that oft-times hathCharm’d magic casements, opening on the foamOf perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Who would not choose a garment like that?
Thus inspired by nightgales and this timely book…
I have forsaken my Sunnydale tshirt and embraced a broderie anglaise nightingale.I traced the small size from the medusa-hair of a pattern sheet, rainbows lines snaking everywhere over four double sheets. Eventually, I had some simple pattern shapes.
The broderie anglaise was given to me a few years ago and has waited patiently for the right thing to be made into. There was just enough. It is neither pleasant to cut or to sew, but it does look lovely.
I feel like Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby (1968) when I wear it. I keep waiting for the chalky under-taste and the Castevets to visit.The hem is particularly lovely.
My children are very impressed, they had no idea that a mother could sleep in anything other than an old tshirt.Our Dear Girl liked it so much she thought her dolly needed a nightingale too.
