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Victorian nightdress: Lie back and think of Cranford
Inspired by the cotton gowns on television, Hilary Alexander discovers the joys of the Victorian nightdress.
We may mourn the loss of the neighbourliness and innocence exemplified in the BBC's period drama Cranford, which concluded last night, but it has hardly persuaded us to call our husbands "Mr", or to cover up the "immodesty" of chair and piano legs.
Yet there is one Victorian value I would not mind going to bed with - and that is the soft, clean, cotton embrace of the neck-to-toenail Victorian nightdress.
There is no age or class divide when it comes to nightwear, at least not in the BBC's Cranford. Lady Ludlow (Francesca Annis) sails majestically into her four-poster in an ensemble that's only differentiated by a little more lace from that in which the town gossip, Miss Pole (Imelda Staunton), retires. The maid, Martha (Claudie Blakley), and the romantic interest, Sophy Hutton (Kimberley Nixon), enjoy their beauty sleep in garments that look interchangeable. As for Miss Matty Jenkyns (Judi Dench) in her be-frilled nightwear, no one would dream of labelling her as mutton dressed as lamb.
Nightwear is as vital to Cranford as it surely was to Les Liaisons Dangereuses, in which the matching his'n'hers mode was an essential element of the lust-charged nocturnal couplings. Equally, no self-respecting Hammer Horror movie, soon to be resurrected on screen, would be complete without Dracula unfastening the neckline of the virginal heroine's lacy Victorian nightgown.
The charm of the Victorian nightdress is easy to explain. One of fashion's best paradoxes, it is both gothic and glamorous, simultaneously concealing and revealing. It radiates puritanism and passion in equal measure, suggesting both discretion and abandon.
Despite all these virtues, a Victorian nightdress is as difficult to find on the high street as candles are in Cranford. Why? It's a mystery of modern retailing.I wonder how many women wish they could go to bed in such feminine, flattering and functional frippery - rather than the nylon "baby-doll" (which produces as much static as a bad radio), the unflattering singlet and droopy trackpants combo, or other sloppy items that now pass as sleepwear.
Why would any girl want to sleep in the same sort of garment that she wears to the gym, or prefer the sweaty, clammy clasp of polyester to the natural caress of cotton? Even doctors recommend lightweight, natural fibres such as cotton or silk for a good night's sleep.
Stores are awash with pyjama-hybrids and oversized T-shirts worthy of a teenage sleepover. But where are the pretty, lace-trimmed, be-ribboned and be-ruffled confections recalling Cranford days?
The vintage textile specialist Lunn Antiques in London is one of the few places where the genuine article can still be found. Its owner, Stephen Lunn, began buying 25 years ago when Victorian nightdresses first returned to fashion.
"The proper white cotton nightdresses date from the Victorian times, around 1850, and go through to the Edwardian age, when silk became fashionable," he says. "Their beauty is that they are often completely hand-made, all hand-stitched seams and hems, and decorated with delicate pin-tucks, crochet and lace. They launder well, even after all this time, which shows the quality. The plainer ones start from £35 and go up to £65. For £95, you can get something quite special."
And now, as a hedge against a time when the real thing may no longer be available, Lunn produces his own line, inspired by the originals. Made from Indian cotton, by machine, they have long sleeves and pin-tuck details (£35 each, in sizes 12-18).
AND IF YOU'RE NOT CONVINCED, PULL ON SOME PYJAMAS
Bodas: cotton, shadow-stripe, traditional pyjama set with rounded collar jacket, £35; drawstring, fly-front trousers, £25, available in pale blue, white, taupe, s-l, Ledbury Road, W11; Brushfield Street, E1; 020 7655 0958, bodas.co.uk -
