The next few weeks passed in happiness for both of us. In some ways life did not change for me, but in others of course it did. After I had seen John off to work, I set about my usual housekeeping duties and any financial work that needed to be done. This was exactly what I had done previously, but I must say that wearing a thin cotton dress was infinitely more comfortable in the hot summer weather than the pants or shorts I had worn previously. Sometimes, in the afternoon I set about preparing the evening meal, and sometimes it was cooked by Maisie, who under my tutelage was proving quite adept. One difference was that I made sure that all my work was complete by late afternoon so that I could prepare for John coming home.

I can smile now, remembering an extract I recently found on the internet, taken from a 1950's home economics book, where girls are taught how to behave when they become wives, preparing the man's meal to be served on time, and touching up their make-up to be fresh and pretty for his arrival. 'How to be a Good Wife' I think it was called, and it was all about the man. I almost feel that I was the inspiration for that piece, but it was what I wanted to do for the man I loved. As evening approached, I would have a shower, and then select some lingerie and a pretty dress, brush my hair and apply my make-up so that I was the picture of a perfect wife when he arrived. I wasn't pretending — it was what I wanted to do. After that first day, John was always careful not to spread dust all over me when he greeted me after a hard day in the saddle!

Then of course there were the evenings after dinner. Sometimes we sat for a while in our chairs, reading in companionable silence, or otherwise we discussed the events of the day. Other evenings, John invited me to sit on his lap, and we kissed and cuddled, and more than once this led to a very early night in bed! Oh yes! Our nights in bed. That was the best time of all. I could never tire of or get enough of this wonderful man's body, for no matter how late into the night we made love, we awoke refreshed in the morning.

Although John and I were very happy with our lives, I could not help feeling that I wanted to be more of a woman for him, and for myself too. I can't even remember if the term 'transgender' was widely used in those days. I had read of a few brave pioneers such as Christine Jorgensen, April Ashley and Roberta Cowell who had undergone hormone therapy and surgery to live their lives as women. One thing these women also shared was the fact that their names were known, either by choice, or by being 'outed', to the general population. In my own circumstances this was the last thing I wanted, for John's sake as much as mine..

As a young person, I had little interest in politics, but even I was aware that I was living in the most conservative state in Australia. What's more, by organising the state into electoral zones where country areas which tend to be conservative by nature, had a fraction of the number of electors of the big towns and cities, the two conservative parties were able to have a comfortable majority over the Labor party despite polling a much smaller proportion of the vote. This I learned was called a 'gerrymander'. This persisted for many years and entrenched a very conservative ethos in the state — not a good atmosphere for transgendered people.

My problem was to make initial contact with someone who could put me in touch with the right people who could help me become a woman to the fullest degree possible. We had a doctor visit our local township Heyward's Crossing every week. The present doctor was a young female, and I felt she would most likely be sympathetic to my problem. When I rang to make an appointment, the reception asked what it was for, and of course I wasn't going to tell her, so she immediately assumed it was not important and gave me a time in three weeks. I did not feel like making a fuss, so accepted the time, but it was a long and frustrating delay.

Dr Jenkins was young, pretty and blonde, but she was also bright and very intelligent. Naturally, I had had to go down to Hey in 'Leslie' mode, much though I would have preferred not to. As I started to talk to her, she said she would check my pulse and blood pressure to save time, but after a minute she stopped.

“They're almost off the scale,” she smiled, “Perhaps you'd better tell me your story first, and I can check them later.”

“First doctor, please don't be insulted, but this is highly confidential, and I would prefer that it is not recorded anywhere where the receptionist or practise nurse can see it.” I went on to explain my feelings from an early age, and what had happened recently at the Station. I then explained how I wanted to progress towards living as a woman to the fullest extent possible, and knew that not only did I need a medical referral, but I needed to see the right person who could help me, and I had no idea how to go about doing that.

Dr Jenkins was very sympathetic. She had heard of such cases, although I was the first she had encountered. She promised to make enquiries and said if she could find the name of someone, she would write to me at the Station. She also promised that my history would go in with a few select others for whom the highest confidentiality was needed, and which she kept with her; whilst a card with only contact details was kept at the surgery. I thanked her very much for her understanding, and by the end of our interview I was so pleased when she reported that my pulse and blood pressure had quite returned to normal!

Two weeks later, a letter arrived for me, addressed to Miss L Cobb at McKenzie Station, the first letter I ever received addressed this way.

Dear Miss Cobb,
I have made enquiries on your behalf and have found a psychiatrist, a Dr David Brentwell. He has many years experience as a GP, but more recently has qualified as a psychiatrist and consults at rooms in South Brisbane in a large medical centre. He is specialising in gender dysphoria. I suggest you make an appointment to see him as your first step. Initially, you may prefer not to travel to Brisbane in female mode, but it is important that you present as a female when you see Dr Brentwell, so it might be wise to book into a local hotel where you can change.
Good luck,
Carolyn Jenkins.

I immediately rang Dr Brentwell's rooms and made an appointment for ten days later.

The only person we saw regularly from outside the property was Tom the mail-man, and the first day that I knew he was due, I felt extremely shy at appearing as a woman, so I prevailed upon John who was at home at the time to explain a little about my 'new life', so that he wouldn't get too much of a shock. Assured that he had been forewarned, when next he arrived, and John was out somewhere rounding up cattle with the men, I appeared on the balcony to welcome him. Tom swung out of the truck's cabin with his usual cheery grin which broadened even further when he saw me.

“Jeez Les....ley, (a distinct pause between the two syllables!) you look great!” he called out, and then bounded up the steps and gave me a peck on the cheek. Well, that was a first! I knew I was blushing, but now I was a woman it didn't matter.

I sketched a mock curtsey and said “Thank you kind sir.” and of course he had to bow deeply and say “You are most welcome ma'am.” Dear old Tom. Apart from John he has always been my best male friend.

I needed to talk with him, so I told him the kettle was on and invited him to have some tea. I know what you are thinking, you listeners in the shadows. 'A hard-drinking Aussie bloke and you offered him tea?' Of course he enjoyed a beer, we all did, but when Tom was working it was the same for him as the other men, strictly tea until the evening. We sat on the cane chairs in the shade of the verandah with the pot of tea and some Anzac biscuits and I began.

“Well Tom, you know there have been some changes around here.” he grinned at that, but I had something on my mind that I needed to know.

“You are John's oldest friend. How do you think he has taken to it all? He's too much of a gentleman to tell me if he was unhappy in any way.”

“Unhappy?” he laughed out loud, “Why I haven't seen him so happy since ...” and he stopped abruptly, confused and embarrassed.

“It's alright to say Mary's name, Tom,” I said and I leaned forward and gently touched his hand. It still amazed me how I had slipped so naturally into feminine gestures. “If you are saying you haven't seen him so happy since before Mary was sick, then you are making me very happy indeed. One thing I can tell you for sure is that all that excess drinking has stopped.”

He gasped, “Well that's a relief. You've worked wonders on him.”

“That's not true!” I said, springing to John's defence, “he did that himself.”

“Wow, Mother Lioness!” laughed Tom “Well let's just say you had some influence.”

I smiled, realising that I had rather over-reacted. “Well whatever the reason, I am so happy about it. But there's something else I need to talk to you about. We are quite remote here and could easily carry on as we are, but there are times when we need to go to other places. I would love to go with John, but I will absolutely not take the risk of him being humiliated because of me. I know I look more feminine now, but I'm not good enough to pass in social situations. John and I have been talking a lot about it, and we've made some decisions.”

I could see he was starting to look a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation, or rather my monologue was going, so I tried to lighten the mood a little.

“Do you remember the day you first picked me up from the train halt, and you looked around and said 'Where's the sheila?', and I didn't know what you meant?”

He laughed “Of course I do.”

“Well Tom, the 'sheila' was there all the time, right in front of you, only I didn't really know it, or perhaps I did and I was denying it even to myself. I've been doing some reading about it, although information is so hard to find. Oh, if only there was a great big encyclopaedia in the sky when I could pull down all the knowledge of the world whenever I wanted it! Anyway, it seems that I am not alone in this. It has all sorts of technical names, but basically it means that my brain is female while my body is not. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, although believe me, it's worse for me. Anyway,” I smiled “I'm still really the same person you've known for over a year, and that will never change.”

Tom seemed to be relaxing a bit more now, so I went on “The great thing is that there are treatments now for people like me, to make our bodies match our brains. The extra hard part for me is that I will need to go to Brisbane, maybe even Sydney to have that treatment. Now I have a favour to ask you. Would you be willing to take me to the train halt when I have to make these trips? John has offered of course, but he is busy here, and anyway I think it's better if other people don't see us together right now.”

Tom actually let out an audible sigh of relief “Is that all? Of course I'll do it. For a moment there I thought you were going to ask me to take you all the way to Brisbane, and that would be difficult with all my mail runs.”

I smiled at him, “A companion would be lovely of course. I'm going to feel a bit lonely going all that way on my own, but don't worry, I'm not asking you to do that.”

A thoughtful look came over Tom's face. “Well I couldn't do it, but perhaps Jenny my wife would.”

My heart leapt at that. “Do you think she might?” I was almost pleading. “We'd pay all her expenses of course. I'm sure John wouldn't mind.”

I had met Jenny a couple of times before, while I was still in Leslie mode and we had got on very well. At the annual Christmas barbecue for all the Station staff, she was the only woman not from the station and she had helped me and John serve everyone with food and drink. She was a vibrant and pretty woman and Tom obviously adored her. If ever there were two soul-mates, it was Jenny and Tom.

“Well the kids are off at boarding school and she's rattling around the house on her own most days. She has a little part-time job at the library, but she has plenty of spare time, so she might be glad of something to do. Tell you what, I'll tell her this evening and if she's interested I'll get her to ring you.”

That evening John noticed I was on edge and asked what was wrong, but I just muttered that I was trying to arrange something and I preferred to hold off telling him in case it didn't work out. When the phone finally rang, I fairly leapt across the room to answer it.

“Hi Lesley, it's Jenny. Tom told me about your request, and I'd be happy to come and talk to you about it. Would tomorrow afternoon be alright?”

“Oh yes, that's great news Jenny, but don't you want to know a bit more about it?”

“Well, I'm a bit busy right now. How about two o'clock tomorrow. Is that alright?”

“Errr, yes. Sure.”

I felt a bit deflated as I put the phone down, and then I realised how smart Jenny had been. Those were the days of operator-connected calls, and although it was strictly against the rules, it was not unknown for them to listen in. Jenny might just have saved me from blurting out my secret.

Now I could tell John what I had arranged with Jenny, provided he was alright about spending the extra money. He confessed it was a huge relief to him that I was not going to Brisbane on my own. I knew I had to present there as a female, even if not a totally convincing one yet, and people can be cruel.

The next morning I fussed around wondering what to wear. I thought something a little more dressy than what I normally wore to do the housework, and settled on a pretty cotton dress which I wore without stockings and flat shoes. I brushed my hair and put on a little powder and lipstick, and was ready well before Jenny was due to arrive.

Jenny was as good as her word, arriving bang on time in the old dual-cab ute that served as the family car. She flashed me that marvellous smile as she walked up the steps of the homestead.

“Hi Lesley, so you've decided to join the sisterhood at last.”

It was those last two words that struck me. “You mean you knew?” I gasped.

She had a delicious laugh and she was laughing now.

“You forget I saw you at the Christmas barbecue, and you were well and truly in girl mode then, even if you didn't know it. Plus I saw the way you looked at John and he looked at you. Now I know he's not gay - not that there's anything wrong with that of course — so what else was I supposed to think? The next time I saw you it was much the same, so it only confirmed my suspicions.”

I was blushing furiously. “Well so much for us trying to keep it quiet.” I said a little despairingly.

“Oh don't worry,” she laughed “I'm sure no-one else noticed. Men don't tend to notice those sort of things, especially when they've got a can of beer in their hand, but women do.”

“I can see I have a lot to learn about being a woman,” I said, with a tinge of sadness creeping into my voice at the size of the mountain I had to climb.

“Yes you do,” she replied “and if you want me to, I'll be there to assist you every step of the way.”

“You will?” I was overjoyed. “Oh Jenny, I can't thank you enough.”

“I'm so glad it's working out well for you,” she said. “At the time I thought 'This could turn out very well or very badly', and I didn't know which it was going to be.”

“You are right,” I replied. “It very nearly did turn out badly, but thank goodness it didn't.”

I made a pot of tea and we sat down for a chat. It was nice to have another woman to talk to about all that had been happening — well — most of it anyway, and I imagine she guessed what I held back on. In all the times that were to follow, and some of them were hard times indeed, she never wavered. She hugged me and comforted me and even wiped away my tears when I was in despair, and together we came through it. But I am getting ahead of myself.

"By the way, I hope you didn't think I was rude to you last night, but I knew old Mrs Hargreaves was on the switchboard, and she's notorious for listening in. I really didn't want you to say something you'd regret."

"Yes, I was a bit deflated at first, but then I realised that you were saving me from myself."

Jenny suggested that we sort through the clothes I had, to pick out something suitable to wear in Brisbane. I was still relying on Mary's clothes, and she obviously favoured dresses rather than skirts and tops, and had virtually no pants, and certainly no jeans.

“How do you feel about wearing pants and jeans?” asked Jenny.

“Alright, so long as I still look feminine,” I replied. “After all, I've worn them all my life. I suspect many people in my situation want to abandon pants altogether because they want to look more feminine.”

“I suppose they do,” said Jenny thoughtfully “After all, women can wear anything they like and no-one thinks a woman in pants is a cross-dresser. It's not really fair is it?”

Together we sorted through the available clothes and finally settled on two sets that would just pass muster in Brisbane. Now that Jenny was coming with me, I really wanted to make the trip in woman mode if she honestly thought I would get away with it. I paraded before her in the two skirts and tops, and she decided which one looked best for the trip down.

“You'd better tell John you desperately need some clothes for going to Brisbane and that you'll need to spend some serious money this trip, but future trips will cost him a lot less. Can you do that?”

“Oh yes. I'm sure he'll understand,” and bless him, he did.

Jenny had more words of advice for me before we started our big trip.

“The big thing is to blend in. That makes you virtually invisible. We can't do much about the clothes, they still scream 'country woman', but we're going to fix that.”

I put myself in Jenny's hands entirely, and revelled in her expert tuition on my hair and make-up where she taught me many new things. After all, I was relying on vague memories of those times with my cousin years ago. We carefully packed my suitcase with my reserve outfit, underwear and a couple of pairs of shoes, plus toiletries and make-up, and with each step of the way my confidence grew. I never really had any doubt that I could do it, but without Jenny the journey would have been so much harder.

The morning of the trip, Jenny arrived sitting beside Tom in his truck, and then I squeezed in and we bounced our way down the track to Crane's Halt, where he left us to wait for the train. The train was fairly empty and we had a whole compartment to ourselves, so we chatted merrily away, the miles flew by and soon we reached Rockhampton. There we had to change to another train for Brisbane, and this was much fuller. I confess my heart was pounding when we left one train and crossed the platforms to board the other one, but Jenny was right, no-one looked at me, except that passing glance you give a stranger to make sure you will not collide with them, and gradually my heart rate settled to a much more comfortable level.

Now we had to be circumspect in our conversation, and confined it to generalities. The hours passed and at one stage I even dozed off, so that proves how relaxed I had become. Finally we pulled into Brisbane and alighted from the train. I was amazed and frightened by the crowds of people. Bear in mind that I had been a youth in busy London, and in those days Brisbane was more like a large country town, but a year in the bush had made me used to space around me, and the jostling crowds alarmed me. I clung to Jenny as we weaved through the people. Some may have 'read' me, but they were gone in an instant, and eventually we found a taxi and went to our hotel.

In all my journey to full womanhood, I was so fortunate that I did not have financial concerns. In those days the station owners truly were 'kings in grass castles', and John was very generous in his support. Thus I was able to take care of all Jenny's expenses and more besides, but I could never truly repay her for all she did for me, not then anyway, although I did have the opportunity later.

We settled into our hotel room. It was on the fifth floor with a view out to the east, so it caught the morning sun. Bright and spacious it had two single beds and plenty of wardrobe space to hang our clothes. I did not feel like facing the dining room in case someone, probably a woman, realised I wasn't a genetic woman, so we had a meal delivered to the room. Despite dozing on the train trips, we were both soon yawning, so I went into the ensuite, took off my clothes and had a refreshing shower to wash away the grime of the journey. When I appeared again in a full-length pink silk nightie, Jenny sketched a wolf whistle. I knew my cheeks were matching my nightie, but I was pleased none the less. Jenny then had her shower, and soon we were in bed and sound asleep.

To be continued