(aka Bike) Part 1938 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
 |
The next day I was well enough to go back to work where more conference stuff awaited me. Pippa and I sat and did two hours work before withdrawing to a cafe for a bite of lunch. Tom had offered to take us both, then had to dash off to a meeting he’d forgotten to add to his diary.
“So how are the family?” asked Pippa.
I began by saying that Jacquie had shacked up with some girl in Salisbury. She looked surprised, but only because Jacquie hadn’t struck her as that sort. I was tempted to challenge it, then decided against–it would have only achieved bad feeling and we needed to work together for some time to come. I was disappointed however.
“The three mouseketeers are in fine fettle, Danny is playing regularly for the football team in school and is the top scorer in their league. Catherine is teething and tottering.”
“Don’t you mean toddling?”
“No, she falls over as often as she gets anywhere.”
“And Julie?”
“Ah, Julie is desperate for a relationship.”
“Hormones?”
“Possibly, she thought she had someone but it fell through last week, though someone new has just appeared on the horizon so we’re all waiting with bated breath to see what happens next.”
“I don’t think I’d like to be an adolescent again, would you, Cathy?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Were you boy crazy?”
“Me? Nah, just crazy–used to squabble with my parents all the time.”
“About boys?”
“Boys? No about anything–actually often about religion and girls.”
“Girls?” she gasped, “You didn’t have a lezzie phase did you, lots of girls do?”
“No I didn’t.” I waited for the meal to be placed at the table and asked for some salad cream. After it arrived I continued, “Most of the ructions were about me being a girl.”
“Why?” She obviously had some sort of memory deficit.
“They thought I was a boy, remember?”
She blushed, “I forgot, I’m sorry. You seem so natural-you are natural, your parents were wrong.”
“So it would seem.”
“Why couldn’t they see it?”
“We never can when we live with the problem. I know my dad was reconciled to it and I think my mother had an inkling–I mean she taught me how to keep house, to sew and cook, how to choose and make curtains–all sorts of things I wouldn’t have thought were normal boy fare.”
“Perhaps she thought you were gay and might need to know all that.”
“Maybe–she wasn’t too pleased when they made me dress as a girl to do the Macbeth thing.”
“Who made you?”
“The headmaster, who was a nasty bit of work. He persuaded my dad to force me to wear a dress to school while I was playing Lady Macbeth in the school play.”
“You did that recently, didn’t you?”
“I did it at the convent school, a year or two ago.”
“Wow, I saw you–it was good stuff.”
“Thanks, I got good reviews the first time too, and either Murray’s scheme worked or I was naturally feminine, because they refused to believe I was supposed to be a boy. Mind you we had some fun, my friend Siá¢n and I. She encouraged me to camp it up a bit, so instead of wearing the long dresses I had in the play, I borrowed her spare uniform and went as a school girl to school, with painted nails and makeup. Murray nearly had a stroke.”
“What did you do for hair, wear a wig?”
“No, I refused to have my hair cut and it was down below my shoulders. I had to keep it back in a ponytail–they made me wear a bright pink scrunchie to try and embarrass me into getting it cut–but I refused. I found out later that half the sixth form fancied me–mind you, to balance things, the other half wanted to beat me up.”
“What for?”
“I was different–that apparently is cause enough.”
“I’ll never understand boys,” she sighed and I nodded in agreement. We continued eating and she asked, “How long did they make you dress as a girl?”
“For a month, but I also got caught a few times and had to do it again. They also sent me to the girl’s school to do netball on one occasion, but I was rubbish at it.”
“Had you played it before?”
“No.”
“Not surprising then, was it?”
“I suppose not. That was one of the most humiliating things they did to me.”
“I can’t believe they got away with such abuse in a school, if you’d gone to the police they’d have been in all sorts of poo.”
“So would my dad. He, bless him, thought he was doing the best for me. It wasn’t of course–he thought the exposure would make me recant and want to stay as a boy–but I wasn’t one and it just confused me even more.”
“But good practice?”
“In a very limited way.”
“Oh?”
“I wasn’t exactly living as a normal girl, not in Stalag Brissel. The only time I was a normal girl was at weekends, when I went out with Siá¢n for an hour or two. That nearly drove my dad nuts. He thought I’d be glad to get out of the long dresses, and then the school uniform–well I was, except I then put on a skirt or dress and tarted myself up even more. It wasn’t how he’d planned it at all.”
“Weren’t you embarrassed?”
“Of course–at first I was–but he was more so than I. My mother tore him off a strip and pointed out he’d been hoist by his own petard.”
“What does that mean, I mean I know what it means, but what’s a petard?”
“A bomb.”
“A bomb?”
“Yes, they used them to blow the gates of castles and things. The problem was that the guy carrying it was often shot by musket or arrow by the defenders and blown up by his own bomb–it was a very risky occupation. Remember in those days it was all rather crude, no electronic timers then, it was all suck it and see stuff. If the fuse was too short, you didn’t get a second chance.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would. So the hoist bit was being blown up in the air was it?”
“Could be, if there was enough to see stuck up a tree or whatever.”
“Ugghh,” she said shaking her head, “How’s Simon?”
“Yeah, he’s okay.”
“He’s a lovely chap–if ever you get fed up...”
“I thought you had a new man?”
“I do, but he’s no Simon Cameron.”
“No, my Si is a bit of a one off.”
I called for the tab and paid it, then drove us back to work. “This is such a lovely car, Cathy.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is, now I’ve stopped people trying to scratch it or steal it.”
“Goodness, maybe I’ll stick to my Corsa after all.”
“I would, Pippa, these can be a bit thirsty.”
Comments
So, Now we know what a
petard is. Glad she seems to be well. But worried that she will get sick again
May Your Light Forever Shine
Bah, to even imagine
that they ever thought Cathy was a boy. Blind, they were all blind.
... and
I loved the description of Catherine.
Catherine is teething and tottering.â€
“Don’t you mean toddling?â€
“No, she falls over as often as she gets anywhere.â€
Ladies who lunch.
It's always good having time to meet a friend for lunch, (or tea) and have a good old chin-wag. New development for me though and I do so enjoy it.
Good chapter Ange. Persephone was right, it's always difficult making the hum-drum interesting but somehow you do it with flair and panache.
Thanks again.
Bevs.
Ladies taking tea, one of the nicest things about being a woman.
And yet, we still need to find a release for pent up frustrations!
Hear, Hear!!
You said it all, Bev.
Much Love,
Valerie R
Interesting...
Interesting lunch time conversation... Cathy'd better watch out, or some day she'll get a comment "Is there any topic you don't know SOMETHING about?" (I know I got that one... *sighs*)
Thank you,
Annette
For he's
no Simon Cameron, Should that read he's not loaded with cash ? As Pippa knows money and lots of it does have a habit of making life a lot easier , Although having said that, Having someone to love and cherish and care for you is a more than adequate consolation :-)
All Depends
What is her criteria for a suitable mate? As my brother once observed: "It's as easy to fall in love with a rich woman (man) as it is a poor one, and it's a lot more fun!"
"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin