It had been on my mind for some time to make a trip back to England. My parents were coming around to the idea of having a daughter instead of a son, and John was very keen to see the 'Mother Country' as he and some Australians still referred to it. The work of a cattle station ebbs and flows, and there are times when it's just not practical to be away for weeks at a time. I didn't like to bring the subject up with John, but in the end, it was he who broached it one evening while we were sitting together on his old armchair, me on his lap.

“You know that trip to England we've been promising ourselves?” he said, and my heart skipped a beat. “Why don't we do it soon? In a few weeks we hit the quietest time of the year, and next year will be a full one for you.”

In his gentlemanly was he was referring to my upcoming reassignment surgery and breast enhancement. I might well not feel like travelling for a time after that. So the wheels were set in motion and plane tickets were booked for a month after our conversation. We'd stay over there for four weeks, spending some time with my parents, assuming that all went well, and then a couple of weeks doing a brief tour of the country. I was due to see the specialists in Brisbane a week or so before we flew out, and this was good timing. I had a slight problem in that my passport gave my name as 'Leslie' and identified me as male. Walking into the airport with make-up and wearing a dress could cause problems and possible delays, which we didn't want. It was decided that I would go for an androgynous look, a neat shirt and pants, no breast forms, flat shoes, no make-up or jewellery, and my long hair tied back in a pony tail. Even looking this way, I suspected I would look more female than male.

Tom was now recovered enough to fend for himself for two days while Jenny accompanied me to Brisbane. Dr Brentwell expressed himself well pleased with my progress, and listened while I described the forthcoming trip and the possible problems I might encounter.

“I will write you a letter, explaining your current situation, and you can produce it should the need arise. I suggest you have several copies made of it.”

This was excellent. Not only would it cover me taking hormone tablets abroad, but also explain why my suitcase was filled with female clothes. Then it was on to Dr Hall, who told me that my testosterone levels had now stabilised at a very low level, so all was well. I explained about the trip, and he said he would write me an extra prescription to have filled before we left, so I would have adequate amounts of hormones for my trip. He would also write a covering letter explaining why I was taking Oestrogen.

“Fortunately you are going to England and there should be no problems, but nowadays, Customs looks upon all carried medications the same way, even when they are perfectly legal. You must certainly not stop taking them.”

We spent the rest of the time in Brisbane in our usual manner, but this time our shopping concentrated on what I might take to England, while still leaving plenty of room in my case to allow for shopping over there!

The next week John and I took the train to Brisbane early one morning. I had one other thing on my mind. What if we should bump into someone John knew in Brisbane? Sometimes the strangest coincidences do occur. The best story I could come up with was that I was the rather effeminate son of a friend of John, who, upon hearing of him travelling to England, asked if I could travel with him as far as London since it was my first time abroad. Fortunately this rather weak cover story was not needed.

The customs officers were all male which was good. They were hardly likely to notice my shaped eyebrows and carefully manicured hands, something a woman would have picked up instantly. Without make-up and styled hair, I still looked sufficiently like the picture in my passport to pass without question, and soon we were in the departure lounge waiting to board our plane. I have touched upon the privileges money brings before now. I hasten to add that while John was more than comfortably off, he never made a show of it, feeling that such displays are vulgar. He did support a number of charities, but always anonymously.

We boarded the aircraft and were shown up towards the front to Business Class. Here were bigger seats, less people and more choice of service. This was the early days of jet passenger aircraft, and with more stops for refuelling, the flight took much longer than it does today. Our entertainment consisted of reading books and magazines or watching a film projected on a screen at the front of the cabin. The stewards kept us well supplied with food and drink, but both John and I restricted ourselves to a glass of wine with our meals, and drank plenty of water to ward off dehydration, One thing I do regret in those years was the unrestricted smoking that went on. As non-smokers, both John and I found the atmosphere unpleasant, despite the high turnover of air in the cabin. We were even invited to the flight deck to meet the captain and flight crew, and I felt a touch of alarm upon seeing that the crew were sitting back while the aeroplane flew itself on autopilot! So many things have changed in these security-conscious times.

Dawn was breaking and the plane gradually losing height as we approached our final destination, Heathrow airport. There was the English Channel shimmering below us with tiny ships plying their trade. Seeing the white cliffs of Dover caused a pang in my breast as it does to anyone who has spent time in another country and now returns to the land of their birth. The Welsh have a word for it 'hiraeth' — the longing of someone for their homeland. The slight jolt and the rumble of the plane's wheels on the tarmac signalled my homecoming after three tumultuous years, full of events which I could never have imagined that day I waved farewell to my parents from the ship's deck. My heart beat a little faster when I thought of the next few days. It was so important to me that my parents accept me as I was now, but could they do it? Would they accept John too? Thoughts whirled around in my head.

After my father retired, they had fulfilled a dream, and sold their London home to buy a cottage in a country village just outside Oxford. We intended to travel around Britain in a hire car, but after an exhausting flight, and the prospect of navigating London's traffic, the obvious course was to take a train to Oxford, where we had already booked a hotel room for a few days, and pick up the car there. The rocking of the train made it hard to fight off sleep, but eventually we arrived and took a taxi to our hotel. While John had a shower, I rang my parent's house. Dad answered

“Hello Dad, it's Lesley.”

“Lesley!” he replied “I'm glad to hear you arrived safely. Where are you? Oh, here's Mum.”

“Lesley!” my mother's voice this time. It shook with emotion. “Where are you?”

“In a hotel in Oxford, Mum; we just arrived.” A silence while this was digested, and then “When will we see you?”

“Mum, we've been more or less awake for about thirty hours and we're both totally exhausted from the journey. We'd most likely fall asleep if we come over now. Can we make it tomorrow for afternoon tea? We'll feel so much fresher then.”

“Oh.” It's amazing how much can be packed into such a short word. “Well, we've waited three years, I suppose another day won't do any harm."

I felt she was acutely disappointed, and this wasn't a good start, but I was equally sure that I had made the right decision. We were grubby and exhausted, and I didn't fancy meeting my parents without all my wits about me. Fortunately, Mum seemed to see the sense of what I was saying. They had never travelled on an aeroplane in their lives, let alone half-way around the world.

"I'm sorry Mum. Please understand it's not because I don't want to see you."

“I suppose you are right dear, it has been a very long journey, and your body must be telling you it's the middle of the night right now?”

“Thanks Mum,” I said. “I knew you'd understand. See you at three o'clock tomorrow then.”

I had planned our first visit to my parents very carefully. Afternoon tea meant mid afternoon, giving us the option of staying on if things went well, and gracefully bowing out if things went badly. Part of my strategy was that we pick up the hire car in the morning, so that again, we weren't left waiting for a taxi if the worst happened. I still worried that perhaps there was some eventuality I hadn't planned for, but I was too tired to think any more. When it was my turn in the shower, I stood there and let the water flow over my body, washing away the grime of the journey. It's always recommend that travellers into a time zone as different as England is from Australia, try to stay up as long as they can. We stuck it out until nine o'clock, then went to bed and were asleep almost as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

The next morning, the weather was fine. We were awakened by a knock on the door, indicating that breakfast had arrived. John put on his dressing gown and went to fetch it from outside the door. I had ordered the 'full English breakfast', and when we removed the plate covers, we were met with the sight of bacon, eggs, sausages, tomato, and mushrooms. There was plenty of toast and also a steaming pot of coffee. If there's a meal the English do well, it's breakfast. We both felt ravenous, fell on it, and didn't stop until our plates were empty, and we were having our second cup of coffee.

John let me have the first shower since it would take me longer to get ready. I re-affixed my breast forms, something I'd been too tired to do the previous night. I felt strangely unbalanced without them now. Then I attended to my make-up and hair.

The next thing I had devoted time to was deciding what to wear for the forthcoming visit. It was essential that I avoid the 'androgynous' look, since that would suggest lack of confidence or commitment to my chosen path. On the other hand 'girly girl' would suggest someone to whom the clothes were the most important aspect of being a woman. Finally I decided on a red linen skirt, a white silk blouse, stockings and black court shoes with three inch heels. My jewellery was restrained — a gold locked on a thin gold chain around my neck, a gift from John, and something I always looked upon as my 'good luck charm'. Gold studs in my ears matched the pendant. There was one more thing — my wedding ring.

How sad it is that our elected representatives are not prepared to accept what most of the population does accept — that a registered union between two people who love each other should be possible, no matter what their birth sexes were. I decided that I wasn't taking off that ring, no matter what. John had asked me if I would like to chose a ring the last time I was in Brisbane, and if I wished, to have it engraved. I had the words — 'John and Lesley — forever' engraved on the inside, and I've not seen them since the day John put the ring on my finger in a ceremony we had invented ourselves. I know those words are there, but I will never see them again because I will never take the ring off as long as I live. I applied my make-up carefully, again taking care not to go 'over the top', but not wishing to give the impression that I wasn't wearing any. With my preparations complete, I stood up and gave John a little 'fashion parade' to test his reaction. He assured me that I had struck exactly the right note. I only hoped my parents thought so too. John looked smart in grey pants, a check shirt and slip-on brown shoes.

Once we were ready, we left the hotel and walked the couple of blocks to the hire car depot. I've often wondered if booking a specific hire car is worth the effort. Almost inevitably, the chosen car is not available, and a substitute in the same size range is offered. That's exactly what happened at Oxford. We ended up with a Rover 'saloon', which is what they call a sedan there. I must say that car did us proud. We drove ridiculously long distances by British standards, and it never let us down — not once.

We drove out to the little village where my parents lived. John drove and I navigated. It's often said that women can't read maps and men won't ask directions. My special circumstance was such that I was able to read maps and had no hesitation in asking directions if the need arose, but in this case it didn't. Reaching the village was easy, and my parents had sent detailed directions to find their house within the village. Almost too soon we drew up outside a pretty cottage with a mass of flowers in the front garden. My heart was pounding as I had no doubt at all that our arrival had been observed. For a second I was tempted to tell John to drive away as fast as he could, but the moment passed. I opened the car door, swivelling around with the legs together in a proper ladylike fashion and stood up. This would be their first real sight of me. I had sent descriptions, and also the small black and white prints which were the standard family photos of that era, but now they were seeing me as I now was, and I wondered if the shock would be too much for them. John came around from the driver's side, and as he opened the gate and I stepped through, I murmured to him “Here goes. Wish us luck!”

The door opened just as we reached it.

“Hello Mum, Dad.” I said, and leaned forward to kiss Mum on the cheek. Then, because it would seem odd not to do so, I kissed Dad's cheek too. To give him credit, he didn't flinch, but neither did he show any positive emotional response.

“This is John,” I said, turning to John who said “Please to meet you Mr and Mrs Cobb.” He shook Dad's hand.

We were invited into the house through a tiny hallway and into the sitting room, where chairs were indicated for us. We started the 'How was your trip?' sort of conversation people have when they don't know each other very well. I suppose we covered every topic except the 'elephant in the room' one of my transitioning. Eventually Mum got up and went into the kitchen, emerging shortly with a 'Devonshire Tea' of scones, jam and cream, as well as a pot of tea, cups and saucers. This at least gave us something to do with our hands, but I was feeling more and more depressed at the way things were going. After three years apart, my parents and I were strangers. John commented how much he loved Devonshire teas, and asked if Mum had made the scones, which she had, so he complimented her on them. Yet another topic of conversation finished and everyone desperately trying to think of something to say. When Mum got up to clear away the afternoon tea, in desperation I got up and said “I'll help you.” It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but then she saw the look on my face, and instead said.

“Thank you Lesley, that will be a help.”

I picked up the scone plate and followed her out into the kitchen. As soon as we were out of earshot of the men, my face crumpled, and I was close to tears.

“Oh Mum!” I cried, “I hoped for so much and it's going so badly. It's like we are two couples who are strangers and forced to share a table at a restaurant.”

Mum looked at me. “Oh my darling Lesley, you have to give it time. Try to see things from our point of view. There's so much for us to come to grips with. You know, when you were a little.....child, you were always impatient. Some things take a while to happen.”

She could see I wasn't convinced, and then she said quietly.

“Come here.” So I came, and she held me in her arms, and suddenly I realised how much I had missed that special bond between a child and its mother. We were standing there quietly, tears trickling down my cheeks, when suddenly to our surprise there was a roar of laughter from the sitting room. We both turned, startled. Mum put a finger to her lips and tip-toed over to the door and listened for a moment. Then she came back to where I was standing.

“They're talking cricket!” she said in amazement. I'm not a religious person, but at that moment I said “Thank God” and meant it. We had needed a miracle and we were given one. It was obvious from the various guffaws coming from the other room, that a very lively conversation had started. John loved cricket as much as my Dad did, and was quite knowledgeable, so suddenly they had found something they could talk about, and talk they did!

Mum and I finished drying up and putting away the crockery. It was obvious the men were having a great time, so she said. “Come on. I'll show you the rest of the house.”

We walked through to the bright and airy main bedroom with its cream counterpane decorated with flowers. I was genuinely impressed and said so. I had noticed that very little of their original furniture was left.

“It was much too dark and heavy for here,” said Mum “but it turned out most of it was close to being antique, so we got enough money from the sale to refurnish in a modern style.

"Perhaps you'd like to use the ensuite to 'freshen up'?" she said kindly.

I realised what she meant and went to repair damage to my make-up caused by my tears in the kitchen. Then, we walked into the second bedroom which had twin beds, and Mum seemed to hesitate.

“When we moved up here, I put all your clothes and other things into cardboard boxes and they are in the closet. When you have time perhaps you'd like to sort through them?” She smiled slightly “I'm guessing you won't have any use for the clothes. By the way, that's a lovely outfit you are wearing. You've developed a wonderful sense of style.”

“Thank you Mum,” I replied, blushing, determined to gently lead into what was on both my parents' minds but not yet mentioned. “I have a wonderful girlfriend in Australia. She's the wife of the mail man. She's provided me with so much support, and she is teaching me all the things I need to know about becoming a woman. She's also accompanied me to Brisbane to see the specialists, and that has been a wonderful confidence boost for me”

Mum looked a little uncomfortable, but she bravely faced the question of who I was.

“When Marie and you first told us about your change in err lifestyle, we went to get a few books from the library. Frankly there wasn't very much we could find.”

“It's not a common subject I guess, but the truth is there are far more transgendered women around than there used to be.”

Then, because she wanted to know, I went through a summary of the whole transitioning process, assuring her that it was all done under strict medical supervision and took many years to complete so that mistakes were not made.

We walked through to the kitchen garden at the back of the cottage. I admired the vegetables and told Mum of our difficulties in growing plants, especially vegetables in our harsh climate and sandy soil. It was wonderful to feel at last that we were two women chatting together. We discussed clothes and how I was buying most of mine in Brisbane when I went there to see the various doctors, but how I had left room in my suitcase so that I could buy some clothes while I was in Britain.

We finally made our way back to the sitting room, and I'm fairly sure the men hadn't even noticed we'd been missing for about an hour.

Dad looked up and smiled, “Oh there you are. You'll stay for tea I hope.” It wasn't a question or a command, more like an assumed fact.

I glanced at John “We'd love to.”

Our second meal together was such a contrast to the awkward afternoon tea. Now we were laughing and chatting together just as a family should. It was after nine o'clock that we finally and reluctantly said goodbye, promising to return the following day.

Curled up in bed that night, I asked John what had happened when I left him alone with Dad.

“We were both taken aback a bit, and I was desperately searching for something to talk about when I saw this little trophy on the mantelpiece. It showed the figure of a cricketer and was obviously something your father had won, so I asked about it and when he had played. He leapt on the topic at once, and he started by checking me out a bit. It was when he referred to Don Bradman's test average as 99.96 that I knew for sure he was testing me. I smiled and said I couldn't believe he would get that wrong, and we both laughed.”

“We heard you in the kitchen,” I said. “I was in total despair that things weren't going to work out, and hearing that laugh it was like a miracle, and that's something for a non-religious person to say.”

To be continued.