Antonette's Story A novel by Bronwen Welsh Copyright 2020

Author's note: Being aware of my work on her friend and mentor Dame Harriet Staunton's memoirs, in which, with permission, she makes occasional appearances, Antonette Burton, who you may be more familiar with by her stage name Antonette du Pré, asked me if I would be willing to edit her own memoirs. This I was happy to do, and after reading the manuscript, I asked for a couple of meetings in order to clarify some of the details in the text. I should emphasise that the words you are about to read are Ms Burton's own. My contribution was merely to clarify some points and make an occasional spelling correction.
B.W. 2020

Chapter 1   Early days

I was born Anthony Burton on 5th November 1986, the youngest of four children, to Louise and Robert (Bob) Burton. My elder sisters are, in order of birth, Jeanette and the twins Celine and Justine. When the doctor or midwife held me up to show Mummy he said 'You have a little boy'. Doctors are smart people, but he didn't know how wrong he was on this occasion.

I'm sure Mummy began to suspect from an early age, that her son wasn't quite like other boys. She recently told me of a time when I was about six years old and she took me with her to visit a friend of hers who had a daughter, Marjorie, the same age as me. The two women suggested that Marjorie and I play together while they had a cup of tea and a chat. About an hour later they noticed that things were very quiet and went to see what we were doing. We were sitting on the floor in Marjorie's bedroom engrossed in playing with her dolls' house and her dollies. However, it wasn't the 'Mummies and Daddies' play that they expected; I was wearing one of Marjorie's dresses and we were playing two mummies with their children. Mummy says she felt very embarrassed so we went home shortly afterwards and I never got to meet Marjorie again, at least not until many years later.

On another occasion, being quite naïve, I asked Mummy why boys couldn't wear pretty dresses as girls did. Her reply was just that girls wore dresses and boys wore trousers.

“But girls also wear jeans and trousers and you do yourself sometimes; it doesn't seem fair,” I said.

“Maybe it's not, but that's just the way things are,” she replied. “I wouldn't go saying those things to other people.”

“Why not?” I asked, and her reply was that people might think I was strange to want to wear dresses and they would laugh at me. I didn't want that to happen, so I took her advice and kept quiet.

I was sent to St Michael's boys' school, perhaps with my parents' feeling that it would 'toughen me up'. I was quite a good student, intelligent and industrious. The one thing I hated was team sports because I was no good at them. When teams were chosen I was automatically the last one picked because neither side wanted me. When playing football, I did my best to keep out of the way of the ball, and if I couldn't avoid it, then I just kicked it away, I didn't care where.

When playing cricket, I was always the last one to bat, with the sure knowledge that I wouldn't last long. To this day I remember one match; my team needed three runs to win when I reluctantly walked out to the crease, and they had resigned themselves to losing. My batting technique was to make a wild swing at the ball, and in most cases fail to connect. The opposing team's fast bowler knew my reputation and with a grin, geared himself up to bowl his fastest short ball with the intention of 'softening me up'..

The first ball whistled past my ear as I struck out blindly, just to fend the missile away and missing it completely. I was shaking as the bowler started his long run-up to bowl the next ball. The fielders were grinning, expecting him to shatter my middle stump. It was another bouncer and again I waved the bat frantically to fend off the projectile. Somehow bat and ball connected and thanks to the speed at which it was travelling, it flew straight to the boundary for four runs and we had won the match! I was actually given an ill-deserved standing ovation as I walked off the ground.

There was, however, one sport, tennis which I played with Daddy and which I was quite good at, and also one in which I excelled, and that was gymnastics. I had watched my sisters from a young age and copied their gymnastic routines, and if I may say so without boasting, in some respects I think I surpassed them even at an early age. Thanks to my skinny but strong body, my short stature, and my unusual flexibility; while some students struggled to touch their toes without bending their knees, I could put my palms on the ground.

The Physical Education teacher, who took private mixed classes after hours, discovered that I was able to master skills which are normally only performed by girls or young women. The school started entering me in interschool gymnastics competitions at a young age, and soon I was starting to win my section. I remember one day being in a changing room stall when two of the teachers from another school entered and I realised they were talking about me.

“That kid from St Mick's is amazing. He's doing things that normally only the girls can do.”

“Has anyone checked to make sure he's not a girl?” said the other, and they both laughed. I could feel myself blushing but at the same time, I was rather pleased to think that they weren't sure what I really was.

By this time I was convinced that I should have been born a girl and that nature had played a cruel trick on me, but what could I do about it? You must remember that although the internet was founded in 1983, computers were not the ubiquitous household objects they are today; I had no access to one, and certainly no idea how to search the World Wide Web. As far as I was concerned, I was the only boy who felt the way I did.

My older sister Jeanette was and still is, very feminine. When she was young, some people, including her twin sisters, called her a 'girly' girl in a rather disparaging way. I think she took it as a compliment, and why not; isn't that what young women are supposed to be? She loved wearing pretty dresses and it was rare to see her wearing trousers rather than a skirt.

It's amazing how some things stick in your mind many years after they occurred. I still remember an occasion when I was thirteen or fourteen, when I just happened to be passing the foot of the stairs and looked up to see her descending in an electric blue silk dress, beautifully made up, and with a wonderful hairstyle, ready to go out on a date. From my viewpoint, I could see the French lace on the hem of the slip she was wearing under the dress, her matching blue heels, and almost the welts of her sheer stockings. Seeing me she paused on the landing for a moment and struck a pose.

“What do you think, Anthony; will Paul be impressed?”

“I think you'll knock him cold,” I replied and she smiled.

“I'd rather he was wide awake,” she said and I found myself blushing and not really knowing why.

My other two sisters, Celine and Justine, couldn't have been more different. They only wore dresses under protest, and then only for a special occasion. Otherwise, it was jeans, trousers or jeggings, with plain tops, and never any makeup. I couldn't help thinking that being girls was wasted on them and how I would change places with one of them in a heartbeat.

That said, we were a happy family and generally got on well together.

It was some weeks after the stairs incident that Jeanette knocked on my door (my room was next to hers) and said she'd like to ask my advice. She said she was going out for the first time to the cinema with a new boyfriend. I should explain that she was very pretty and young men almost formed a queue to take her out.

“I can't decide what to wear,” she said. “Perhaps you could help me?”

I had no idea what help I could give but I followed her into her room. Lying on the bed were two of the most beautiful dresses I had ever seen. How could I possibly choose one over the other? I stared at them, my hands itching to touch the soft silky material, but I knew that I mustn't, so I assumed a thoughtful air and finally said: “Well if I were you, (if only!) I think I'd pick this one,” and I pointed to one of the dresses.

“Really?” she responded. “That's exactly what I was thinking. You really have an eye for fashion, Anthony. Perhaps you could become a couturier when you grow up?”

“A which?” I responded, never having heard the word before.

“A top fashion designer,” she responded. “Most of them are men.”

“I didn't know that. Why do you think that is?”

“I really don't know, but they seem to know what clothes suit a woman's figure,” she responded.

A day later she told me that Tim had loved the dress and was very impressed when Jeanette told him her brother had selected it for her. I felt a bit embarrassed. What must he think about a boy selecting the dress his sister should wear?

It was a couple of weeks later that things were taken to another level. I had arrived home from school at around four-thirty as usual and was surprised to see Jeanette there.

“I haven't felt too well today, so I didn't go to work,” she said by way of explanation. Looking back I suspect it was 'that time of the month'.

I went up to my room and was about to start on my homework to get it out of the way when there was a soft knock on my door.

“Anthony, I wonder if there's a chance you could do me a great favour?” asked Jeanette.

“Of course, if I can,” I replied. I loved all my sisters, but I confess that Jeanette was my favourite for obvious reasons.

I followed her into her room and there, lying on the bed was a beautiful silk dress in cherry red.

"I've just bought this dress. It's gorgeous I know, but I want to shorten the hemline slightly. I can't really do that with it lying on a flat surface. It's no good me asking my sisters, even if they were here, they'd just give me a flat 'no', so I was wondering if as a great favour you'd mind putting it on while I make the adjustments?”

I was shocked and thrilled in equal measure but felt I must show some reticence for form's sake.

“Well, umm, I, err....” I started off.

Her face fell. “I know it's a big thing to ask; if you really don't want to....”

I didn't hesitate a moment longer. “Well, if it would really help you, and as long as nobody else sees me or knows about it....”

“Nobody else will be home for over an hour and if we get started now, I'm bound to be finished in time.”

So that was how I got to wear a dress for the first time. Jeanette said I would have to strip down to my underpants, which I did, and then just before helping me into the dress, she said that in order for it to hang properly, I need to wear a slip under it. She went to one of her lingerie drawers and took out the most beautiful slip. I wondered if it was the one she was wearing when I saw her on the stairs. It was white and made of silk, with generous French lace trim around the bust and hem. She slipped it over my head and let it fall around my body.

The sensual feel of the silk on my skin almost made me shiver with delight. I tried not to let Jeanette see the effect it was having on me, but in retrospect, I doubt that I succeeded. Next, she lifted up the dress and in turn let it flow over my body. I was in seventh heaven but trying to look unfussed. Jeanette looked at the dress and frowned.

“It's not hanging properly,” she said, then. “Oh, of course, it's because you don't have a bust. Would you mind wearing a bra? I can fill out the cups with rolled-up tights.”

By now I was in so deep I could hardly refuse, so Jeanette unzipped the dress and slipped down the shoulder straps of the slip. Then she attached a bra around my chest and filled the cups with tights, then pulled up the slip and the dress and zipped it up once more. Now she was satisfied and got to work with pins, adjusting the hem to the length she wanted, stepping back to critically view the effect.

When she had finished she had one more idea.

“I'll be wearing the dress with five or six-inch heels of course. I don't suppose you've ever worn heels, Anthony?”

Despite the fact I had never actually worn heels, I found myself turning puce.

“No, of course, you haven't, silly me,” said Jeanette. She looked at my feet. “I think our shoe size is about the same. Would you mind just trying on some heels so that I can make sure I've adjusted the hem correctly? I'll hold you to make sure you don't fall over.”

She was right, after first getting me to remove my socks, and slipping short calf-length stockings on my feet, she held my hands as I gingerly stepped into shoes with five-inch heels. It was just as well she was holding onto me as I might have fallen over. Then when she was sure I had regained my balance, she let go of my hands and told me not to move. A final check showed that she had correctly adjusted the hem of the dress, and I eased my feet out of the heels while holding onto her hands. It felt like stepping off a ladder.

Glancing at her watch, she said that the girls would be home soon, so I had better take off her clothes. I did not dare show it but I was actually reluctant to do so. For a glorious forty minutes or so I was almost completely dressed as a girl for the very first time, and I loved it. As I put my own clothes on again, Jeanette thanked me for helping her out and without thinking, I said “Any time, sis”. The truth was I would love to have done it again, but the opportunity didn't arise. When I saw Jeanette wearing the dress, I felt ridiculously proud of my part in helping her adjust the hem.

Now that I was considered old enough to be trusted with a house key, Mummy had gone back to work. She was a very efficient secretary, she could even do shorthand, and she secured a position with Sir Edgar Blakely, an impresario, which Mummy explained meant that he organised and financed plays, concerts, and operas. It sounded very glamorous but Mummy said it was quite hard work. There were side benefits though as she was occasionally given theatre tickets.

Although I didn't have an opportunity to put on a dress again, from time to time, I would go into Jeanette's room and open her wardrobe to look at the wonderful collection of dresses it contained. I would reach out and tentatively run my fingers gently over the soft silky materials from which they were made, and imagined myself wearing a gorgeous dress to a theatre Opening Night or some other glamorous occasion.

Greatly daring, I looked in her lingerie drawers which were full of silk, satin and lacy garments. and remembered again that all too brief time that I wore one of her slips and bras. Lastly, I looked at the various items of makeup that sat on her dressing table. Apart from lipsticks, of which she had many, I had little idea what the other items were used for.

Just a few months after that, Jeanette announced that she was moving into a share house with three other girls her own age, who were all secretaries at the same business. I was devastated, although I didn't dare show it. That night I cried myself to sleep, muffling my sobs in my pillow. Thank goodness nobody heard me.

The day arrived when Jeanette was departing. One of the girls with whom she was sharing had a boyfriend with a car and they came around on a Saturday morning to take all her belongings. One of the girls loaned Jeanette a large suitcase since she had so many clothes to take, and when the car was loaded, I was surprised that the suspension coped with the extra weight.

Before she left, Jeanette said something to me that I thought a bit strange at the time.

“I hated Shakespeare at schoo,l Anthony, but when we had to study 'Hamlet', one phrase stuck in my mind 'To thine own self be true'. Remember that.”

When she left, she looked at my sad face and said: “I'll see you often, Anthony, it's not like I'm moving to Australia.” Then she kissed me on the cheek and was gone.

I really missed Jeanette and the Monday after she left, arriving home after school, I went into her room which still contained a faint trace of her favourite perfume in the air. I opened the wardrobe where she had hung all those wonderful dresses. I don't know why I did so because it would be empty of course, except it wasn't! Right in the corner hung one of her pretty dresses. My first thought was that she must have forgotten it, but the more I thought about it the more unlikely it seemed.

Then I thought that if she had deliberately left it, maybe she left something else. I opened the top drawer of the dressing table – nothing. Undeterred, I went through all the drawers, one by one, and in the very bottom one, right at the back I found a bra, panties, a full white slip with lace trim, three pairs of tights, rolled up, and also some items of makeup. That clinched it! She had left these things for me! I suddenly remembered her saying 'To thine own self be true'. She must have known about me all along.

I couldn't leave everything there, Mum was sure to find them, so I took them to my room and sat on the bed wondering where was a safe place to hide them. I suddenly had a thought. I had a chest of drawers for my own underwear, socks etc, and the bottom drawer was elevated off the carpet by about six inches. I pulled it out, placed the dress and underwear carefully folded plus the makeup onto the carpet and then slid the drawer over the top of them. Nobody would find them unless they pulled the drawer right out, and why would they do that?

It turned out that I was just in time. When Mum came home from work she had some news. A young actress called Harriet Stow was performing in a play at the Finsbury Park theatre, and needed somewhere to stay for about a month since her home was up in the north of England. Now we had a spare bedroom, Mum had offered it to Harriet, and the following day, she and her mother were coming around to see it.

The next day, when I came home from school, I heard voices upstairs and called out to Mum that I was home.

“Anthony, please come upstairs and meet Mrs Stow and Harriet,” Mum called out. I took the stairs slowly, not wishing to seem too eager. When I saw Harriet, I knew that I blushed scarlet, and who wouldn't? There is definitely something special about actresses. She was a very pretty girl and held out her hand to me, saying “Hello, Anthony, I'm pleased to meet you.”

“Y-you too Harriet, and you, Mrs Stow,” I stuttered in my embarrassment.

“Harriet will be staying in Jeanette's old room,” said Mum. “She's going to move in tomorrow.”

“That's a good choice,” I said, and then cursed myself for an idiot. It was the only choice since all the other bedrooms were in use.

Anxious not to make a greater fool of myself, I said “Well, I'd better get started on my homework,” and beat a hasty retreat to my bedroom, wondering what on earth they thought of this gauche schoolboy.

To be continued.

Next time: Sprung!