George was different from the other boys …

 
 
The May Day Dress

By Susan Brown
 

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1

It was past six o'clock when George finished the evening chores around the farm and could finally sit in the farmhouse kitchen. He had waited for his father to come home from the pub but knew that he would wait in vain. His father would come home only when he was thrown out of the Dog and Duck–he would be drunk, again.

Eating his rough bread and cheese, George wondered if he would be able to avoid the inevitable beating.

'Maybe father will be too drunk this time.' he thought hopefully.

After finishing his food and tidying up the kitchen, George decided to go up in the hay loft. But first he washed himself all over, trying to rid himself of the stink of farm animals. Then he washed his hair under the wash pump, shivering slightly as the cold water ran through his long blond hair. He dried his hair with a rough towel and then put on a clean shirt and breeches. His hair was nearly dry by the time he was finished. He had a slight ache in his belly, but he put that down to eating the bread and cheese too quickly. It wasn’t bad enough for him to be put off what he wanted to do.

The hay loft was somewhere his father never went. The loft was over the other side of the yard, and in moments, George was climbing up the ladder and going over to the corner where some tea chests and cases were stored. This was a favourite place for young George, a place where he could live out his fantasies and be his true self.

You see, George had never considered himself to be a boy. He was gentle, caring, and small for his age and had a face more fitting to a girl than a boy. Other boys in the village had always called him names like ‘pansy and girlie-boy’ His father had often threatened him with a hair cut, but this was the one thing that George stood up to his father on; threatening to leave if ever that would happen. Henry may have been a fool, but not that much of one, as he knew that if George left, the farm would go to ruin and revert back to the Manor.

Life had been cruel to George, though he probably didn’t realise it, as he knew none other. His mother had died when he was very young and all he could remember was her pretty smile, lovely hugs and cuddles. One other thing that he remembered was the lovely smell of lavender, and as George lifted the lid off one of the tea chests, he could just smell her sweet fragrance again.

Inside chest were some of his mother’s clothes. Other chests and cases held her adult clothes, but this one contained things that she wore as a child.

Lying on top, wrapped in yellow tissue paper that once had been white, was the dress.

George carefully unwrapped the beautiful dress and shook it out. Mother had worn it last on a May Day many years ago when she was a young girl of thirteen. George was going to be thirteen soon, in fact, on May Day itself!

He went over to the high window and looked out. He didn’t expect to see anyone, as nobody visited any more, but it paid to be careful. All was clear so he hurried back to where the clothes were and swiftly got undressed.

He had no girls’ under-garments and refused to wear boys things under such a pretty dress. It was a matter of moments until that lovely time. He stepped into the dress and pulled it up his body. Once the dress was over his hips, he managed to he put his arm in one sleeve and then pulling the dress further up, he was able to slide his other arm in the other one. The dress had little buttons up the back and George had already done up several before putting on the dress. With a number of contortions, he fastened the remaining buttons with some difficulty, until finally, it was done.

Picking up his mother’s brush, an item which he had found before when exploring the chests, he brushed his now soft, dry hair until all the tangles were out and it felt right. In the chest was the bonnet his mother had worn on that May Day so long ago; he picked it up to place it upon his head. While he was putting it on, he espied a long hair attached at the back somehow.

He had never worn the bonnet, and his heart flipped slightly as he realised that the hair was almost certainly one of his late mother’s. He carefully pulled the hair out, picked up some tissue from the chest and placed the single hair on the paper. Then folding it carefully, he put it aside to take back to his bedroom later. Sniffing slightly, his eyes watering for some reason, he turned back to the bonnet. He placed it on his head, careful not to disrupt his hair, and then did up the long white ribbon beneath his chin. He had no shoes or stockings so he could not complete the picture as he would want, but he was satisfied.

Last time he came up to the hay loft he brought an old long mirror that had been thrown out some time ago. It had been in the corner of the yard and had to be cleaned thoroughly before it was usable. Now it was propped up against a post and George went over and looked at himself.

He smiled at the pretty girl in the looking glass. The dress was still white, almost as white as when it had been new. It went down to his ankles and had pretty, pink narrow ribbons stitched into the hem, cuffs and around the collar. The bonnet was white also with matching ribbon around the crown.

George imagined himself with the girls of the village, dancing round the Maypole, laughing and having so much fun. It was something he dreamed of more than anything. Wearing his mother’s dress brought it a bit nearer to being a reality, but he knew it would never happen. Boys do not wear girls’ dresses and they certainly do not dance around the Maypole!

George decided to have a dance himself, and he went round and around the post where the mirror was. He was one of the girls with a long colourful ribbon in his hand. As he went around the pole with the other girls, the ribbon wrapped itself around the garlanded pole, making such a pretty sight. Everyone in the village was watching and clapping in time to the music. It was wonderful and George was lost in his dream.

After a while he had to stop. He was feeling a bit sick and faint. He thought that he might be coming down with a cold or something because as well as belly ache, he was feeling first hot and then cold.

Reluctantly, he undressed and put the clothes carefully back in the chest. After re-dressing in his rough boys things, he carefully picked up the tissue with his mother’s precious hair and placed it in his breeches pocket.

He descended the ladder and was soon back in the kitchen. Somehow, two hours had passed and it was beginning to get dark. Going up to his sparsely furnished bedroom, he placed the tissue under the mattress where he knew it would be safe and then lay down on the bed.

2

The next day, George sat with his back against the old oak tree in the meadow. The tree had been there for countless generations, and he wondered how many tales it could tell if it was able to speak.

He was tired after getting up before dawn and doing the many chores allotted to him by his father. The farm wasn’t very big, not much more than a smallholding, really, but more than enough from which a boy of twelve and his father to try to eke out a living. It was still early; the hens and the pigs had been fed, and the three cows had just been milked. Then there would be other chores. George would be busy until nightfall.

The boy’s father, Henry, would still be in bed, sleeping off the drunkenness that seemed to be getting worse. At least when his father was asleep, George wasn’t being beaten.

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering once again the previous night. Father had come home roaring drunk, even worse than usual, and had pulled him out of his warm bed. George had been dreaming about dancing around the maypole again, wearing his mother’s lovely dress and bonnet. Then he was rudely dragged from his dream by his drunken father and pushed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Even now, he had no idea why he had been beaten with the strap; there didn’t seem to be a reason needed these days. It was only the fact that Henry had fallen over, that George was able to run into the barn and go up in the hay loft, only coming down two hours later when he knew his father would be asleep.

He shook his head trying to rid himself of the image of his father lying on the kitchen floor where he had been sick and had wet himself whilst asleep.

He was still there in the morning as George gingerly crept past him and went to tend the animals. The sun was warmer now as the sun’s strength began to shine through. He smiled at the fact that he was going to be thirteen in ten days time on the first of May!

Looking back over previous birthdays, George always felt he was lucky that he was born on May Day. It seemed to his young mind that all the celebrations in the village were all to do with his birthday, now older and a little bit wiser, he knew differently, but at least that special day was a day of celebration, and the additional fact that it was his birthday was all the better.

His smile grew as he remembered last year’s May Day. The village was as pretty as a picture, with flowers everywhere. Everyone was dressed in their finest clothes and enjoyed the festivities.

George’s father for once was in a good mood and let him go to the village–after doing all the chores, of course. He did not have anything nice to wear but he wore the cleanest breeches and shirt that he had and made sure that his long hair had been washed and combed so he didn’t look too bad. His father had gone drinking with his cronies at the Dog and Duck all day, coming back blind drunk that night.

But it was not that unpleasant thought of his father’s excesses that George wanted to remember but the fun and games, the parade, good food for all, and the special crowning of the May Queen and the young girls dancing around the Maypole.

George, of course, did not consider himself a normal boy; most boys were playing boys games in the fields if they weren’t forced to watch the more genteel activities of the day. He would not even dream of doing anything else but stay and be a part of the wonderful and magical experience that made May Day so special in his eyes. He loved the parade, the crowning of the May Queen by last year’s queen. He even liked the speech by Lady Carstairs-Fox, who always had a kind word for everyone and was beloved by everyone in the valley.

Lady Carstairs-Fox was the Lady of the Manor and although kind to the people on her farms, she could be strong and tough if needed, and would not hesitate to foreclose if Henry did not keep the farm up to standard. So George kept his lovely long hair and Henry got to stay at the farm.

George loved the dresses that girls were allowed to wear on that special day. Pretty long white dresses and straw bonnets with ribbons. He ached to be one of the girls dancing around the maypole dressed like that. Then he recalled yesterday evening when he was able to wear his mother’s May Day dress and at least feel some of the excitement that May Day brings.

He shook his head sadly; the world saw him as a boy and that was it. He stopped thinking of it as it caused him some pain. Looking up at the sun he could see that it was time to get back. His father expected breakfast on the table at seven.

3

He was a bit stiff as he got up and brushed the leaves from his breeches. Picking up his jug of milk, still slightly warm and his cap with the eggs in, he walked back through the field to the small wooden farmhouse. As he crossed the lane leading up the track to the farm he could hear the clip clop of horses coming closer.

Around the bend came a lady and gentleman on horses. Although wearing a veil, George instantly recognised Lady Carstairs-Fox. With her was her estate manager, Robert Feltham.

Being polite, George stopped and waited for them to pass, the riders stopped by the side of him.

‘Well, young George,’ said Lady Carstairs-Fox,’ you are about early this morning?’

‘Yes, ma’am, I had to feed the animals,’ said George quietly, somewhat overawed by her.

‘And where is your father?’

‘I…I’m not sure, ma’am.’

‘It’s ‘My Lady’, young George.’ said Mister Feltham, but kindly.

‘S…sorry, My Lady.’

‘That’s all right, George. Now I have to see your father, where do you think he might be?’

‘Erm, in bed?’

‘At this hour with you left to do all the work again?’

George thought it wise to keep quiet.

Mister Feltham leaned over on his saddle and whispered something to Lady Carstairs-Fox. George could have sworn he heard ‘good for nothing’.

Mr Feltham looked at George.

‘We really need to see your father urgently. We’ll follow you to the farm house and you can get him up.’

‘C…can I get him to come up to the Manor House instead?’

‘No, it won’t wait,’ said the lady, ‘Look, I have to go with Mister Feltham to the bridge. It may need repairing. We will be twenty minutes; can you make sure that he is ready to see us? He should have known we were coming, a message was sent last night.’

Knowing what his father was doing last night, George could well see why no message was received but he wisely kept his counsel, and just nodded.

The two riders rode on leaving the boy to go up the narrow lane to the farm house. As he walked up, he marvelled at how nice the lady was and lovely she looked in her grey riding habit.

‘It must be wonderful to wear such clothes,’ he sighed, walking past the stables where Seth, the old horse was looking out of his stall, no doubt expecting a sugar lump, but that would have to wait a while.

As George opened the kitchen and walked in, his nose crinkled at the stale smell of sick and urine. He stopped suddenly as he saw that his father hadn’t moved. It was strange, you would have thought that he would have come around by now.

He walked around and knelt down by his father’s head, avoiding the nauseating puddle. Looking at his face, George could see that his father’s lips were slightly blue and his eyes were open. A fly was on his nose and George waved it away.

‘F…Father?’

There was no movement and George’s heart quickened as he realised that there was no sign of breath coming from the prostrate form.

Hesitantly, he touched his father’s face: it was ice cold to touch. With a sharp intake of breath he stood up and almost fell out of the kitchen. He was in a blind panic as to what to do.

‘A doctor–I need to find old Doctor Walker from the village, but it would take too long. Perhaps Father was only asleep, a deep sleep, one where the breathing could not be seen, but then there were his eyes, they were open. If his eyes were open, why did he not move?’

Then he remembered Lady Carstairs-Fox and Mister Feltham, ‘they will come soon, I must run for them, they will help.’

He ran down the farm track and out into the lane–the one thought in his mind was to get help for his father.

4

Lady Carstairs-Fox and Mister Feltham looked at the bridge and decided to get some repairs done before the next rains; the damage was minor but would need to be done soon so that further damage could be avoided. As they came back down the lane they discussed what to do about Henry and the farm.

‘Well, Robert, he owes us six months’ rent now, and I don’t know how much longer we can allow this situation to continue. If nothing is done, the other tenants may consider it a sign of weakness, and even favouritism.’

‘I know M’lady it can’t go on any longer. I feel sorry for the boy.’

‘Yes, George is a nice boy; very quiet and far too pretty for a boy. I fear that he is somewhat bullied by the other boys in the village.’

‘He looks a lot like his mother.’

‘Yes, she was a rare beauty. It was so sad that she was cut down so young. Consumption is a terrible disease. Henry was a fine upstanding man until his wife died. Oh it must have been six years ago now.’

‘Yes, just over she died on Christmas day in the year Eighty-two.’

‘’The same year that my darling daughter died of the same disease–and others in the valley too.’

‘Do you miss her terribly, m’lady, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘I don’t mind you asking Robert. Yes I miss her more than life itself. When my husband fell in South Africa, I thought that my world had ended there and then. He never knew that I was with child. Agnes was born seven months later and she was my link with my darling husband…’

‘Please do not upset yourself, m’lady.’

Wiping her eye with a lace handkerchief, she smiled at her companion.

‘How many times have I said that you must call me Amelia when we are alone?’

‘Sorry M…Amelia, I’ll try to remember.’

They continued their journey back towards Henry’s farm and turned a corner.

‘Whatever is the matter,’ cried Lady Carstairs-Fox as she saw young George running toward them as if the hounds of hell were at his feet.

George nearly fell over and only managed to avoid it by grabbing the reins of Mister Feltham’s horse.

‘Ma’am… Sir, my father, I cannot rouse him,’ gasped George, in tears and close to collapse.

‘Mister Feltham go and see what is the matter.

‘Where is your father, boy?’

‘Kitchen…Sir,’ gasped George, the pain in his belly suddenly swelling up and making him feel sick.

Without another word, Feltham rode off at speed, leaving the lady and the boy to follow behind more slowly.

Lady Carstairs-Fox dismounted and walked alongside the young boy. It was just a matter of moments that George, between catching his breath, was able to convey what had happened. The lady tried to comfort the boy but his mind was obviously elsewhere and he just answered her distractedly.

Within five minutes, they arrived at the farmhouse. Mister Feltham came out of the kitchen he looked pale and drawn.

‘Mr Feltham?’

He looked at her and just shook his head slightly.

‘What sir, is my father all right, can I see him?’

He came over and knelt down beside the boy.

‘I am so sorry, George, your father…your father has died.’

George looked at the kindly face without comprehension and then the enormity of what he had been told sunk in; dead!

He swayed, went pale and then quietly fainted.

5

George could hear talking as he gradually woke up. His eyes were closed and he felt some pain from his groin area. He wondered why this was so but didn’t want to open his eyes as that meant he would have to deal with things. He knew that his father was dead–that was all that mattered. George thought that it was his fault that his father had died. He was a disappointment, not a true strong boy but something else, weak and picked on by other boys. He couldn’t help the fact that he was trapped in the wrong body, not able to utter to anyone his true feelings about himself. He would be ridiculed, taunted and driven away from the only home that he had ever known if his secret had been revealed. His father knew that he was different and tried to beat masculinity into him. It hadn’t worked and his father was now dead.

George felt a soft hand against his forehead and jumped slightly. His eyes opened and there above him was the lovely face of Lady Carstairs-Fox. She was so pretty but had a frown on her face as if she was worried for some reason.

‘So you are awake at last. How do you feel?’

‘Is it true?’

‘Is what true?’

‘My father, i…i…is he dead?’

‘Yes, my dear, he is. I am so sorry, though I know that he was hard on you.’

‘I…I deserved it.’

‘Why, child?’

‘B…because I wasn’t manly enough for him.’

She looked at George with such kindness and compassion, he felt ashamed that he had said what he did, but knew in his heart that she had some inkling as to what the child felt. She knew everyone in the village and surrounding areas, and it was known far and wide that she was a kind and understanding woman who helped others wherever she could.

‘Your father was unable to get over the death of your mother. When she was alive, your father was one of the best men in the valley. He was happy, friendly, barely touched a drop of drink and he doted on you. Then your mother died in the same year as my daughter, when the valley lost many adults and children to consumption. When it happened, something died in your father and he was never the same again. So do not blame yourself, as it was never your fault. I am sure that the fact that you look so much like your mother as a child made things hard for your father to cope. I do not and never would condone the beatings that he gave you …I have seen your back and the scars that you bear and am ashamed that no one, including I, knew how you were treated. No, it was never your fault and do not forget that.’

By this time, tears were running down George’s cheeks. Tears of sadness at the loss of a father who he never really understood, and tears of sadness that he never remembered or knew his mother. He was handed a lace handkerchief; it was perfumed and the smell was lovely.

‘Do you know how long you have lain here?’

‘No ma’am…I mean My Lady.’

‘Ma’am will do just fine for now. You have been here for six days. You have been very ill. You had a fever, such a fever that Doctor Walker and all of us feared for your life. There were things that the good doctor found that he was not happy with. So he sent an urgent message into town for Doctor Lucas to attend. He is one of the best doctors in the country with a practice in Harley Street. He lives in Foxton and we are lucky that he lives but an hour away by fast pony and trap.’

‘Was I so ill?’

‘Very ill and close to death. When the doctor came, he examined you thoroughly and consulted with Doctor Walker. You were taken downstairs and examined on the kitchen table. It was decided that you had to be examined internally.’

‘Internally? I don’t understand.’

‘I am sorry, child, you are young and I sometimes forget…look when the doctor saw you…George, do you know how babies are made?’

George was a bit puzzled at the change of direction but tried to answer her question.

‘Not really, ma’am. One of the village boys did say something but it sounded awful and I didn’t believe him.’

‘Well you do know the difference between boys and girls?’

‘Girls wear dresses and look pretty and then their chest grows. Boys don’t have such big chests but they get hairy and deep voices. Oh and they get bigger and have more muscles than girls.’

‘Well close enough for the time being, but we are going to have to educate you into the finer aspects…but never mind that now. The doctor looked at your erm…penis and scrotum.’

George wondered why the Lady had gone a bright shade of red but he forgot that as she continued after a few moments.

‘H…he was unhappy that you appeared somewhat different to what he expected. Tell me George, have you ever had any pains there?’

She vaguely pointed to George’s groin.

‘Sometimes I have an ache there ma’am, but I put it down to bad meat or something. I have felt a bit hot and faint sometimes, but I don’t always eat properly like a boy should.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sometimes eating makes me feel a bit sick, so I don’t always eat much.’

‘Hmm, well I can see that you are getting tired so I will be brief. Now it may come as a shock to you, so you must be brave. The doctors operated on you and opened your erm groin area. They were somewhat concerned that you had not grown down below as a normal boy should. Doctor Lucas was suspicious of your symptoms, and he remembered having a similar case when he was a surgeon at Guys. When they operated, they saw that beneath your erm, manly parts, there lay some female ones. To be frank, you were never fully male, and you had started to bleed inside as a normal girl would when they grow old enough. Your male parts were diseased and stunted and this was what caused you some pain and discomfort, together with the fact that you have started your menses. Because you were bleeding inside, you were losing blood, and this made you feel sick and faint. All this is a bit confusing, and Doctor Walker will explain far better than I can when you feel up to it. But you must be brave when I tell you that they had to take away your male parts and open up the female ones.’

George understood little of what was being said, ‘what is menses?’ he thought, then it hit him…

‘Does that mean…’

‘Yes, you are a girl and always have been.’

6

It was dark in the room. It was late now and he, or rather, she, was very tired. After hearing the revelations some hours ago, she had fainted, yet again. Still weak from the loss of blood and the operation, it was all too much for the young child to take in. When she woke up from the fainting spell, the Lady was there reading by the soft candlelight over in the corner. As she wakened, she moved slightly and this pulled on her wound, making her moan.

The Lady was by her side instantly.

‘How are you feeling, dear?’

‘Sore, ma’am.’

‘You had us worried for a while, but Doctor Walker said that it was an understandable reaction to everything that has happened. I know you still feel the loss of your father, but time will heal.’

‘I know, ma’am, it isn’t that … well it is I suppose, as I do not know what will become of me now that I am an orphan…’

‘Do not fret on that score. We will discuss that later, but you will have nothing to fear, I promise. Tell me,’ she seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘Are you very sad that you have to live your life as a girl?’

George smiled and shook his head.

‘Why, George–look I cannot call you George, it is wrong, what girl’s name do you prefer?’

‘My father told me once that had I been born a girl, I was to be called Charlotte. Can I be Charlotte?’

‘That is a lovely name. Charlotte it shall be. However, you have not answered my question about living as a girl.’

‘I am very happy as a girl,’ said Charlotte smiling, ‘I have always thought that I was a girl anyway.’

Charlotte explained to the Lady about what she had always felt–that she was a girl and never a boy–and the Lady smiled, because she realised that in a roundabout way, God’s will had been done.

Charlotte was in bed for three more days. She was sore and needed her dressings changed regularly. She was not able to attend her father’s funeral, and was sad that she could not say goodbye. Although a harsh man, he was the only family that Charlotte had, and she promised herself that she would go to the cemetery when she felt well enough to pay her final respects.

Apart from thoughts of her father, Charlotte was quite happy. She was a girl and able to be her real self. Many hours were spent with The Lady, and as she got to know her better, she grew to love the kind generous woman who had taken her under her wing.

Some two days after being brought to the Manor, Lady Carstairs-Fox came into the bedroom.

‘Hello, Charlotte, how are you feeling?’

‘Much better, ma’am.’

‘Are you still sore, down below?’ she waved vaguely towards Charlotte’s legs.

‘A bit, ma’am, but the doctor put some soothing ointment on the sores and I feel a lot better.’

‘That is good.’

The Lady stood up and paced the room. Charlotte looked on, puzzled at why she was doing that.

Coming back to the bedside, Lady Carstairs-Fox sat down and held on to Charlotte’s hand. ‘Charlotte, I have made enquiries and have ascertained that you do not have any known relatives that are still alive. Do you know of any?’

‘No, ma’am; as far as I know I have no one.’

The Lady nodded slightly and then got up, once again pacing the room. Charlotte’s one worry had been was what was going to happen to her when she got better. Her heart quickened at the thought of what the Lady was going to say.

‘Will I have to go and live in a poor house?’ thought Charlotte with alarm.

Lady Carstairs-Fox came back and sat down beside Charlotte again, clutching her hand.

‘Do you like it here?’

‘Yes, ma’am; everyone has been so nice–especially you.’

‘W…would you like to stay here as my ward?’

‘Ward?’

‘Yes, if you wish I would be your guardian, and if things work out and we both feel that it is working well, then I would like to adopt you. How do you feel about that?’

Charlotte plucked at her nightdress as she thought about how to answer this wonderful lady. Looking up, she could see compassion and a tear running from one of her eyes. Charlotte wanted–no ached–to say ‘yes,’ but she had to ask one question. She, like all the people of the valley knew of the losses that Lady Carstairs-Fox had experienced–Charlotte had to know.

‘Ma’am, I’m not just replacing Agnes? I am so sorry to say that, but you …’

Lady Carstairs-Fox touched Charlotte’s soft cheek. ‘No, my love, you will never replace Agnes, she is in heaven with my darling husband looking down on us now and no doubt smiling on us. I would never try to replace Agnes. You are Charlotte, a very special person who I have liked for a long time as a gentle lovely soul, and now have grown to love. Does that answer you?’

‘Yes, ma’am, please may I stay with you?’

They were both crying now, not tears of sadness from all the hurt that they had both suffered but tears of joy that two souls had found each other and could move on to a brighter happier future.

Epilogue

The next day was May Day. It was a fine spring day and all the village and the valley were out in all there finery. There were flowers and garlands everywhere. On the village green, the annual fayre was taking place with cocoanut shies and other festive games were being played by young and old alike. The smell of suckling pig was in the air and the music from the village band played in the background.

At the appointed time, the new May Queen was crowned, and Lady Carstairs-Fox made her annual speech. Sitting beside her was a pretty young girl. The girl was Charlotte. She had a shawl around her shoulders that did nothing to hide the lovely white dress underneath. Her bonnet was tied neatly under her chin, and she looked radiantly happy. She was still too weak to take an active part in the festivities, but just marvelled at the fact that she was able to wear her late mother’s dress and bonnet without having worry about anything. Around her neck was a tiny locket on a thin gold chain. Inside the locket was the single hair that was so special to Charlotte. She could sense her mother’s presence, and her approval of all the happy things now going on in Charlotte’s life, and was content and looking forward to a wonderful life with her new Mama.

Soon, the girls in their pretty white dresses danced around the maypole and as Charlotte looked on, her dainty foot tapping in time with the music, she knew for a fact that she would be dancing with them come next year’s May Day.

The End

Please leave comments...thanks

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.