The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1022 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Julie disappeared about nine thirty and I assumed she’d gone to bed, but at ten she came back waving a piece of paper. “Look what I’ve found,” she chuckled.

“What have you found?” I asked puzzled by her action.

She held up the sheet of paper and began to read, “It’s from The Bristol Evening Post.”

“What is?” I had a horrible feeling that I knew what it was.

‘The Scottish Play is an all or nothing drama for schools to produce, all too often the tragedy of Macbeth, is enthusiasm over dramatic skills. Tonight, however, we witnessed two central players who carried the other lesser mortals along with them, a brooding Macbeth (John Alsop) and his hectoring wife (Charlotte Watts) were outstanding.

We were led to believe that this was an all boy cast but the beautiful Lady Macbeth, must be an import from a local girl’s school, whose clear diction of Shakespearean English, shows she could be one to watch for a future on the boards as she moved from scheming to madness, trying to wash the blood of the murdered king from her hands.

Macbeth brooded magnificently and his impression of a caged tiger awaiting his fate gave atmosphere to the whole final act, unfortunately, the poor lad who played his nemesis, Macduff, was a bit weedy for the task of killing the giant Macbeth, however, he delivered the severed head in a sack which bounced noisily off the stage when thrown down–getting a few laughs when there should have been a sense of triumph or tragedy.

The three witches were deliciously disgusting albeit in a camp sort of way with their eye of newt and wing of bat recipes, which even Delia Smith would have difficulty marketing. But the three boys (Sean Lithgo, Geoff Spooner, Warwick Wilson) who played them obviously enjoyed themselves.

For all that it was an enjoyable evening, and the audience gave a standing ovation to the two leads, ending with a bouquet being presented to our delightful leading lady, who richly deserved it.’

“See? Yyou were marked for greatness even then,” said Julie, and Tom demanded to know what we were talking about.

“Whit’s a’ this?” asked Tom taking the printed sheet from my hand. He read it and smiled, “Och, I could hae telt them that, course she’d be a guid Lady MacB, she’s frae Dumfries.”

I blushed and Julie laughed. “They had you down as Charlotte, why was that, Mummy?”

“I suppose because that’s what they put in the programme, some clever dick thought he’d strike a blow for homophobia, and instead of putting Charlie or even Charles down, they changed it to Charlotte. They called me all sorts of names in that school–but I still didn’t get my hair cut.”

“And it was red, you said?”

“Yes I went auburn for a couple of months until it washed out–my dad hated it, so I was tempted to do it again–but he’d have killed me. Actually, the whole thing backfired on him, because as I said before they made me wear a long dress for all the rehearsals, which made me look quite female much of the time, especially with my hair down. I did have a set of photographs of the play at one time, but I think he probably burned them. The stage makeup was a bit heavy, but it got up his nose, so it was fine with me.”

“What did they do for padding?” asked Julie scooping her hands over her breasts.

“I had to wear a bra, with some birdseed in–I know bras didn’t come into being for hundreds of years after Shakespeare’s time, but sticking a couple of oranges down my front wasn’t acceptable to me, and the bodice of the dress wouldn’t have held them very well.”

“Can I show this to the others?” Julie waved the sheet of paper under my nose.

“Aren’t they going to notice the name discrepancy?”

“I’ll tell them it’s a mistake.”

“Trish won’t be easy to persuade, but as she knows the truth anyway, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” I shrugged my shoulders, I suppose they all may know one day–and I’m not sure what they’ll think or if it will matter. Some of it I suspect, could be dependent upon how Julie and Trish complete their transitions and deal with post operative lives. The girls I think, will deal with this easier than the boys–because their relationship is different to me from the boy’s one. Boys are supposed to love their mothers and want to kill their fathers and so marry their mums–well something like that if Freud is to be believed. Giving rise to that old and very corny joke–Oedipus, schmedipus, what’s it matter so long as he loves his mudder.

“Daddy, do you know what happened to my tablecloth?”

“Whit tablecloth?”

“The damask one in the dining room?”

“It’s there isnae it?”

“No, that’s one Julie got earlier today.”

“I dinna ken,” he shrugged and went off to bed.

“Presumably Daddy knows,” mused Julie, “or he wouldn’t have asked me to get another one.”

“Yes and his plan nearly worked. Trish didn’t say anything to you, did she?”

“No, Mummy, other than having to show Daddy how to work the washing machine–I mean, it tells you on the front what to do.”

“Yes but he’s not exactly the patient sort is he–you know, sit down with the handbook type–he’d much rather press some buttons and regret it.”

“Perhaps that’s what he did?”

“What ran the wrong cycle?”

“Could he shrink it?”

“I suppose, or turn it yellow.”

“Or scrub it too hard and wear a hole in it?”

“Why?

“Because he spilt something on it, like wine or tea.”

“Why not just tell me? I’d have understood–accidents happen.”

“Maybe he was too frightened to tell you.”

“Why?”

“In case you killed him.”

“Do I look like a murderess to you?”

“Lady Macbeth was, wasn’t she?”

“Um no, she just planted the knives on the grooms, whom Macbeth then killed when the alarm was raised. More of an accessory after the fact than a direct perpetrator.”

“Oh, I thought she killed someone.”

“She does–herself.”

“Oh–that happens a lot in Shakespeare, doesn’t it?”

“Unfortunately, it also happens too frequently in transgender people, too.”

“Um,” she blushed.

“Oh I didn’t mean it like that, Julie–but too many people find that they don’t get support or public opinion goes against them. To do what we’ve done takes tremendously thick skin, and a degree of determination if you want to succeed.”

“Yeah, I think I’m beginning to understand that.”

“The other thing is that no matter how successful you are, unless you wear it on your sleeve the whole time–in which case you can’t integrate as a female, only as a tranny–you’re watching over your shoulder all the time.”

“Do you still worry about this then, Mummy?”

“Yes–unfortunately I do. We none of us ever become fireproof, just flame retardant.”