David buries his wife after she loses her fight against cancer. He is nearly 50, and their children are now grown up, so he breaks the news that he is going to undertake that which he wanted to do for as long as he could remember — a sex change. He had struggled with his transsexuality all his life, but his love for his wife and respect for her meant he just played the hand that he had been dealt, up to now, that is.

Meanwhile, in the USA, grizzled Police Chief John Collingwood comes to near breaking point. Stressed from his job, his grief over his dead wife, and the despair of near alcoholism, he embarks on a trip to the UK with his brother to seek out his family tree.

Two very different people find a very different future, they also find each other...

but will it work?

---

Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
Tanya's Book Shop where she is selling her works in book form is at http://tanyaallan.authorshaunt.com/shop.php . Please Visit!

---

 
The Legal Stuff: A Girl Can But Dream  © 2006,2009,2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
David
 
It was April 2001, so I had spent nearly thirty years getting to the top of my profession. I was used to dealing with any, and all, personnel problems, whether they be disputes with the union, or with staff who were incompetent, burdened with a chemical dependency, or simply lazy. I had faced tricky, challenging and even some nasty situations and I had relished the experience. Our commercial catering business had flourished and grown. We even bought out our main competitors, twice!

After catering college, I had begun my career as an assistant chef in a top London restaurant, graduating, over time, to the top position. Then I had started my own catering business with my wife as a partner. She looked after the office side of the business, while I concentrated on the food. We specialised in providing commercial catering, whereby our teams would take the contracts inside firms and use their facilities. I rented a unit on an industrial estate in Amersham, which was close to our home, and kitted it out with the latest equipment. There I had the resources to manage the bulk cooking to an exceptional standard. I had the facilities of a top restaurant, without the burden of the restaurant part.

We also undertook large outside catering jobs, such as weddings and similar functions. It was hard, but we both worked very hard, and it paid off.

Yet, what I had to do today was the most difficult thing I had ever contemplated, more difficult, even, than sitting through my wife’s funeral, which had been hard enough.

I stared at my reflection in the hall mirror. I thought that I looked tired and drawn. I was reasonable under the circumstances, as I was forty-seven next year, so that alone was a hard truth to accept. I looked at the man who looked back at me, full head of fair hair, slightly greying at the sides, cut short because I was lazy in the mornings.

I was only 5’ 7”, but slim and fit. I had recently had my annual check-up, and the doctor had given me a clean bill of health. I played squash twice a week and Golf on Saturdays, or rather I used to, as my long-term opponent was no longer able to play. I liked to think I looked okay, but Delia always claimed I was very handsome. She had been biased. She had been only 5’ 2”, but she always told me she was glad that I hadn’t been taller, as she wouldn’t have liked having to stretch so far to kiss me.

I smiled at some memories, but then the tears came to my eyes. This was so damn painful.

The funeral had gone well, if that is the right expression. I had watched my wife of twenty-five years slide into the crematorium in a box.

Well?

No, it had been absolutely horrendous!

Inside I was numb, and now, as the numbness crept away, my life was taking on a bleak and barren outlook. Full of memories and with each one a sense of emptiness and loss. That loss had yet to sink in properly, as I had to keep reminding myself that she was never coming back.

I would never again be able to tell her how my day went, or listen to what she had been doing, not ever again. I felt a pang of guilt as I recalled the times I hadn’t listened, because what had been on my own mind was so much more important or interesting.

I would gladly listen to her just once more.

But it wasn’t to be.

We had been relatively young when we married, having started our social lives independently at about sixteen, so by our early twenties we were both ready for marriage. We had been best friends first, then lovers, and finally man and wife. Yet the first two aspects of our relationship never left us, so I like to think our marriage had been a very good one. She even learned to play golf with me so we could be together in our leisure time.

We loved each other and we were happy to grow old together. However, fate decreed that it was not to be. It started with a lump in her breast. Then, six months later, she was dead. The cancer had spread so fast that the various treatments hardly touched it. Those treatments were almost as harsh as the disease they were trying to kill.

We had three fine children, two boys and a girl, all now in their twenties. They gathered in the drawing room, as I had told them that I had something important to tell them, which would affect all our lives.

I swallowed, as my mouth was dry. I watched as my hand shook - I was terrified. Still, I had to get this over with and must face the consequences.

I went into the room, to find the children were already there. Sarah was sitting on the piano stool, tinkling on the keys. She had always been a good pianist, so I intended that she should have the grand piano. Delia had played, but I didn’t, and had no desire to learn.

She was a tall girl and, at twenty-four, was expecting her first child. Another hurt, as Delia would have loved to have been there for her. People said that Sarah looked very like me, as she was about my height with my general colouring and features. She had my fair hair and that skin that tanned so easily. She was pretty girl, having married a man she had met at Bristol University. She worked for a multinational corporation as an interpreter and translator, as she was fluent in both French and German. Charles, her husband, was an architect, and they lived not far away from us at Gerrards Cross. Charles wasn’t present, at my request.

Us?

Another hurt, as I sincerely believed that I was destined never to be part of an ‘us’ again!

Stephen was lounging on the sofa, in a way he had always done since a young boy. He was twenty-three and a Lieutenant in the Royal Marines. A few inches taller than me, he was much stockier and a tough looking young man. Broader and heavily muscled, he was a confident and powerful man, whose lively smile and charm was the first thing one saw. His face was a very masculine version of Delia’s, so I could see her in him every time I looked at him.

That hurt too.

Jonathon stood by the window, he was the youngest at twenty-one and was still at Oxford University. He was also taller than his siblings, somehow managing to reach six foot. He had Delia’s darker hair and pale complexion, but otherwise he was very much himself. Not really resembling either of his parents. They were all super kids and I loved them dearly, so that was why this was so terribly hard for me.

“Ah, Dad. What’s this all about? Jon said you were ever so serious,” Stephen asked.

I held up my hand.

“It is. Just bear with me. I have to say this my way, and it’s very hard, so please don’t interrupt,” I said. I walked over and looked at Delia’s picture on the wall above the fireplace.

I turned and faced them, I already had a tear in my eye, but I knew that I just had to do this.

“Your mother, bless her, told me that I must, and so I must. It is so hard, and I don’t really know where to start, but just please listen. What I will tell you will shock, hurt and upset you. I know this, but believe me, I have to do it now, rather than leave it until later. I owe it to you to be completely honest and up-front.

“I have to go back to when I was little. I stress my story is true, but not a very honourable one. I was about seven or eight when I first realised that I wanted to be a little girl, and not a boy. But, like you, I came from a loving, but very traditional family, so I knew that there was nothing that I could do about it.

“I grew up, throwing myself into everything I did, to compensate, perhaps. I was good at games and reasonably bright, so I did well at school. The feelings stayed and got stronger as I grew through puberty into a man. Not a day went by without me earnestly wanting to be a girl. Every night I prayed to wake up a girl, and each morning I cried when it hadn’t happened. It was a constant strand of unhappiness that blighted an otherwise very happy existence. I thought of ending it several times, but could never inflict that hurt on those who loved me.

“I compensated by becoming a perfectionist who worked really hard. I went to catering college and qualified top in my year. I worked my way up to head chef at a top London hotel. I was, to all outward eyes a normal adolescent and teenager. I had several girlfriends, losing my virginity at sixteen to an eighteen-year old French girl whilst on holiday. I adored girls, for every day I wanted to be one more and more.

“I met your mother, and the tale of how we met is known to all of you. We became friends, as we were both seeing someone else at the time. Our friendship grew, so when the other relationships ended, we sort of melded into a deep relationship with each other. We married and then you lot happened.

“Whilst we were just moving into from the ‘friends’ to the ‘lovers’ stage, we both got very pissed one night. I shared with her the secret I shared with no one else until this moment. I knew I had to tell her before we became seriously involved, as I didn’t want to have this secret between us. I almost expected ridicule, but she was sympathetic and so understanding. She knew that there was no way I could put my parents through the terrible stigma of my undergoing a sex change.

“You must remember this was 1974, so although we may have been going through a cultural revolution, traditional values still hung close around the bulk of society. We both agreed that I should just get on and live my life as best as I could with what I had. You see, I was not gay or a transvestite, as I didn’t want to have sex with men, neither did I want to dress in women’s clothes. I just felt that I was a woman trapped in a male body. And I still do today.”

Sarah tried to interrupt, but I held up my hand.

“Sarah, please dear. Let me finish. This is hard enough,” I said. She nodded, looking slightly upset.

“We married and I worked hard to provide the stable and loving home for you all to grow up and develop, so praise be, you’ve all managed to reach this stage without getting arrested. Then along came the cancer. We thought we could beat it, but we couldn’t. Six weeks before she died, your mother asked me what I would do when she had gone. Note, she said when, not if, but when. She knew that there was no hope.

“We wept together, and I was about as depressed as I could get. She had given me a full, happy and contented life for over twenty-five years. I loved her deeply and completely. Now I was going to be alone, while my feelings were as strong as ever. She told me that I must do what I felt I needed to do for the first time in my life. She said that I had bent to conform all my life and that wasn’t fair. I tried to explain that I had no desire to change anything as long as she was with me, but she smiled and told me that she was not going to be able to help me any more.”

I had to stop, as the tears were pouring down my face now, so all my children cried with me.

I blew my nose and continued.

“She made me promise that if I still had the feelings, I should make my life complete. She wanted to write to all of you, to explain. I told her that I would tell you, as I am now doing. She said that that would be too hard, but I told her that it was the only way I could face you. You see, I need you to understand what I am going through, and earnestly want you to be there for me. Despite this, she has written to each of you, so I have her letters to you here. I will give them to you in a minute.

“It’s been four months since she died, so I saw the consultant last week. I am starting the lengthy process to become a woman on Monday. I have sold my business and I will sell the house. I can’t live here alone, not without your mother, as there are just too many memories. I have a superb pension and enough investments so I will have no financial worries. Your mother and I put together a trust before she died. There is a sizable sum invested, so each of you will receive your share when you reach twenty-five. So Sarah, you have only a few months to wait.” I paused, watching their faces, as the enormity of what their father had said slowly sank in.

“So, here are your letters. I am so sorry that I have to shock and upset you like this, but there it is. I am going to follow a dream that I’ve had since I was very little, regardless of where it might lead.

“I am going outside now. I will be by your mother’s favourite tree in the garden. You can read her letters and talk about what I have said. If you no longer want to have anything to do with me, I will understand. I will be devastated, but I promise that I will understand. I would rather go through this with your support, but I am prepared to go it alone.

“I have no desire to embarrass you, so I fully intend to do this as discreetly as possible.” I finished and put the letters on the table. I then left them alone.

I walked across the lawn and sat on a small bench under a large horse chestnut tree. The view from here over the Chiltern Hills was lovely, so I could just see the old windmill at Coleshill.

“Well Delia, my darling, I told them. You said it would be hard, you weren’t wrong. Oh, why did you have to die?” I cried and wept openly, but a great burden seemed to have fallen from my shoulders.

I had no idea of the time, or of how long I sat there, quietly crying. I had been building up for this moment all my life, I realised. Finally, I had actually decided to come out of the closet!

I never heard Sarah approach, but I became aware of her when she wrapped her arms around me. We cried together for a while. There was no need to say anything, and then we were joined by the boys. Their unconditional love in the face of such a thing broke me completely and I started to sob uncontrollably.

It was Stephen who made us stop. The pragmatic Marine, who had both feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Dad, if you become a bloody woman, what on earth will we call you?” he asked, and the tears changed to laughter, I did not deserve such children.

And so, with my children as support, I started on my long journey to turn a dream into a reality.
 
 
The journey was a hard one and not for the faint hearted. I started on a regime of medication, female hormones and testosterone blockers, which caused strange things to happen to both my physical body and my emotional state. I started to grow out my hair, shopping from catalogues and on the Internet for most of my needs. When I did venture forth to any centres of humanity, I always went in jeans and old baggy sweaters.

The last thing I wanted was to look like a man dressed as a woman. So I tended to stay as male as possible, at least until my physical shape made it too difficult. Only then, would I start on my Real Life Test, and live in the form I always knew I should have been,

A few months down the line, I sold the house and moved over a hundred miles away, to a smaller house in Dorset, not far from the picturesque village of Corfe, in a village called Church Knowle. No one knew me here, so I started using the name Deborah Cartwright, instead of David Cartwright. My full name had been David John Adam Cartwright. I planned to use Deborah Jane, from now on. The kids had decided they couldn’t call me ‘Dad’, or ‘Mum’, so they settled on ‘Dee’, which is the name that Delia used to call me.

I informed my bank and my solicitor, enclosing a letter from my specialist, stipulating the course upon which I was embarked, and the potential outcome. A couple of weeks later, my first chequebook in the name Ms. Deborah J. Cartwright arrived, with credit and cheque cards too! It was quite exciting.

I received no visitors, spending a lot of my time lounging about in old jeans and tee shirts, painting the wonderful countryside. I had always loved painting, so now I planned to do it as much as I could. I found that all the friends we had as a couple were friends because of Julia, and not really for me. I discovered that I had been a solitary, single minded and rather boring man. It was a miracle that Delia loved me as much as she had.

So most people stayed away, relieved, most likely, that they didn’t have to face a grieving husband, for whom they had no words that would really help. I gave no one my new address and enjoyed my solitude for the most part. I started writing a journal and then I began a romantic novel, with the heroine based on Julia.
 
 
I started getting sensitive in the breast area and my body hair grew less fiercely. Fatty deposits shifted, my hips became wider and my waist narrower. I kept on a strict healthy diet and took lots of toning and aerobic exercise. It took many months, but Sarah was over one day, looking larger than life. She was now only a month away from giving birth.

“My God Dee! You can’t wear men’s stuff anymore, not with your figure,” she said.

I honestly hadn’t noticed, but as she only saw me once or twice a month, the differences were more pronounced.

“A lady in a shop called me ‘missus’ the other day,” I said, making her laugh.

“We are going to have to do something about you. It is time for you to break with David for good,” she said.

That weekend, we threw out all my old clothes and formally drank the health of Deborah, welcoming her into my life. Sarah helped me buy some clothes from a catalogue, as I did not feel confident enough to go shopping!

I had to convince the doctors that I could live as a woman, before they would even think about slicing me up and making the change complete. I had a long course of laser treatment and electrolysis, which finally, yet painfully, removed the need to shave, so I actually began to feel good about into whom I was turning. Until this moment, I hated the rather androgynous lump that I felt I was.

I persuaded the nice Mr Collins, the cosmetic surgeon, to do a little initial work for me. I had breast implants inserted, to give me a 38C bust, and he shaved away some of my nose, jaw line, Adam’s apple and made my lips fuller. While he was at it, he did some work around my eyes, removing my bags and some wrinkles. However, after the bruising went down and the stitches removed, I began to feel more confident in myself.

I looked into a mirror and a strange woman looked back at me. It was not my face, but the longer I looked, I began to see that it was still me, but much, much more feminine. I thought I looked about fifteen years younger. Sarah and Jon were amazed, and were so effusive in their positive comments, that I no longer felt that I looked like a man - almost.

“Shit Dee! You look just like Sarah’s older sister,” Jon had said.

The doctor told me that with continued female hormones, the breasts would still grow slightly, so, if necessary, the implants could be removed or reduced.
 
 
Sarah came to stay with me as Charles was in Europe on business. I swear she looked so huge that she would burst at any moment. She spent a long time helping me with make up, clothes and other things that I had not even thought about. She taught me about posture, how to approach people, the handshake and the use of feminine hand gestures. The daughter became the mother, and I was so grateful for her involvement. I just had no idea how tricky it all was. I found a wonderful role model in Delia. Every time I wondered how to approach something, I thought about she would have done it, and tried to emulate her. I realised how much I had watched her over the years, and how many of her mannerisms and attitudes seemed to be stored away in my brain.

Sarah was wonderful. She was so encouraging, so when I was hypercritical or despondent, she would just let me know what I really looked like and would build up my sagging self-esteem.

“Dee, now you have had the implants and the facial surgery, you look a hundred percent female. No one will ever guess, so just relax, you look really elegant.”
 
 
We went out for lunch together just after the marks of my minor surgery had disappeared. I was wearing a summer dress, tights and quite low-heeled shoes. My hair was quite long, which she managed to coax into something reasonably feminine. She had helped me do my make up, but I still felt very awkward.

I was convinced that everyone was staring at me and knew what I was underneath, but Sarah just laughed at me.

“Don’t be paranoid, Dee. No one is laughing and you look lovely,” she told me.

I smiled, but was still very nervous.

After lunch, she dragged me into the hairdressers.

“Hi, can you do something for my Mum, she has no idea of a decent hairdo, so can you get rid of the grey and give her some nice shape and highlights,” she said.

I could have killed her, but she just laughed and left me alone. I was terrified, but the girls seemed to have no clue, and were simply charming. I actually relaxed and enjoyed the experience. When they had finished, I was absolutely delighted. They had really done a superb job, as I almost didn’t recognise myself. My mother, had she been alive, would have walked straight by me in the street.

Sarah arrived and gave me a hug.

“I didn’t think it was possible when you started, but you actually look very feminine and attractive already. You’ll have all the men after you,” she said.

I blushed, but felt very pleased. It suddenly dawned on me that men may find me attractive, so I examined my attitude towards men and women. As a male, I had been reluctant heterosexual, in that I admired women too much to consider men as a viable alternative. Also, the social and personal prejudices prevented me exploring any same sex relationships. However, now I looked at men in a completely different way. I used to see them as competition, but now I appraised them as something quite different, but I was unsure exactly what. I certainly no longer saw women as potential sexual partners, so was quite pleased.

Then Sarah took me to have my ears pierced. I was mortified, but it was quick and did not really hurt. I even came away with a small set of ear studs. We spent some time shopping for clothes and I actually bought some.
 
 
I still had my male genitalia, somewhat reduced and virtually useless due to the huge amounts of female hormones I had taken over the preceding months. The hormones made me moody and emotional. Some days I just stayed in bed, such was my feeling of fatigue, other days I just wept, for no good reason. The doctor prescribed mild tranquillisers to keep me more level, which I tried to avoid taking, unless things got too bad.

I did not really have any sex drive to speak of. I started fantasising about having a relationship, but on an emotional level rather than a sexual one. I rarely fantasised of making love to men. However, as time went on, my fantasies became more adventurous. Sex had never been really important to me, as the gender identity problem was always upper-most in my mind. I actually may have considered having anal intercourse for the first time in my life, had I had a partner. I was perhaps fortunate in not having a partner, so I waited for my SRS. (Sexual reassignment Surgery).

The voice was the trickiest, but with coaching from Sarah, I was able to alter pitch and tone, managing to sound quite husky and sexy. Fortunately, I had never had a very deep voice, so I was given a boost when attended voice therapy at the local clinic. There, I met some other transsexuals undergoing the same procedure as I. When I attended, I was early, so was the first to arrive. I sat in one of the eight vacant seats that were put in a circle. I was dressed in a grey skirt and navy top. It was June, so because it was warm, the top was low-cut, showing my natural cleavage and had straps rather than sleeves. I had ventured onto higher heels and was made up conservatively.

“The trick,” Sarah told me, “is to put just enough on. You don’t want to look like a tart or a transvestite.” She had been wonderful, and as I no longer had any six o’clock shadow to cover, I used my make up wisely and, I think, effectively.

The door opened and two women came in. I saw immediately that they were also in transition, but perhaps not so far advanced as I was. One was about 5’10” and still had a problem with facial hair. The large jaw and nose accentuated her masculinity, and she was very broad. She had on very thick make up, which I thought was rather garish. She was dressed in a floral dress and rather silly sling backs. She looked very like a man dressed as a woman.

The other was smaller, but still looked very masculine, particularly as she was wearing jeans and a baggy sweater. She was so obviously wearing an inappropriately long blonde wig, designed for someone slimmer and younger. I felt embarrassed for her.

I smiled at them and the taller one said, “Sorry we’re late, the bus was behind schedule.” She had a very deep voice, which as she tried in vain to sound feminine, sounded faintly silly and rather camp.

“I don’t think you’re late,” I said. “No one else is here yet. My name is Deborah, but most people call me Dee.”

“I’m Charleen,” the tall one said.

“And I’m Stephanie,” the other said, as I shook both their hands. Charleen was wearing several bangles on her wrists, so they jangled garishly as we shook hands.

“Is this your first time to therapy?” I asked, to which they both nodded. I realised that they were even more self-conscious and embarrassed than I.

We sat in silence for a minute, then Stephanie said, “Do you get many to these groups?”

It dawned on me that they thought I was the voice coach, so I smiled.

“I’m not the coach. I’m here for coaching too,” I said, realising for the first time that my voice was already better than theirs.

“Gosh, really? I thought you were the coach,” said Stephanie.

“How many sessions have you attended?” Charleen asked.

“This is my first,” I said, to which both expressed surprise.

At that moment, a rather plump, but obviously genetic female came bustling in, carrying a clipboard. She was followed by three more women, all in transition, and I felt that they were all very obviously transsexuals.

The session was actually quite valuable, as Carol, the coach was able to give me certain pointers and helpful suggestions. After the session Carol took me aside.

“Dee, I am so pleased you came, but really there is no need for you to return. You are actually already speaking very nicely, so you should have no problems whatsoever. If only the others were as advanced as you, my job would be so much easier. I have to confess, I at first thought that you were the female partner of one of the members of the group. When we went round and introduced ourselves, I was amazed when you said you were in transition,” she said. This one statement gave me the biggest boost of the whole procedure. I grinned all the way home.
 
 
I applied for a new drivers licence with a photograph, writing a letter to the DVLA, with my doctor’s letter confirming my situation. As I had to send in a photograph, I was grateful to have visited the hairdressers.

The local community slowly grew to know me as Deborah, even ‘Dee’ to some, and I found myself invited to various women’s homes for coffee and tea. I kept these to a minimum, but I detected no suspicions over my true nature. Having Sarah around seemed to legitimise my role of her mother, as Sarah would often call me ‘Mummy’ in front of people. We were so alike that it was often remarked upon, so verbal statements were usually unnecessary.

When she gave birth to a daughter, I was there as a doting grand parent. I took the job of grandmother seriously, and the first time I held little Amy, my breasts ached. Charles, her husband was actually very understanding and, thankfully, he accepted me completely. He had to attend a convention in Brussels so I was only too happy to stay with Sarah to help her.

Sarah breastfed little Amy, and one night I heard the baby crying, so I got up, knowing that Sarah was very tired. I just wanted to know what it felt like, so I allowed the little girl to suckle on my breasts. It was a wonderful sensation, I had a tingly feeling all over and I felt so content. Poor little Amy was not getting anything, so I took her into Sarah’s room, to allow her access to the real thing, but over the next few weeks I would often repeat the experience and it felt so good. In fact, my own breasts did become fuller and the nipples grew considerably. I swear, one day, there was a trace of milk on each nipple.
 
 
Then, over a year after the whole process started, the moment I had been waiting for arrived. I went into the clinic near Brighton, and came out a few days later, missing those small pieces of flesh that had given me so much despair for so long.

The surgeon told me that he was delighted with the operation and, when I returned two weeks later for a check-up, he seemed thrilled that everything was looking as good as it could be. He told me that only the absence of the cervix would point to my original gender, but to all intents and purposes, I looked as female as if I had been born that way.

He had utilised the skin from the penis and scrotum and created a vagina and labia and by using a small section of the head of the penis, he constructed a clitoris. Part of the vaginal canal had sections of colon attached, so there was a risk of scar tissue at the join. Should this occur, then a second operation would be required before sexual intercourse was possible.

It was an exact working replica of female genitalia and looked absolutely perfect. He told me that it was perfectly feasible to achieve orgasm once the nerve endings had repaired themselves, and even to generate a degree of lubrication moisture, but not as much as a naturally born female. For several weeks after the operation I had to exercise my vaginal channel with a progressive series of dilators. The largest of which terrified me. If I ever found a man with equipment that big, I would call the Guinness Book of Records!

However, I persevered and the surgeon announced that everything was looking very clean and he was very pleased with the results. I was fortunate not to develop the scar tissue and so he told me that sex was now possible, but I should wait for at least twelve weeks after the operation. As I was nearly fifty, I did not have the advantages of youth. I did, however, have a small stature, slight figure and a healthy bank balance. All of these were a distinct advantage, but the most prized commodity was having the love and support of my children, without them I should have never made it.

Having paid him the large cheque, and believe me, the sum was considerable, I returned to stay with Sarah. I had a long, warm bath, and never tired of gazing at my new equipment. For the first time in my life I felt that I was the real me. I felt complete and very content. The fact that my family were still alongside made it so wonderful, and I was so happy. Perversely, my only regret was that Delia wasn’t here to share the moment.

Sarah came into the bathroom and looked me lying full stretch in the bath. She looked at my figure, and she was amazed at the skill of the surgeon.

“My God, Dee! It really does look just like the real thing. It’s fantastic! You look so good. You have a lovely figure. So if pressed, I’d say you were in your late thirties or early forties at the oldest. I can’t believe how much younger you look,” she said.

I almost wept with pleasure. I got out and she handed me a large towel. She asked if she could have a closer look. I agreed, so she gently examined the new part of me. She kept shaking her head and muttering.

“I suppose when your pubic hair grows back fully and the scars heal, there will be absolutely no way anyone could tell you haven’t always been female,” she said.

“So the surgeon tells me,” I said.

“Well I have to confess, I never in a million years believed that the end result would be as brilliant as this. You look like a woman and you act as if you have always been a woman. I am so proud of you,” she said, hugging me. We cried together for a while, out of sheer relief and contentment on my part.
 
 
The next day, which was a Saturday, Sarah left Amy with Charles, and the two of us went into London for a spot of shopping. I bought so many clothes, shoes and cosmetics that I realised just how expensive it was going to be as a woman. We went to a lingerie shop, and although I was a size twelve, due to my broad shoulders, my figure was such that I could wear some of the most wonderful and sexy lingerie. I spoilt myself, and Sarah too. She was still struggling to get her pre-pregnancy figure back, so it was terrific therapy for both of us.

We stopped off for lunch at a nice little wine bar, where two thirty-something year old men wearing suits started to chat us up. Sarah and I were sitting at a small table for four and the place was packed. These two men came over and asked if they could join us, as there were no other tables free. There was no reason to say no, so then they started talking to us, after we moved the several hundred-weight of carrier bags.

“I see you ladies have been assisting the flagging economy by redistributing some cash,” said one, who said he was called Richard.

“My daughter has recently had a baby, so this is more retail therapy rather than any act of charity for the chancellor,” I replied.

“Your daughter? I thought you were sisters,” the other man, James, said.

Sarah rolled her eyes and I smiled, genuinely pleased, but aware of the obvious flattery.

“That is a very old line,” I said.

“No, seriously, you don’t look old enough to be her mother, does she Rich?” James said.

“Absolutely not,” Richard said, with a grin. “The family resemblance is obvious, but you don’t look older than thirty five.”

“Now you have ruined it. Had you said forty, I might just have believed you,” I said, still smiling in spite of myself.

The waiter arrived with our food, and the men ordered theirs.

They were charming company, and I must admit to hogging the conversation. Eventually we paid and left, but the men were complimentary and charming to the end.

As we walked down the road, Sarah shook her head and laughed.

“Dee, no one needs to teach you how to be a woman, you’re a terrible flirt,” she said.

“No, I’m not, I just responded to their conversation,” I said, somewhat defensively.

“Dee, you’re such a flirt, you’re going to have no problems being a woman. In fact you could probably teach me a few things!”

“Well, I really enjoyed it. They were charming and I actually felt like an attractive woman for the first time.”

“Dee, I have news for you. You are a very attractive woman. I think we’re going to have to keep the men off with big sticks,” she said, laughing. We returned to her home by train. Charles was pleased to see us, as Amy had been grizzly for most of the day.

The next week Stephen returned from wherever he had been, and Jon returned from his girlfriend’s parents’ villa in Spain. The house in Gerrards Cross was full and very lively. I took them all out to dinner to Loch Fyne, a superb fish restaurant in Beaconsfield. We had a very nice meal, and I got a little sloshed on champagne. I openly wept when Stephen stood and proposed a toast to me, ‘his new mother’, and the others joined him in the toast.

The next day, I realised that I had rather overstayed my welcome with Charles, so I bade my daughter and Amy a fond farewell, and returned to my home in Dorset. Stephen and Jon decided to follow me down, to spend some of the month of August 2002 with me. I had healed up perfectly now, and it was almost as if I had always been female. I had no pictures or photographs of myself as a male in my house. The only picture I had from the old days was the portrait of Delia, which once again hung above the fireplace.

September came, Stephen returned to his unit, while Jon went back to his flat in Oxford and his girlfriend Sophie. I was alone again, but this time, I didn’t have to hide myself away. I had missed the bulk of the summer visitors to the area, but was around for some of the festivals that happened in the later season. Some of my new friends encouraged me to start attending church regularly, so I increasingly found myself in a growing social circle.

I even took up riding again. I made a friend called Elizabeth who had some horses. She had been widowed quite recently, so she wanted company when she went riding. I had ridden a good deal when younger, so it was super to start again. We got on very well, as neither of us wanted to be desperately social, but were happy in each other’s company, chatting about trivia for the most part. She assumed that when I told her that ‘my other half’ had died of cancer, I was referring to my husband. I thought it wise to allow her that assumption, as it was far less complicated that way.

There were a few widows and divorcees of my general age or older, but I tended to keep myself a little apart and, without being rude, actually felt happier by myself. I was in regular contact with my accountant, and he informed me that my investments were solid and doing very well. It was bringing me a regular income of around  £3,000 a month, as well as gaining and adding to the capital. My pension fund was behaving itself, and should kick in when I was fifty-five.

I sold the BMW saloon that I had had for the last three years, and bought a silver Mercedes sports convertible. I thought that as all the Mercedes sports I had seen were driven by blonde women over 45, so I may as well join the club.

I filled my days gardening, riding, painting some of the lovely countryside and writing my novels. I was blissfully happy, despite being alone. I still missed Delia dreadfully, but in a funny sort of way, I felt that she had become part of me, and I her. Loneliness is different to being alone. There were times when I was so pleased that I was alone, but others when I felt lonely, even when I was with other people. Our society tends to promote a ‘couple culture’, so if one is no longer part of that culture, through death or divorce, it is very hard to feel one actually belongs.
 
 
Then, one warm September day, my life changed completely when a strange American voice disturbed my concentration, as I was working on my novel on my laptop in the garden.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude, but I wonder if you could help us?”
 
 
Chapter 2
 
 
John
 
The Duty Sergeant knocked on my door.

“Come in, Pete,” I said.

“Chief, we got a 2/11 down on Main, at Wendy’s.”

“Who?

“Richards and Wiley. Don’t know who is down,” he said.

A 2/11 was an officer down, so it was the call all cops least liked to hear.

“How many we got responding?” I asked, as I pulled on my body armour and grabbed a shotgun out of the rack.

“We only got the three units out, and then there’s the two of us,” he said, as we went out into the hot August Arizona sun.

“Call the State Police,” I said.

“Already have, they’re sending who they can, and the Sheriff’s Department is sending two units. Sam has notified the FBI as well.” He slid behind the wheel of the Police liveried Cherokee Jeep.

“Okay, let’s go,” I said, pumping a round into the chamber of the shotgun.

It was not that far, but the siren seemed to accentuate the anticipation.
 
 
We arrived at the corner of Decker and Main, where two police cars blocked the road. The officers were crouched behind the front and rear of their cars.

“Shit!” I said.

I got out and ran to the nearest officer. It was Steven Gunn, a good man. I looked down the street, and saw another of our cars parked with both doors open. There was a beaten up red Ford pickup in front of it, and someone was lying in the road between the vehicles.

I could not see anything else.

“Okay, what the fuck happened?” I asked Steve.

“Wiley and Richards were stopping the pickup, Chief, and there were two guys in it. No sooner had they stopped, when the passenger gets out and shoots out the windscreen of the cruiser. I think Wiley got hit, anyway he is still in the car. Richards took out the bad guy, but then the driver reverses into the cruiser, so Richards jumps out and is in the hardware store, he fires back and takes out the front tires of the pickup. The driver ran to Wendy’s Diner. He is holed up, but he has at least three hostages in there with him,” the patrolman said.

“Who are the hostages?”

“Miles and his wife, and I think Jean’s in there as well.”

“Any customers?”

“I don’t think so, Chief.”

“How bad is Wiley?” I asked.

“Don’t know, Chief, we can’t get close. Every time we try, the perp shoots at us.”

“Shit!” I said.

I looked at the problem for a moment. The cop could be bleeding to death, so he was my first priority.

“Sergeant. Get two vests onto the side of the jeep. We’ll pull alongside the cruiser and get Wiley out of there,” I shouted.

The vests were put onto the driver’s side and Pete got in behind the wheel. I jumped in and we went off down the street.

Pete pulled up next to the stricken officer in the car, so I jumped out. He was wounded, but still alive despite being in some pain and having lost a bit of blood. Someone fired shots at us from the diner, and I saw Richards peering over some cover.

“Stay there and keep your head down,” I shouted. He nodded, waving at me.

I dragged Wiley back to the jeep and pulled him into the back seat.

“Go!” I shouted, so Pete floored it and the Jeep took off with squealing tyres.

There was a paramedic unit round the corner, so we handed Wiley over to them. He’d been shot in the shoulder. He was bleeding a lot, but was not too bad.

“Do we know who the guy is?” I asked him.

“The guy who shot me is one of the Johnson boys, I didn’t see the driver,” Wiley said, as the paramedic cut off his shirt.

“Why the fuck weren’t you wearing armour?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Too damn hot, chief, sorry.”

“You will be. Hell is a damn site hotter than here,” I growled. It was so unnecessary, they had the equipment, but they all believed it would never happen to them. Morons!

“Have we I.D.’d the body yet?” I asked Pete.

“Yes, it’s Hank Johnson.”

“Then that will be Luke in the diner. Shit, why did they do it?” I asked.

Pete shrugged.

“No doubt there’ll be some drugs or stolen property in the pickup, Chief,” he said.

“I guess you could be right.”

I walked out to the street with a loudhailer.

“Luke. This is Chief Collingwood. Your brother is lying in the road. I want to get a paramedic to him. What do you say?” I said.

“He’s dead, and you motherfuckers killed him. No one goes nowhere,” a voice shouted back.

“Chief, we are ringing the diner,” Pete told me.

“Pick up the phone, Luke, and we’ll talk,” I said.

Pete handed me the phone. I knew the diner, so I knew the phone was at the rear on the left. The toilets were on the right and the window opened up onto the parking lot.

Covering the mouthpiece, I told Pete to get two officers into the toilet.

“Luke, what are you doing?” I said into the phone.

“Fuck off, Chief. I ain’t goin’ back to jail,” Luke said, his voice sounded bad, he was on the edge. I knew he took drugs, so now he was real strung out. I guessed he’d missed his last fix.

“Okay, but first you gotta let the people go. The Feds will be here soon, and you know what happens to people who take hostages. They end up in body bags, boy,” I said, watching as two pairs of legs disappeared through the toilet window.

“I ain’t lettin’ anyone go. I’m safe while I have them,” Luke said.

“How do I know they aren’t already dead, boy?” I asked.

“They’re alive,” he said.

“Says you. I heard many shots. How do I know they’re fine and dandy?”

“I’ll show you,” he said.

“I tell you what, I’ll come on over. I won’t have a gun, so I can take a look. You let them go and you can have me then, instead. What do you say?” I said.

He thought for a moment.

“Okay.”

I took my .38 snub from my ankle holster and shoved it down by my balls. Then I walked into the street, so he could see me take my 9mm auto and put it on the hood of the nearest cruiser.

I walked slowly towards the diner, watching the many curtains twitching in neighbouring houses and buildings. The last thing I wanted was for the State police or the Feds to get here and take over. This was my town; I sorted out the problems here.

I stood just outside the door. The curtains had been pulled, so I could not see in. The door opened a bit and the proprietor, old Miles Silverman, was pushed into the gap.

“You okay, Miles?” I asked.

“Sure Chief,” the old man replied.

“Shut up! Throw your guns away, cop,” Luke said.

“I’ve left them on the car, see,” I said, showing him my two empty holsters.

“Get in here,” he said, waving a cheap pistol at me.

“You let them go and then I come in. That’s the way we work this,” I said, calmly.

Miles and his wife Helen left the diner, followed by Jean the waitress.

“That it?” I asked.

“That’s it,” Luke said, pointing the revolver at me. I saw that every chamber I could see had a round in it.

“Okay,” I said, walking into the diner.

He searched me and, just as I expected, he missed the .38. He was rough and tough, but didn’t have the stomach to put his hand near another man’s dick!
 
 
I sat on one of the benches, so he looked at me, with his back to the toilet doors.

“Okay Luke. What do you want to happen now?” I asked. The door opened very slowly. One of the officers slid on his belly towards the servery, the other one slid the other way, and was in a booth just out of sight.

“I just want outa here, man,” he said.

I nodded. “There is a problem with that.”

“What?”

“Well you see, your brother went and nearly killed a cop, and you are an accessory. So we can’t let you go,” I picked up a coffee cup and walked to the coffee jug.

“Where are you going?” he screamed.

“Getting’ a coffee, you want one?” I asked.

“No. Sit your ass back down,” he said, waving the gun about.

I had the jug in my right hand and the mug in the left.

I walked slowly towards him.

“Have a coffee, we could be here some time,” I said as I walked.

He frowned, trying to understand what I said.

I threw him a mug, saying, “Catch!”

He actually tried to, but then I threw the jug, covering him in hot coffee. I grabbed his gun hand, wrenching the pistol from his fingers. I think one broke as I took it off him. He screamed and lashed out, I punched him once and he went down. I’m six-six and two-forty pounds of muscle. I only had to punch him the once.

The other officers were at my side in seconds.

“Cuff him and book him, attempted murder of a police officer,” I said.

I turned and walked back out into the sunshine. Luke was dragged to a waiting cruiser. I smiled as a dark sedan pulled up and two suits got out. The Feds had arrived.

I walked over to Pete and he handed me my gun.

“Make sure you check out the pickup,” I said. He nodded and instructed Richards to search the perp’s vehicle.

One of the FBI agents came over.

“Chief Collingwood, I am Special Agent Adams. We were informed you had a hostage situation here,” he said.

“Mr Adams, you were informed correctly. However, I have dealt with the situation, and we have one man in custody and one perp dead. One officer is in hospital from the original incident and no civilians have been killed or wounded. So you can go back to your office. Thanks for coming,” I said and went over to the Jeep. Pete grinned and we took off.
 
 
As we got back to the office, the troops had gathered, so they grinned as I came in.

“If I have to tell anyone about not wearing their armour, then you can look for another job. Is that clear?” I snarled and went to my office. They all knew that this incident may have been avoided if body armour had been worn.

I poured myself a whisky. Pete came in and shut the door. I poured him one too.

“That was a bit tough on the guys, John,” he said.

“Goddamn it, Pete, when will they learn? The vests are there to prevent this from happening. If Wiley had been wearing his, he wouldn’t be in hospital now,” I said.

“Yeah, I know it and now they know it. But you should have waited for the Feds. You know what they say about hostage situations?” he said.

“I know. But this is my town, so I sort things out my way,” I snarled, filling up my glass again.

“How’s Wiley?” I asked, taking a swig.

“He’ll be okay, he needed a transfusion, but no serious damage,” he said.

“I’ll go by the hospital later. Has anyone told his wife?”

“Yeah, Sam called her.”

Samantha was the dispatcher and virtually ran the department.

Pete watched me down the second scotch.

“What?” I said.

“John, you can’t keep on like this,” he said quietly, as I sat in my chair. A biting remark was on the end of my tongue, but I curbed it in time.

“Yeah, I know Pete. I’m sorry, but the job is the only thing that keeps me going.”

“If you collapse with a breakdown, you ain’t doin’ anyone any favours,” he said.

“I know. But I don’t like going home right now.”

“It’s nearly a year, John. She’s been dead a year next month. You gotta move on.”

I looked at Pete. He and I had been in Phoenix PD together years ago. We had been Sergeants together, and then I made Lieutenant and went to Detectives’ Division. I went onwards and upwards, but Sally wanted us to move away from the city. Ten years ago, I applied for the post of Chief of Midhurst PD. Midhurst is a small farming town on the edge of the desert, with twenty-five uniform officers and six detectives.

We bought a small ranch for Sally’s horses and life was great. The kids grew up and we settled into the community real well. Then one of the sergeants retired, so I asked Pete to come out and join us. His wife, Ellen, was sceptical at first, but then came to love it. We would go on vacations together, just the four of us and the kids, until they got too big. It was like a big happy family, until Sally died of cancer.

I nursed her through all the treatments, watching as she shrivelled up and died. Part of me died with her, and if it hadn’t been for the job and our two girls, I think I would have seriously considered ending my own life. My sister, Pam, and my brother, Ed, were there for me. Ed kept trying to get me to play golf with him, and Pam kept trying to match me off with her divorced friends.

But, as everyone kept telling me, ‘Life goes on!’ That didn’t mean I had to like it.

“My brother wants us to go to England and check out the origins of our dad’s family. Our great grand dad was an English sailor who fell in love with a girl in Maine, and he jumped ship to stay with her. He came from someplace near Bournemouth, called Wareham. You think I should go with him?” I asked.

“You haven’t had a vacation since Sally died. Go for it.”

“Hmm, he also wants to visit an old air force buddy who married a girl in Wales, and he now owns a pub over there.”

“Hey, that’s what I call a good marriage,” Pete laughed. “So when is this all happening?”

“I don’t know; it is just an idea at the moment. I guess if I said yes, next month sometime,” I said.

“Sounds good to me. A change of scene is always a good thing.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, standing up. “Come on, let’s go check on Wiley.”
 
 
We found Wiley leaning up in bed, supported by pillows. His wound was dressed and he had IV drips into his arm. He looked pale and drawn.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. Don’t stay too long, Chief, he needs to rest,” the doctor said.

He left us and Wiley looked at me.

“Chief. I’m sorry, sir,” he said.

“So I should think,” I said and smiled, just to reduce his guilt.

“I reckon I’ve learned my lesson, sir,” he said.

“I guess you have, at that,” I said. “How do you feel?”

“Sore, sir, very sore.”

“Well, two inches lower and you’d be fucking dead, boy,” Pete said.

“I know that, Sarge. How’s Nathan?”

Nathan Richards was his partner.

“Nathan’s fine. He will be along soon, he is picking up Janine,” Pete told him. Janine was Wiley’s wife.

“Did the perp die, sir?”

“Yup. But his brother Luke is in the cells now,” I told him, and he nodded.
 
 
At that moment Nathan and Janine arrived, so we left them to it.

“Thanks for coming, Chief,” Wiley said, as we left.

Standing in the sun, I turned to Pete.

“Shit, Pete, this job don’t get no easier,” I said.

“That’s a fact.”

“I must be getting old, I don’t seem to get the same kick out of it all anymore,” I said.

“We both got 30 years in. But what the hell would we do?” Pete asked.

“Fancy a beer?”

“No, I’d better get back, Ellen has some family over,” he said, aware that even that innocent comment hurt me.

“That’s okay. Pete, I understand,” I said, so we returned to the station.
 
 
Alone again, I sat in my office, examining the whisky in my glass.

“I am seeing far too much of you, my friend,” I said, carefully pouring it back into the bottle. I stood up and looked out of my window at the scene that had remained virtually unchanged over the last few years. I suddenly felt a need to escape and to get away, just for a while. I picked up the phone and called my brother.

Ed worked for an Insurance company in Phoenix, and was doing real well. He was a couple of years younger than me, but was divorced. He still remained on good terms with his ex-wife, and spent a lot of time with his two kids. He had a girlfriend who was a doctor at one of the hospitals in the city, and he lived a high life.

He wanted to track down our family origins, so it was his idea to go to England and trace a lead he had on one of our great, great grand dads.

He answered.

“Hi Ed, it’s John.”

“Big Jay. How ya doin’?”

“Okay, I guess. We had a little excitement today. One of my officers was shot, so we had a small siege situation,” I told him.

“So I gathered, you’re on the news already,” he said.

I swore silently to myself. “Oh yeah. What are they saying?” I asked.

“Just that Chief Collingwood entered the stronghold. Then, single handed and unarmed, exchanged himself for the three hostages, and proceeded to disarm and restrain the armed man. Hell, Big Jay, when you gonna walk on water?” Ed asked.

“Next week, sometime,” I said.

He laughed, but with little humour. “Seriously bro, you still trying to get yourself killed, or what?”

“Or what, Ed, or what.”

“Why the call? Not that I don’t like hearing from you?”

“You know you mentioned this trip to England?”

“Yup, what about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. I guess I’d like to tag along. I need to get the hell out of here for a while,” I said.

“Great! When do you want to go?”

“As soon as possible,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll make the booking and call you. You mind going first class?”

“Not if you’re paying, remember I’m just a poor cop.”

He laughed and we hung up.
 
 
I drove back to the ranch and parked my jeep in the garage. Sally’s old MGB convertible was still where she had last parked it. I stood and looked at it. I could still see her sitting behind the wheel. I occasionally sat in it, as I could still smell her and sense her presence. No one had driven it since she’d last driven it. However, I could never sell it, despite the girls wanting me to.

Jenny was twenty-two and Annie was twenty. Both were working in Phoenix, getting their funds together for college, which started again in the fall. They shared an apartment close to where Ed lived, so he kept an avuncular eye on them. They were both good girls and very pretty. They both looked like their mother, Jenny particularly, who had her mother’s sense of humour and quick temper. Annie was more like me in temperament, which meant slow to anger, but keep clear when riled.

I missed them, but recognised that this was a dull place for girls their age. The local boys were nice guys, but not necessarily the brightest sparks in the box, so life in the city was far more exciting for them.

Annie had a nice boyfriend who was about to start his second year in med-school with her. Jenny had dumped her third boyfriend, so was between men at the moment. She found guys her age too immature, she told me. I hoped she would steer clear of the older, married men. She was doing law and was a bright kid.

José, my right hand man, came out of his cabin, and wandered over to me.

“Seá±or John, Maria wants to know if you want supper tonight?” he said.

“Sure. Tell Maria that I would love supper. And José?”

“Seá±or?”

“I’m aware I have been a royal pain in the ass recently. Thanks for just being there. And tell Maria the same,” I said.

He grinned and wandered away. He was about sixty and his plump wife was about ten years younger. He looked after the horses and the ranch, while she was housekeeper and cook. They were wonderful people, and I don’t know how I could have coped without them.
 
 
I went to the house and entered. It was always so empty and bleak. I had loved the house, but now it was a love-hate relationship. Sally’s spirit was still here, so I could never sell it, or leave. But it was a constant reminder to me, and I hated that.

Jenny and Annie had made me clear out Sally’s clothes, despite me not wanting to. When we were done and they had left, I put them all back. I just liked having something of her around me.

I kept her jewellery as she had made me promise to give her engagement and wedding rings to my next bride. I had laughed, saying, “You know I could never find anyone as wonderful as you.”

“Oh, John, no one should be alone. Promise me you will at least look,” she had said.

So I had promised. I kept meaning to start looking, tomorrow.

Maria brought me some supper to the dining table, so I munched my way through her good solid cooking.

After supper, I took one of the horses for a ride out to the desert, trying to imagine Sally was with me. I often did this, and talked to her as if she was with me. Sometimes I almost heard her reply.

God, I missed her so much!
 
 
Two days later, I was in the office when Ed called me.

“Big Jay, I got the tickets.”

“Okay, when?”

“We fly into London Heathrow on the 2nd September, at 07:00 local time,” he said.

That was only a week away.

“When are we coming back?”

“We come back on the 24th, so we’ll be there for three weeks. Is that okay?”

I thought for a moment. Looking at my diary, I could see nothing to stop me going. I realised I hadn’t taken any time off since the funeral.

“Okay, where are we flying from?”

“Phoenix, direct. Okay?”

“Sure, and did you get first class?”

“Yup.”

I laughed.

“Okay, fax me the details, and I’ll see you at the airport,” I said.

“Sure, see ya!”

It was nice having something to look forward to for a change, so the day of deparure couldn’t arrive soon enough. Pete was happy to take over and hold the reins while I was gone, and I had let the county sheriff’s office know that I was going to be away.

Pam, my sister, called the evening before we left, to make sure that I met some nice English women. I told her that the chances of me finding a bride in England were about a million to one.

I had never flown first class before, so I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Being six-six tall meant that most flights were murder for me, so it was real nice having all that room. We were on a United Airlines flight. They gave us a superb dinner, and I settled down to watch the movie.
 
 
I surprised myself by sleeping for most of the way. The flight was an overnight job and, due to the time difference, we lost about eight hours somewhere. We arrived at a little after seven am, local time, and it was much cooler in London.

Ed had hired us a car, so we caught the small bus to the rental offices. I had never been to Britain before and I was surprised as to how busy the roads were. Ed had hired us a Mercedes sedan. It was a comfortable and a beautiful piece of engineering. He had driven in England before, so after I got over the initial terror of finding myself on the wrong side of the car, the wrong side of the road, and surviving my first roundabout, I settled down to watch the scenery.

Ed had this idea of driving straight down to the county of Dorset and finding the village in which our ancestor was last recorded as living. He had made no hotel reservations, saying that there were pubs every few hundred yards, with bed and breakfast places all over the place. I was not convinced. I would have been happier knowing he had reserved a decent motel room or something.

He called his old Air Force buddy and arranged to stay with him for the second week. Leaving the last week open for us to do anything we wanted. I just relaxed and watched the green English countryside float past. It really was green. I was used to the yellows and browns, so found the greens refreshingly strange.

The sun came out and it turned into a beautiful day. I read the map, as we followed the M3 motorway down until it turned into the M27, and then we drove through the New Forest. We stopped at a lay by and I saw the wild horses grazing free in a huge piece of open countryside. I was surprised at the amount of open spaces. I had always pictured England as a crowded place, but I was finding my preconceptions shattered every mile.

Ed had this piece of paper, with the following thereon: -
 
 

Henry James Collingwood. B. 1834 Wareham, Dorset. Late of Hutchings Farm, Church Knowle, Dorset. Joined RN (Royal Navy) 1850, deserted 1860, Maine, USA. m. Eleanor Ryan 1861, died 1907. Had issue: 1. John b. 1862, 2. Mary b. 1864, 3. Rufus 1866(d.1866).

 
 
There was more, but it related to the family in the States, and we knew all about them. We were aiming for this farm at a place called Church Knowle.

Ed had bought a road map, so I looked at the area we were headed to. All these little lanes, they looked like the tracks of drunken ants in the sand. We reached Bournemouth in a couple of hours, and we got lost trying to find the ferry to a place called Studland. Finally, we found the ferry, crossing a tiny piece of water, to find a different world on the other side.

I fell in love with this little piece of England, with its wide-open spaces and the wonderful views of the ocean. I saw the deer roaming through the heather and the wild horses amongst the gorse. The road to Corfe was something else. It went up and down, bending here and there. I loved it, as it was just so different to Arizona.

When we turned the corner and saw the ruins of the castle at Corfe, I was amazed. I thought all castles in England were all repaired and had lords and ladies living in them. I had no idea of the history of this castle, so I wanted to stop and have a look round.

But Ed wanted to get to Church Knowle and get a room in the pub. So we went across at the cross roads, heading up an even narrower and windier lane for a while. Then we were in Church Knowle, but before we blinked we were out of the other side. Ed turned the car round and we headed back into the village. It was really quaint, with flowers everywhere! They were in the ground, in tubs, hanging baskets, window boxes and anywhere else you could think of.

We parked in the parking lot behind the pub, The New Inn, and found the place packed out. There was a walking group there, so we ordered our lunch and we went and sat at a table outside in the sunshine. I had my first pint of English beer. I found it real nice, as it had a lot more flavour than our American beers, and it was even chilled. Another preconception shattered.

By the time we got our food, which was also very good, we had both had two pints of bitter, but they were way more powerful than what I was used to. It was just as well I had no driving to do. I had a huge piece of fish in beer batter with large French fries, called chips. It was very different to anything I’d had before, but I liked it.

We sat and watched the world go by and I found myself really relaxed for the first time in over a year. I had no worries and nothing to do, and it was great. Ed went and asked about some beds for the night, but the place was booked solid. The landlord rang around the village to see if any of the B&B places had vacancies, and we lucked out.

Still, we were told that there were plenty of places within half an hour’s drive, so not to worry too much about it. After lunch we set off on foot to find Hutchings Farm.

The pub landlord directed us to the road back to Corfe, so off we went. After fifteen minutes, we came to a delightful cottage, set back from the road, with the most wonderful garden, with beautiful flowers in the borders. My first thought was that Sally would have fallen in love with this house.

Ed went to walk on by, but I saw the name on the gate. “Hutchings Cottage” it said.

“Ed!”

“Yeah?”

I pointed to the gate.

“We want Hutchings Farm, not the cottage,” he said, looking at his map, which had neither marked.

I went to the gate and saw a lady sitting in the garden at a patio table, shaded by a large parasol, using a laptop computer. I felt guilty disturbing her, so I watched her for a while, hoping she would glance up and see me.

She was around thirty-five to forty I guess, with blonde hair in a nice style. She was very attractive with a lovely figure, wearing a summer dress. Her skin was tanned a golden brown. Her long legs were stretched out under the table and her bare feet had painted toenails. She was not an expert typist, but a heck of a lot better that me. Her delicate fingers, with crimson, shaped nails, danced across the keys, as she concentrated on what she was doing.

I could see this could go on all day, so I cleared my throat and spoke to her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude, but I wonder if you could help us?” I said.
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 1
 
 
To Be Continued...