WELL!

Despite my endeavours to wrap this story up in 30 chapters, it looks as though it might run to 31. otherwise chapter 30 woul have run to about 30 pages.

This chapter addresses the marriage of Beverly to Angie and other issues that need winding up in the story. (But not all.)

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All good things must come to an end however and our Moroccan holiday was one of them. One morning our agent Hamid received the phone call we had been waiting for to confirm that the contracts had been registered with the ministry of transport. They required our final signatures and our work was done. Reluctantly we bid farewell to Hamids’ family and stopped by the Ministry on our journey home to complete the necessary documentation. The Thursday found us at Heathrow where Margaret and Chrissie met us for the drive home.

“I thought you were only going for a fortnight!” Chrissie complained.

“We had to wait the pleasure of the Minister of transport.” I replied.

“How long does it take to sign a few forms?”

“Ask him when we next go over there.”

“Huh. He must be pretty useless. Who made him minister?”

“A relative, I think.”

Chrissie paused thoughtfully and I thought the reference to nepotism had left it clear but Chrissie had obviously failed to grasp the idea. Then she persisted.

“Huh! And who would his relative be?”

After a pregnant pause Angie replied softly. “The king,” and then Chrissie fell totally silent.
We all started to chuckle and to hide her embarrassment, Chrissie dashed off to get a trolley. She came back grinning as she realised her naivety.

“I didn’t realise. Do you have to do business with people like that?”

“That’s how it is sometimes Chrissie. Don’t knock it; it’s business and it has paid for your SRS.

“And a hell of a lot more,” Margaret Added.

“Besides,” I continued, “he’s quite a nice guy, not some pushy self important beaurocrat who thinks he’s some sort of God just because he’s had to fight his way up the pyramid.”

“Amen to that.” Angie finished as Sian finally appeared with the car.

As we drove home Chrissie kept up a running commentary of Baby Davids’ adventures and I reflected that she was already behaving like a proud mother.

‘What’ll she be like with her own child?’ I wondered.

That summer we had more business in Morocco as well as some affairs to see to in Portugal. Because I had promised the girls a holiday on the ship that summer we arranged for me to take command of the Speedwell to allow Jesse to have an extended summer break because his wife was pregnant.

Angie had never actually travelled on the ships before so for her it was an exciting holiday. Because it was mid-summer the weather was fine and she savoured the easy pace that a ship provided for a captain’s partner. The girls of course were hardened travellers and eagerly indulged themselves in whatever things took their fancy. They even joined with the crew and learned to chip, scrape and paint the accommodation white-work. Even Chrissie caught the mood of enthusiasm and the bosun was particularly pleased when we returned to England with the ship gleaming. I had chosen that particular trip because the ship was being tested for a new berth that would facilitate our using the newly recommissioned side ramp as well as the stern ramp to speed up the foodstuff loading. This meant an extended stay in Tangier and that meant the girls could indulge in a desert tour while Supan and I supervised the test dockings to sort out any wrinkles with the new berth. It was several days before the fixtures on the berth matched the mooring arrangements for the ship. Chrissie and the girls came back from their desert tour looking particularly bronzed. Obviously the Atlas Mountains and the Sahara desert had suited them, not to mention the enthusiasm of Hamids’ family to make them welcome.

Finally we left Tangier to stop at Oporto on the return to England. There we also had to check out the new berth arrangements for the side ramp and that meant another few days extra alongside. As Angie said after we were nearing England again.

“It’s been like an ocean cruise darling.”

“It was a cruise for you love.” I riposted. “What with you being the captain’s guest and all the pampering you could wish for. The crew, Supan and I have been working like Trojans.”

“Yes. You did seem a bit stressed out at times.”

“Stressed out!” I mumbled distractedly to myself, “Stressed Out!”

Finally we arrived in Poole and I was secretly glad to hand the ships’ command back to Jesse, I was getting too old to play captains.

Two months later Angie came to me full of coquettish smiles.

“That sea air must have done you some good.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I’ve missed two periods!”

“What!”

“I’m pregnant. I went to see the doctor this morning.”

“Oh my God!!!”

“Are you pleased or shocked?”

“Both! Are you going to keep it?”

“Of course I’m going to keep it. It’s our baby!”

“We’d better make it legitimate then.”

“Oh you put it so romantically! What happened to the bended knee and the ring and the bouquet of roses and stuff?”
I smiled bashfully and kissed her eagerly.

“Do you want me to propose now or shall I get the ring?”

Angie smiled then hugged me as she reciprocated the passion of my kiss.

“Come on; let’s tell Jenny and Bea that they’re going to have a brother or sister.”

“Haven’t you checked?”

“It’s too early to tell just yet and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

That very afternoon we drove over to the school to tell all four girls the good news. As a special treat, they were allowed to go out with us that evening during term time to have a celebratory supper. Everybody at Rosy cottage and the Turpin homestead was hugely happy and the evening quickly turned into organising the wedding. With no ‘mothers of the brides’ to have to please, Angie and I had ‘carte’ blanche’ freedom to choose our gowns.

Yes. I said gowns!

This was obviously bound to be no ordinary wedding.

I had lived now as a woman for upwards of three to four years and I had decided to change my name by deed poll to Beverly Taff from my male name. Fortunately, for me, my favourite name Beverly was also a boys’ name in Britain so nobody could raise any objections to it when I married Angela as Beverly. It was not to be just a civil partnership but a full blown marriage. I was after all still legally a man and I had the equipment to prove it.

We organised the wedding for the Christmas school holidays so that Jenny, Beatrice, Chenille, Martina, Maha, Sylvias’ nieces and Chrissie could all be brides’ maids. It’s a unique thing a transgendered wedding for both brides can indulge their wildest delights. We jointly visited the bridal shops and rather shocked several stuffy old maids in Bournemouth when they learned that we were legally entitled to actually get married. Finally we found a young seamstress who was just starting up her business and who had not expressed disapproval. She had the delight of creating two matching bridal gowns plus the brides’ maids’ dresses and Chrissies’ gown. Our fittings proved to be a scream as all sorts of superstitions bit the dust.

For example would the groomess be allowed to see the brides’ gown when both of them wore matching ensembles? Did we both have to wear something old and something blue? I was certainly pretty old.

Was the ‘groomess‘(lion, - lioness, keep up!) to have a best man or a best lady to give him/her away. Yes many traditions were broken and plenty of precedents set. A fabulous month was had by all as we re-wrote the marriage ‘rule book’.
Eventually the day was set in the early part of January just after the festivities of Christmas and New Year. Mac gave me away while Billy gave away Angie.

Our marriage certificate was signed and witnessed by an imam and a judge no less (Yusaf and Elizabeth.), and the festivities continued at Rosy cottage for a full two days. Eventually, Angie and I got away on our honeymoon while Margaret and Sian cleared up the remains of the feast. Yes, though I say it myself, it was a fabulous affair!

Several months later, Angie gave me a baby daughter Patricia and her half sisters were utterly besotted with her. In truth everybody at Rosy Cottage was besotted with her. Further wonderful news followed when a couple of months after Patricia’s appearance, Sylvia quietly told me that her visits to the sperm bank had been successful. She was carrying Chrissies babies; twins, one of each.

“My God girl! You don’t hang about do you?”

“I want to get the deal over with while my body’s still young.”

“Like you’re what, twenty two!”

“Uuhhm, twenty three.”

“Do you ever want children of your own?”

“I have. I’ve got David and these two.”

“Well, yes, but they’ll be living on the Turpin place. I mean your own babies; babies to have and to hold, all the time.”

“Uugh! Steady on Auntie Bev.” It’s much nicer just to have them when you want them and then hand them back. Besides,
they’ll be up here often enough when they’re old enough. I’ll be able to enjoy them on my own terms. I’m not the best mothering material. I found breast feeding Baby David wasn’t all I thought it was going to be. Anyway, you’ve seen Chrissie with David; was there anything more natural. It’s like Jane says, Madonna and child.”

I had to confess, every time I had seen Chrissie with David in her arms there was a beatific light in her eyes and a smile of fulfilment that only a Rubens or Leonardo could have done justice to. Chrissie loved Billy deeply and therefore loved his child equally deeply. Sylvia and I decided to keep her pregnancy a secret until it began to show. The idea was to let Chrissie bond fully with David in case she became too enamoured of her own children growing in Sylvias’ fertile womb. I had myself finally deduced that Sylvia was extremely fond of young people but she deemed babies to be a bit of a bore. Once a child could express feelings and react intelligently to adult stimulus like riding lessons, Sylvia was far more enamoured of the youngster than the infant.

Apart from me, it was Jane who next realised that Sylvia was pregnant. One day as Jane arrived in the yard she saw Sylvia bending down to pick up a saddle she had dropped accidentally and Sylvia grimaced as the ‘lumps’ filled her ‘belly’. Jane immediately recognised the familiar signs and crossed over to where Sylvia was struggling.

“Here, let me get it.”

“No. I’m okay,” Sylvia grunted as she made another effort to bend down and pick it up.

“Don’t be stupid girl,” Jane spoke softly, “do you think I can’t recognise a full belly when I see one?”

“Dammit! Is it that obvious?”

“Only to another mother you silly girl. Now let me get it before you give yourself a miscarriage!”

Reluctantly, Sylvia stood up massaged her back and nodded gratefully. She explained why she had kept it a secret and Jane smiled.

“That’s very thoughtful of you darling but not to the point of risking your life and the babies. Now; go and sit down in Bev’s kitchen. No more heavy lifting for you, you silly goose."

Sylvia smiled gratefully.

“Thank you so much. Are you sure you’ll be happy for Billy to adopt these babies even though they are technically Chrissies’?”
Jane gasped.

“Oh gosh, Sylvia, Sylvia! Is that’s what been bothering you. I shall love the new children. And they’re twins no less; one of each; joy oh joy! I love Chrissie like a blood daughter and she’s absolutely wonderful with Baby David. I could not ask for a better daughter in law.”

Jane stepped forward and gave Sylvia a tight hug that made Sylvia gasp slightly.

“I suppose I’d better let everybody know. It’s time now, I’ll be showing soon.”

“Yes, that’s wise. People will attend to you properly then and that big blind oaf Andrew will treat you properly. Letting a pregnant girl carry saddles around indeed!”

“He didn’t know Jane.”

“Well he should have done. He’s a social worker for heaven’s sake. He should spot a woman with child almost as soon as.”

Jane smiled as she said this and motioned Sylvia with her hand towards my cottage door while she hefted the saddle onto her hip and marched into the tack room. There she met Andrew sorting through the various sets of tack.

“Here! You big oaf! Are you blind or something?”

Andrew looked up from the table where he was working on a set of reins.

“What? What have I done now?”

“Couldn’t you see?”

“See what.”

“Sylvia you fool. You’d better pop over to the cottage and listen to what she has to say.”

Andrew hesitated for the tack was needed later that very morning. Jane frowned impatiently.

“I said now stupid. I’ll finish this. I’ve been a farmers’ wife and a horse-woman all my life, I can sort out this little lot. It’s not bloody rocket science!”

So saying she snatched the leatherwork out of Andrews’ hands and propelled him out of the door with the words ‘The cottage! Now!’ ringing across the yard.

Andrew shrugged uncomprehendingly and strode over to my door.There the mood was already acquiring party proportions as Sylvia sat by the Aga while everybody danced attendance and congratulated her. Soon Chrissie arrived from the farm with Jane’s husband Harry. Chrissie literally flew across the yard squealing with excitement as Harry followed more sedately with his grandson David holding his hand and toddling. By now my kitchen was full as Chrissie knelt to feel Sylvia’s tummy.

“And it’s twins you say?”

Sylvia nodded contentedly and replied. “Invitrio but they are my eggs and it was your sperm darling. There’s one of each growing in there; (she patted her ‘bumps’) the specialist implanted four of them with my agreement and two took. Call me a breeder.”

Chrissies’ smile beamed with contentment. She now had two children she could definitely call her own. Okay, maybe they were not of her womb but they were ‘of her’, ‘of her blood’. They were two precious beings who might one day help towards reconciliation with her mum. What was even nicer was that Sylvia and Billy were equally keen for Chrissie to reconcile with her mum; everybody had seen the perfect development with Sylvia and her family. Developments that had left Baby David with cousins aplenty.

Chrissie started to fill up with emotion as her head ran wild with ideas. Eventually she knelt at Sylvia’s feet and kissed ‘the bumps’. A magic atmosphere settled on the kitchen as everybody savoured the silent moment. The best remark however was left to Andrew.

“Children born around here must be some of the luckiest children in the world.”

“Here, here,” I added and then I turned away tearfully as long memories of my past fears and tribulations fought their way to the surface.

“God!’ I thought, ‘Had I once actually believed that Rosy cottage was going to be my silent, secret, lonely hide-away? A place where I could hide away with my ‘problem’ and where nobody could hurt me.’

I managed to escape into the orchard and find refuge in one of the new garden seats under one of the new fruit trees that we had planted each time a newborn baby was born or when an older child had been adopted into our happy throng.

“What’s wrong with Mummy?” Asked Chrissie.

“Oh she’s okay,” whispered Andrew softly who had noticed my tears as I brushed past him. “She’s just a bit emotional right now. Let her have a few minutes then take her a cup of tea.”

Chrissie joined me later bearing a tray of tea and some biscuits.

“I see you’re sitting under my tree mummy, thank you.”

I looked up at the peach tree and smiled. It was one of the larger new trees because we had bought it half grown just like Chrissie. Mr Turpin had come up with his J.C.B., to do the planting honours. The smaller, younger trees were too small to shade a seat just yet. Chrissie settled beside me and pushed up to me.

“Andrew’s right about us kids; we’re dead lucky around here.”

I slipped my arm around her shoulder and hugged her to me. For a kid that had come the distance she had, Chrissie was one of my good achievements. I whispered to her.

“Thanks for that Chrissie. Thanks! I like to think of you as one of my successes.”

“Mummy, you’re not being fair to us kids or yourself. We are all successes! I don’t see any failures.”

I burst into tears again. Chrissie was a fabulous kid!

Later that afternoon Angie returned from the ante-natal clinic and shared the good news that our baby was fine, then we shared Sylvia’s good news. More tears of joy ensued. I’m afraid poor Andrew was left on his own to manage the trekking party. Once he and the children were out trekking the Dumplin, even Sian had joined the party. Naturally the news spread like wildfire amongst our friends and that weekend another huge spontaneous party took off as our friends came from all over.

A few months later, Angie gave me a child then a few months after that Sylvia bore her twins. The midwife and the paediatrician were slightly taken aback to learn that the pretty girl attending Sylvia’s delivery was in fact the biological father of the twins. After delivering the twins, Sylvia slept for nearly half a day and Chrissie stayed around to care for the twins. Chrissie had already been taking lactation hormones so by now she was in milk. (Sounds like a dairy farm that; doesn’t it?)
As she attended the twins in the private suite Chrissie had a delightful time chatting about her life to a very sympathetic doctor.

“I don’t wish to sound ‘in your face’ doctor” Chrissie observed as her daughter still suckled at her breast, “but you seem particularly un-phased by our parenting arrangements. I take it you’ve got no qualms about it.”

“Well young lady.” The doctor smiled shyly. “Should I call you young lady?”

“Chrissie will do doctor, that’s my name.”

“Thank you Chrissie. Well the truth is I’ve got a sort of confession to make. I’m secretly a little envious of you.”

“Envious of me! What, the transsexual who was thrown out of the family. The transsexual who was nearly beaten to death. The transsexual who nearly ended up on the streets! Oh come on doctor, I find this hard to believe!”

“But since then, since meeting with that Beverly lady, you must say you’re life improved enormously.”

“That Beverly lady? D’you mean my mum. What d’you know of Mummy?”

“Is that what you call her; your mummy?”

“Yes. She’s the best mother I ever had. The only woman who has treated me like mother should. The only woman who really seemed to understand.”

“Yes indeed. She’s getting a reputation for her philanthropy.”

“What! Mummy! A philanthropist; never! More like a misanthropist.”

“Why d’you say that?”

“She’s not got a lot of time for men, at least not until they’ve proven themselves to her.”

“That’s not Misanthropy Chrissie, that’s just womanly common sense.”

“Whatever; but yes, you’re right, I’ve got a lot to thank her for. Anyway, how do you know her doctor? She doesn’t much put herself about these days, leastways not in Poole or Bournemouth. She does precious little clubbing these days and what little there is, is done up in London, anonymity and all that.

“Does she still go clubbing!!? What!! At her age!”

“Hey she’s only in her late fifties and she’s a game old bird.”

“Nicely put Chrissie. I rarely hear people your age speak of their mothers like that. You must love her.”

“Of course I love her. So who told you about my mummy Bev?”

“The owner of the hotel where I’m staying. A tee-girl called Sissy.”

“What! Mummy’s friend Sissy! Crickey! Are you staying at Sissy’s hotel?”

“Yes I am.” The doctor replied softly. “Until I get my living arrangements sorted. I’m new here.”

Chrissie blinked uncertainly.

“But that’s the gay and tran, - the tranny club! Don’t you mind trannies then? Don’t you mind us trans people? “

Chrissie met the doctors’ telling gaze then she grinned. The doctor smiled self consciously then nodded his head softly. Having established for certain that Chrissie was a very successful post-op transsexual and also sympathetic to the whole of transgendered society, the doctor glanced up and down the corridor nervously and then confessed that he was transvestite.

“Oh my gosh!” Chrissie giggled. “They say there’s a lot of it about! Well there is at Rosy cottage.”

“There is indeed,” the doctor agreed, “your friend Sissy has told me all about Miss Beverly. She’s a remarkable woman.”

“You don’t have to tell me doc;” Chrissie replied, “she’s my mum!”

“I’d so love to meet her.”

“If you stay here tomorrow, you will. She’s bound to be coming sometime tomorrow. In fact I’ll be phoning Rosy Cottage in the morning when Sylvia’s ready to receive visitors. It will be like a fair here tomorrow.”

“Yes. Sylvia’s lucky she’s got a private room.”

“And me, in fact we’ve got the whole suite; all courtesy of Mummy’s largesse.”

“Well I’m here on standby duty for the full weekend, Friday noon to Monday morning. I’m sleeping in that little dormitory behind the red door. When your mum comes, I’d like to be alerted.”

“I’ll do what I can. I might be sleeping as well. It’s been a long day and breast feeding knocks it out of you. I’m just about ready to drop. You’d best tell the nurses as well.”

The young paediatric houseman smiled, yawned and stood up.

“Yee-eess. By the way, did you give the babies your first milk?”

“Yes, you mean the colostrums thingy.”

“That’s the one.”

“And Sylvia did, just before she fell asleep. I’ve fed my babies twice and Sylvia’s fed them once. So both twins have had at least two full doses of colostrums. First milk and all that.”

“Well done, keep up the good work. Now, I’d better get my head down they’ll be bound to call me in the small hours. That’s when the complications always appear.”

“Sylvia’s okay, isn’t she doctor? She seems to be sleeping a lot.”

“She will be, she’s just had twins and they’re a good weight. That will have taken a lot out of her and she had a long delivery. She’ll be okay after a good sleep tonight.”

Chrissie thanked him for his reassurances and fell asleep with her babies beside her. Later in the night their cries disturbed her and she sighed contentedly as she put them to her breasts. Sylvia and Chrissie had arranged to later share the feeding until the small hours feeds were over and the babies slept for most of the night. For that first night however, Chrissie was delighted to have the babies wholly to herself as she indulged her feelings and emotions in the most female delight available to her, namely breast feeding her own children. If she couldn’t actually have children, then feeding them from her own body was the next best thing and almost equally rewarding.

Extended ‘families’ were a boon in some circumstances; especially, compassionate, sympathetic transgendered families.
The following morning Sylvia appeared in Chrissies’ room very early. Her breasts demanded to be emptied and Sylvia had come looking for the best method, namely feeding her twins. As they sat opposite each other, they fell to chatting and giggling whilst sharing a twin each. When each twin made it abundantly obvious that they were finished, the two ‘girls’ had to express their milk to ease the tension in their breasts. When the ward sister found out she scolded them gently.

“That’s good milk you’ve got in those breasts girls and there’s babies here that could use it. Next time use these after you’ve fed your own and sterilised your breasts.”

She handed both nursing mothers a large box of sterile wipes and two breast pumps while Sylvia grinned at Chrissie.

“You realise we’ve just been relegated to the status of dairy cows.”

“Moo,” giggled Chrissie as she inspected the pumps.

The sister also smiled then explained and demonstrated how to use the pumps.

“There are some mothers less fortunate than you two. It takes time sometimes to produce the milk and they may be nervous or frustrated. This stuff saves us a lot of work because we don’t have to prepare it.”

“So what happens after we leave here?” Sylvia asked.

“That’s up to you two. Would you be prepared to deliver your surplus to our breast-milk bank?”

“How would we do that?”

“You can save each days’ excess milk then bring it in each morning before nine. Keep the milk in the fridge until you can bring it down. It’s best not to keep it more than 24 hours, in fact we won’t accept it if it’s over 24 hours old. We run the milk bank here at the maternity block.

“Before nine!” Chrissie gasped. “That means we’d have to be up and finished with our own twins before seven!”

“You will be, rest assured. Nursing mothers don’t get much of a lie in.”

“Lesson one,” Sylvia giggled, “Look at the clock! It’s not yet even eight o’clock yet.”

“Blimey, early to bed an’ all that,” grinned Chrissie as she sniffed suspiciously.

“Oh — oh. Changing time.”

Chrissie had already done a couple of nappy changes but it was Sylvias’ first with the new twins. They chuckled as they inspected the product in the nappy and decided that things were okay. By the time the twins were ‘presentable’ the first visitors arrived and soon after, the private suite was full with family coming to check the new arrivals. During one brief moment as everybody left to get morning coffee, Chrissie turned to Sylvia.

“They remind me of elephants on the Serengeti when the cow introduces the newborn to the herd. Everyone comes to pay respects and check the babys’ credentials. I’m surprised they don’t sniff the kids to check they’ve got the right scent.”

“Like lions,” grinned Sylvia, “hush they’re coming back!”

The ‘herd’ returned and resumed filial celebrations that continued until the next feeding when the sister intervened.

“Come on! Everybody out while they feed, the babies need to be settled for feeding.”

“Yeah; and the mums,” Sylvia added.

The sister turned and grinned with amusement.

“You don’t have to accept so many visitors you know.”

“Oh that’s not many sister,” added Chrissie, “when we get home there’ll be literally dozen’s coming to visit. It’ll be a sort of clan thing.”

“Yes, the young paediatrician was telling me you live on a sort of commune.”

Chrissie and Sylvia exchanged amused looks.

“Is that what they call it? Bunch of hippies are we now?” By the way, has the doctor been alerted to Miss Beverly’s arrival?”

The sister’s smile faded as she gasped.

“Dammit! I forgot. He had a couple of five o’clock deliveries while you were sleeping. I let him lie in.”

“Tell him she’s in the restaurant. Probably drinking coffee if I know my mum.”

The sister took the bedside phone and dialled the doctor’s bedroom. After passing the message she helped Chrissie and Sylvia organise the first ‘milking session’ and they grinned as both girls watched the milk spurting from their nipples.

“Crikey this really is like a bloody dairy farm, isn’t it?”

“You’ll get used to it. You’ve got good flows though.” The sister observed.

“Yeah, like a pair of bloody Holsteins aren’t we?”

“We’ll be growing flippin’ horns next,” Sylvia chuckled.

They settled down to wait out the milking and then compared production figures at the end of the session. Chrissie chuckled as she noted that she had produced more but they had no idea how much the twins had drawn off first so there was no cause for a sense of competition.

“Anyway,” sighed Chrissie, “I’d be no good in the breeding herd would I.”

“No, but the sperm that’s left in the sperm bank might be of some use to the Artificial insemination centre.”

“Yeah, isn’t that just the weirdest? Look out here come the rest of the herd.”

We in the herd trooped into the maternity suite and Chrissie immediately asked me why the doctor was so interested in our set up at Rosy cottage. I told her that he wanted to introduce his new girlfriend to the idea of transgendered living.
Chrissie shrugged and then grinned.

“Crickey mummy, haven’t we come the longest of ways. I’d completely forgotten that many people still see us transgendered people as some sort of threat.”

“Yes darling but you have been living in a sort of splendid isolation up at Rosy Cottage.”

Chrissie considered this and frowned. It was partly true. She asked again.

“Surely they should show more tolerance in his profession, after all aren’t they supposed to be at the forefront of thinking aren’t they?”

“You’d be surprised Chrissie. He was telling me that several of his colleagues had expressed transphobic views in private and he felt bound therefore to keep his own life-style a secret. Mind you he’s very vulnerable as a paediatrician. The tranny thing leaves us open to alot of accusations. Remember the problems I had when I first came out, did Auntie Elizabeth ever tell you of the issues in the family courts?”

“No but Auntie Sandie did.”

“Well there you are. He’s coming up to the cottage on his next weekend off when his girlfriend comes down from Scotland. You and Sylvia should be home by then so the doctors’ girlfriend will be able to learn how Rosy Cottage works.”

“Oh. Best behaviour then is it?”

“Very best darling!” I emphasised forcefully.

The following morning Chrissie and Sylvia were discharged and amidst much excitement, I brought them back to Rosy Cottage. Chrissie and Sylvia had already sorted their arrangements for sharing and harvesting their excess milk for the milk bank. It only remained to fix up the delivery rota to the Maternity block every morning. At sixteen, Chrissie had bought a motor scooter to give her some freedom and she offered to do the milk deliveries every morning. This gave Sylvia time to contribute to the running of the trekking centre and the arrangement worked well until a couple of months later, Chrissie unexpectedly met her ex mother going into the Gynaecological unit as she was entering the Maternity block with the mornings’ delivery of milk.