CHAPTER 4
That was not the start of a new life, by any means, but it was definitely the end of the old one.

Without Becky and Jo to push me along and watch my back, I soon dropped back out of the fully femme dressing, all but returning to my androgynous not-quite sure look. It was Elaine who slapped my arse that time, marching me along to a solicitor she knew and standing over me while I swore the deed poll that changed my name.

“You have no idea what I had to do to get Mam and Dad on side, chwaer fychan, so you will go through with this if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. You’re just a coward, but I’d rather have a happy, live coward than a dead one. Got me?”

So, I became a real mouthful. I chose the names that I had picked when I was tiny, so as to keep my initials, Sarah Marie Powell, but I added two other names as a reminder. I do not need to spell out what those names are, only my closest friends have ever known. I couldn’t think of a better way to remember my double lifeline.

Elaine, of course, was right, and when I graduated with a 2.1 in 1991 it was awarded to Sarah and not Samuel, something that made my life immeasurably easier. Even my parents were coming round slowly to it, and I regretted the cruel thoughts about my Dad. He went from profoundly anti to fiercely protective, and knowing him as I did he probably thought that it was his idea in the first place. Elaine passed me the news that after I had been seen out and about ,Dad had started coming home with cuts and bruises, and on one occasion a black eye, which lasted till he had finally beaten the crap out of the last man in the pub who dared to talk about gayers and nancy boys.

I loved my father deeply then, and I still remember Elaine describing the look of pride my mother gave him when he came home bruised and unbowed, all over his daughters the dyke and the shirtlifter. Once set on a course, he stuck to it. I was really proud of him; not a lover of violence, I was still touched by this hard man who fought bare-knuckled to protect the honour of what he now clearly thought of as his daughters.

Graduation brought another hurdle. I was by now living completely as myself, but I needed to find work. I had, in essence, two options. I either found a small family firm that I could charm with my wit and personality to accept a tranny chemist, or I could pick on one of the major chains such as Boots or Drummonds, and rely on their avowed policy of anti-discrimination. That miserable word “diversity”, or “box-ticking” as I think of it, had yet to appear, but they seemed the best bet. Elaine was also nagging me ceaselessly about sorting out a head doctor to get the necessary drugs as if I didn’t get a job I wouldn’t be able to steal them. I always found that an interesting attitude for a copper to take.

“Gwranda, chwaer fychan, you always were a dwarf. If you act now, you can make a much nicer woman than if you hang on and hang on until your todger withers and drops off. You have to speak to somebody, OK?”

I had finally received an application pack from Addison’s in Abertawe...Swansea to foreigners, and I rode down, on the train that is, to start the interview process for my first foot on the ladder as a dispensing pharmacist. It was like something out of a sitcom; I walked into a room where two men and a woman sat behind a long desk and took a seat in a prairie of space before their gaze. I was wearing the same outfit I had chosen for the funeral, my only truly formal wear apart from suits, ties and Oxford shoes, and Elaine had left me in no doubt as to my freely-chosen course of action. The interview followed the predictable course: one friendly, one a bit pushy, and one saving up the sneaky and nasty questions for the end. I talked through my university progress, where I saw myself in ten years’ time, and what I could bring to the company, mixed with my leisure interests, all the usual fishing questions. The woman sat quietly, taking notes. As the other two wound down, she spoke up for the first time.

“That is a very nice outfit. Where did you buy it?”

“The suit is from Debenham’s, the blouse from Dorothy Perkins and the shoes, I think, from Clark’s.”

“They coordinate nicely. I compliment you on your taste. But why are you dressed like that, Mr Powell?”

Bitch. That was when I nearly cut and ran, but I heard Elaine’s voice muttering in my ear “Gwan-galon…”

I was a coward, I am a coward, but there I was backed into a corner. I took a while to compose myself.

“Where to start? I am a transsexual woman. I suppose it is something that could have been read from my declared gender on the application form, coupled with my forenames.”

“Yes, that is true. But why did you not declare that fact clearly and overtly at the start of the interview?”

“Why did you invite me here for interview when you clearly already knew the answer to your first question? As far as I am concerned, I am a woman. I intend to rectify my little problems when I get the chance, but I am now living, and intend to work, as a woman. To have come here dressed as a man would have been a deception. This isn’t. This is who I am.”

“How much paid time off will you be needing for all the surgery?”

“From the information available to me, it would fit nicely into my annual leave entitlement if you employ me”

“Thank you, Ms Powell, please wait outside”

‘Ms’? What?

I waited out in reception, where there was a pot of coffee and some biscuits available, and two other people awaiting their turn. After ten minutes of hanging around, one of the men on the panel sent me off to get some lunch, and to come back after two. I wandered off down Princess Way and found a sandwich shop, and settled down in the little green space there to eat. I was terrified. Outed so quickly, so nastily, it was like a physical assault. There was a train in half an hour, I could just drop the idea and head home, and have my parents nod knowingly, and Elaine tell me she expected no better….

At one fifty I was back in the reception area having another cup of coffee and wondering whether I dared use the ladies’ under the beady eyes of a receptionist who was probably reporting directly to the queen bitch. I found a ‘disabled’ toilet and did the necessary, and on my return realised there was only one other interviewee waiting with me. He was about my age, a couple of inches taller than my 5’7”, dark-haired and fit in a gym and tennis sort of way, and I had already spotted what a superb arse he had.

“Hi, looks like they are down to the finals now, all the chaff sifted. I’m Joe, by the way” hand out for a shake. I took it.

“Sarah. You think we are in with a chance?”

“We are the only ones still here, what does that say to you? Where are you from?”

“Abergwaun”

“Oh, Fishguard, oes tipyn bach, me, don’t speak it”

I had to giggle at his atrocious attempt at Welsh. “Er, rather obviously not”

We started to laugh together, and in my innocence it was at least thirty seconds before I realised I was being chatted up.

“I’m a local lad, from Penllergaer. Hoping for something close to home. You?”

“Just looking at moving somewhere a little bigger than home, spread my wings sort of thing. Where did you study?”

“Just up the road, seemed easiest to stay at home, all mod cons and that”

“I went to Aberystwyth.”

“All sheepshaggers up there, aren’t they? Listen, what about we grab a drink after this, either celebrate or commiserate, hey?”

I was already feeling a little cautious. This was a very quick pace for a new girl, but….”OK”

He was in first, and out in a couple of minutes, punching the air. “Kingsway branch, right here! I’ll wait for you, they said to go straight in”

The same three basilisks were awaiting me, but this time they were standing by the window, pouring out a glass of white wine. Queen bitch smiled at me. Smiled…

“I guessed it would be white for you, Ms Powell, I hope I was right.”

“Thank you” I said, taking the glass.

“We are pleased to say that we have an offer of a post for you, commencing in a week’s time. It is in Morriston, and we have chosen you for that one because of your language skills. There is quite a lot of Welsh spoken up that way.”

I nearly snorted my wine back up. “Language skills? I just speak what we do at home!”

“Yes, but you also managed to get an upper second degree while studying in what was to you a foreign language”

She dropped her voice almost to a whisper.

“I have no idea why you are doing this, nor any inkling of how hard it must be, but if you are going to be a woman, learn to take a bloody compliment, OK?”

She squeezed my forearm, and we went over to the desk where a contract of employment was ready to sign, and I became Sarah Feryllydd of Morriston.