1 Novel Chapter 9

The next morning Nana Charlotte watched from her bedroom window as her granddaughter took her great-grandchild to school before making her own way to work. Charlotte watched wonderingly as she noted he was wearing a boy’s school uniform instead of a dress.

‘So he still has to abide by the school rules.’ She mused somewhat incorrectly.

In truth there were no formal school rules about gender conformity for like many schools in Britain, now confronted with the advent of gender issues coming out into the open, Callum’s school was also considering the issue even though Callum had not yet ‘come out’ at school. If Callum moved ‘up North’ then the issue surrounding Callista would never emerge. Callum had chosen himself to wear boy’s clothes at his current school to avoid any conflict with his peers. He wasn’t very comfortable with the arrangement but at least he avoided any harassment.

As they turned out of the cottage gates, Ellie advised Callum.

“It seems Nana Charlotte might be coming around. She wants to meet Miss Beverly.”

Callum’s eyes widened hopefully.

“D’you think Miss Beverly will make Nana change?”

Ellie paused thoughtfully as they stopped at some traffic lights.

“Yes darling; yes I think she will. I’ll be speaking to my boss this morning and I’ll mention it over coffee.”

Callum smiled then sighed with relief as he settled back comfortably into the seat.

“I hope so. Nana Charlotte can be awfully strict.”

The remaining drive to school continued in silence as mother and child reflected on the situation. They arrived at the school and Callum sighed slightly as he forced himself to enter the school. Ellie watched thoughtfully for she was still slightly worried slightly about her child. She entered the office before Beverly who had arrived earlier but was busy out on the quay watching the Speedwell docking. Elli knew that Miss Beverly had a close affection for its captain for they had once been shipmates. Eventually Beverly arrived in the office with Billy the Speedwells’ captain and Mac, the chief engineer in tow. Ellie knew the pair well.

“Coffee gentlemen?” Ellie offered.

“Oh belay that thanks,” Billy replied, “we’re going up town to have a coffee. D’you want to come Ellie?”

Ellie needed no second invitation. She closed up her lap-top and grinned.

“All my paper-work is up to date, try stopping me.”

The four clambered into a taxi and soon found themselves in the Poole Yacht Club restaurant. The coffee stretched to lunch as Ellie listened fascinated while the three reminisced about old times and shared voyages. Eventually Beverly’s older bladder forced her to the loo while the captain and chief engineer chatted on. They continued chattering about old times and naturally Beverly’s previous life as a captain cropped up several times. Ellie listened avidly for Beverly had never talked much about her pre-woman days, mainly because she had little cause to.

Curiosity got the better of Ellie and occasionally asked Mac or Billy to elaborate. Billy and Mac responded quite openly for they had rightly assumed Beverly had nothing to hide about her past. Ellie asked them about the rescue of the two little girls Beatrice and Jennifer. Billy smiled as he recounted the event briefly before finishing the tale with praise for his old friend..

“Aye, she was good when she was a man as well.” Billy remarked. “Not many skippers would have hauled around for a bloody punctured life-raft; especially with pirates infesting the area. Those two kids would have been dead if they had been left for one more hour; talk about luck!”

“You know she adopted them don’t you?” Ellie added.

Mac Nodded.

“Beatrice and Jennifer; oh yes, she brought them up all the way to university age. They’re very lucky girls and they know it. Worship the ground the Skipper walks on they do.”

“Yes, he adopted them even before he changed over to ‘she’.” Billy added. “I believe the girls chose to keep Skippers male sir-name. - A sort of permanent thank you to Bev for saving their lives.”

“Yes, I heard that story when she was more or less forced to entertain the duke and Duchess when she went up to Yorkshire to see me and Callum. She wasn’t keen to tell it but it was a case of being expected to ‘sing for her supper’. She didn’t reveal her old male name though.”

“Has she not mentioned it to you since?” Mac asked.

“No. She’s never had cause to.”

The Scottish engineer laughed softly.

“Hah. Typical Bev. She didn’t talk much about herself as Bernard and she doesn’t talk much as Beverly, well leastways, not about herself.”

Ellie squinted curiously.

“Was that her name; Bernard?”

“Aye. Bernard; Bernard Holst,” Billy cocked his head in mild amusement. “It’s a right dreary name,” Billy expressed the name with a long dreary
vowel sound, “Buuurnurrd; it's no wonder she changed it. Beverly’s a pretty name. Beverly Taff, it’s got a nice ring to it that, sort of cheerful – short and sweet.”

Ellie felt a cold serpentine chill slither up her spine from the pit of her stomach as she repeated the name.

“Bernard Holst? That was really her name?”

“Aye, hey-up here she comes.” Mac nodded affectionately towards Beverly as she returned.

Ellie found herself staring in wide-eyed shock at Beverly as she struggled to find breath for words. Beverly sensed the younger girl’s distress and asked.

“Are you okay love, you look quite pale?”

Ellie managed to croak out her reply.

“No! No I’m not. Can we go back to the office? Pleeease!”

Mac now sensed the young girl was not well.

“D’you want a glass of water lassie?”

“A bloody stiff whisky would be better!” Ellie replied. “Can we go?”

She stood quickly to demonstrate her unease and the others quickly sensed there was something seriously amiss. Billy asked with some concern.

“Is it something we said? Have we offended you?”

“No. Well yes, but it’s not your fault. It is something you said but it wasn’t offensive. I need to go back to the office. Please Miss Beverly, I think this is important!”

As Ellie made for the exit Beverly turned to the men and furrowed her brow as she frowned.

“What have you said to upset her now? You haven’t been crude or something have you?”

“Certainly not!” Mac protested. We haven’t put a word out of place.”

As she was heading for the door, Ellie heard Beverly scolding the two men so she turned to explain.

“No it’s nothing like that Miss Beverly! They’ve been perfect gentlemen. But I need to talk to you - in private if you please!”

“Can it not be said here, we’re amongst two of my closest friends and confidants.” Beverly wondered.

“Uuuhm – no! This is important, and very, very private.”

Beverly sighed as she turned to Billy and Mac.

“You two had better get a taxi to your apartment.”

“Will you two be alright?” Billy checked.

“I don’t know,” Beverly observed, “I don’t know what this is about. See you boys. The ship sails early tomorrow morning high water.”

The two pairs separated and Beverly pressed Ellie in their taxi.

“What’s all this about?”

“Your previous name! Was it Bernard Holst?”

“Yeah. It’s no secret. Everybody knows.”

“I didn’t. We need to talk but not here; somewhere more private.” She nodded towards the taxi-driver.

Beverly shrugged and they fell silent as the taxi picked its way through the traffic. Ellie’s constant intense stares unsettled her a bit but Beverly felt that would resolve itself when they got to the office. Once inside Beverly turned to demand an explanation.

“Right girl! What’s all this about and what’s with all the scrutiny? You’ve been staring at me all the way here.”

“Your name; your previous Male name, it was definitely Bernard Holst?”

“Yes! I just told you didn’t I?”

Ellie nodded slowly before declaring.

“My maiden name was Holst, Eleanor Holst before I married Henry.”

“And?”

“It’s the same. The same as yours.”

“You said that; so what? It’s not an uncommon name. What’s all this about?”

Ellie took a slow deep breath.

“What happened to you as a child, a very small child?”

Beverly hesitated then replied softly.

“Oh good God girl! You don’t want to know. Let’s not go there.”

“I have to go there as you put it. I need to know. Were you abandoned as a child?”

Beverly frowned as she now stared at Ellie. Finally she confirmed –

“Yeees. What’s all this about?”

“It’s about the row I’ve had with my grandmother all this week. Her name’s Charlotte. She had a son put away at aged six for being transgendered. His name was Bernard, Bernard Holst. It just can’t be a coincidence. No there’s just too much the same. Was it in North Wales?”

“Beverly gaped disbelievingly then whispered, “Yes”.

“The year!?” Ellie demanded.

“Nineteen fifty two.” Beverly remembered the year, month and day with deadly precision, almost as though it was yesterday - the day her young life was smashed to pieces.

Ellie wagged her head in similar disbelief.

“This can’t be happening. “What was your brother’s name? What was your sister’s name?”

“William, I had two sisters, Sandra and Rose.”

Ellie nodded slightly as she assimilated the facts. After a painful silent pause she confirmed.

"My father and aunts are named William, Sandie and Rosie. All the facts match exactly. I think you’re my long lost uncle.”

“Aunt”, Beverly corrected her as she tried to grasp the facts.

Ellie nodded knowingly.

“Sorry! That was inexcusable of me; yes, aunt of course. Irrespective of that, I’m certain I’m your niece!”

The silence returned, hanging like a dense fog until Beverly spoke softly again.

“You’d better not be messing with me girl. To me my family are all dead. Now you turn up, like some spectre at the feast - but it’s no feast. That I can promise you.”

“They’re certainly not dead – and my auntie Sandra has been searching for you for years. If you hadn’t changed your name she might have found you, Bernard Holst is not a common name. You’re wrong about that.”

“I could hardly change my gender and remain with a boy’s name could I?”

“Never mind about that, where you never curious? Did you never think about them – go looking for them?”

“Good God no! Why would I do that? They rejected me out of hand. Rejection, rejection, rejection! That’s all I ever knew. They never came p
looking for me – not once! Not a single solitary visitor all through the shit, so why would I go looking for them. Why would I go looking for more of the same? More rejection, more hate.”

“Your siblings didn’t hate you! Isn’t that a bit selfish? Your brother, my dad! He’s always wondered what happened to you. You could at least have made a token search, you have been selfish””

“Selfish!!!” Beverly shrieked with rage. “Selfish!! – What do you know girl!!? What the fuck do you know? Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! What do you fucking know!!!?”

Ellie almost lurched backwards at the fury of Beverly’s response. She cringed under the onslaught of rage and hate. She had never before seen the normally sweet-natured Beverly get so incandescent with emotion.

“I’m sorry!” She croaked fearfully. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have pried.”

Beverly almost shrieked in pained rage; so loudly that one of the girls in the outer office came to check if things were okay. Beverly hardly managed to restrain her language as she ordered the girl out. As she slammed the door she returned to addressing a stunned Ellie.

“No! No you fucking shouldn’t have pried. And now; here you are; a reminder of all that was hateful and destructive; all that was my torment my nemesis. I -”

Beverly stopped briefly as she stared at the floor then she looked up with a piercing narrow glare. Ellie had always considered herself a good barometer of people’s emotions but Beverly’s expression was almost indecipherable.

It seemed like a mixture of rage, sorrow, loss, and fear - to mention but a few. After a deafening silence Beverly turned away again and sobbed.

“Go home Ellie. Go home; – get out before I do something I regret.”

Ellie swallowed partly in fear and partly in panic at the thought of losing her job.

“Are you sacking me?”

“Just go home.”

“I need to know, you can’t just leave me not knowing –“

Beverly’s lower jaw trembled as she fumbled in her bag.

“Just – bloody - go!”

Ellie grabbed her bag, lap-top and keys then almost stumbled out of the office. She could have sworn she heard her boss crying but she was too afraid to go back. Once outside the dock gates, she found a quiet lay-by and pulled over to reflect and wonder.

‘What the hell was all that about?’ She wondered. ‘Obviously her boss must have serious issues about her childhood but Beverly’s outburst had left Ellie stunned. It was so out of character – and her language; Ellie never even knew Beverly had that sort of language in her lexicon’

She sat alternately working on her lap-top then cogitating in the car for almost an hour until it was time to pick Callum up from school. Even after waiting in the car for over an hour, she was still early collecting him.

As she parked away from the school gates, she sent one last email with a heartfelt apology and hoped Miss Beverly might forgive her. After closing up her laptop, she joined the other mothers gathered by the school gates though she was still early. Normally she collected Callum from ‘after school club’.

As she drove him home he babbled on about his day like any schoolgirl but Ellie was too preoccupied to take anything in. When they arrived home Nana Charlotte was sitting waiting on the garden swing. On spotting her grandmother, Ellie avoided parking in her usual spot and swept around the side of the cottage to enter her apartment by her own back door. She and Callum were in before Nana Charlotte could get around the house; her elderly legs were just too slow. Instead Charlotte was forced to enter by the communal front door and knock on Ellie’s internal front door. Ellie answered it reluctantly.

“What d’you want?”

Nana Charlotte looked pained.

“We have to talk.”

“I’m done talking Nana. You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear. There’s nothing else to discuss.”

“But there is.”

“What? What is there to discuss? You’ve said it all and I don’t think you’ll ever change!”

“No but I can at least agree to differ; agree not to argue about it anymore. He’s your son and that’s that.”

“Exactly Nana! He’s my son, my child my daughter even. You will not interfere!”

“Point taken.”

“I mean it! No more trying to get inside my child’s head and cause grief by guilt!” Then Ellie hesitated as Charlotte’s words sank in. “What.... what d’ you mean ‘point taken’?”

“I mean okay. I won’t interfere. I won’t try to influence the child, but I still want to see him, he’s my great grandchild after all.”

“I want that in writing, I want your word on that in writing.”

“Wha.... don’t you trust me?”

“Frankly no. I’ll let you see him, play with him even; perhaps even go out with him sometimes but at the first whisper of you trying to ‘cure’ him or perhaps more correctly ‘her’, the deal’s off.”

“I could only go out with him if you or your dad takes us. You know I don’t drive these days.”

Having agreed to differ, Ellie let Charlotte into her part of the cottage as she quickly printed out an agreement from her lap-top. Charlotte bit her lip with remorse, she hadn’t realised Ellie really meant it. Reluctantly she took the proffered sheet, studied it and signed it somewhat resentfully.

“There! That’s done. Now, will you be sharing dinner tonight?” She asked Ellie.

“Yes. I’ll order a takeaway; it’s been a stressful day. Not just this business, but work as well.”

“I can cook something”, Charlotte offered.

“No it’s my turn. What time’s dad coming back?”

“Bout sixish.”

Ellie nodded and turned to prepare the table in her dining room. Charlotte was quietly grateful that at least the family arrangements were still working.

“I’ll help you with that.”

“Thank you; better if you went into Callista and listened to her read. She’ll be changed by now and in a frock.”

“We start as you mean to go on is it?” Charlotte wondered uncertainly.

“No; we start as Callista wants to go on, it’s her choice ---- her need even!”

Charlotte sensed the steel in her grand-daughter’s demeanour and said no more as she retreated into the drawing room. She found her great-grand-child already curled up in her favourite armchair tapping contentedly on her I-pod.

“That’s a pretty frock.”

Callista looked up and smiled nervously.

“D’you really like it?”

“Yes,” Charlotte lied. “Ellie’s asked me to hear you read, what d’you want to read?”

“Can we do black beauty?”

“Oh yes. That was always a favourite of mine as well, are you doing that at school then?”

Callista nodded and sprang off her chair to collect the book from her school bag. Charlotte settled in another armchair and Callista looked at her expectantly.

“Can I sit on your knee?”

“Yes, but be gentle, these bones are getting old.”

“How old are you Nana?”

“Ooooh, it’s rude to ask a lady her age but I’ll tell you because you’re family; I’m ninety two.”

“Gosh! Will you live to be a hundred?”

“Oh now that would be a fine thing, telegram from the queen and all that.”

Callista’s eyes widened as she carefully slid up onto Charlotte’s lap before opening the book and reading. Later, William arrived home and shortly after the ‘takeaway’ arrived. The family sat down around the table but Ellie decided not to mention her news about finding her uncle. ‘Or should that read aunt?” She corrected herself.

She felt it would be better first to make sure that she still had her job. To this end she consulted her text messages several times. So much so that Charlotte frowned.

“That’s as bad as reading at the table young lady!”

“Sorry Nana, it’s to do with work, I was pre-occupied and it’s very important.”

“More important than family it seems!” William added. “You’ve hardly said a word to me since I arrived home.”

Ellie felt like screaming that ‘IT WAS FAMILY!’ but she bit her tongue and replied quietly.

“You’ve only been shopping Dad not an expedition to the jungle, and besides, I didn’t see you come back with anything exciting.”

Despite her self control Ellie still felt like telling them, ‘Besides this is to do with family.’ But she managed to bite her tongue. There had been no reply yet from her boss and Ellie was getting worried.

Later that night she finally got a reply by text.

‘Sorry I swore at you. Can I see you tomorrow? Today’s events have shaken me badly; hopefully, I’ll be in a better frame of mind? I know it’s Saturday but there won‘t be any work to distract us.”

Ellie texted back joyfully ‘YES!’

Ellie slept better that night and was quite excited the following Saturday morning, so much so both her father and Nan commented on her cheerful mood. She happily left Callista with her dad and Nana for she knew at least that her father was supportive of Callista's needs. Nana Charlotte could not play mind games with her child whilst her dad was present. It was a clear sunny morning and the journey to her office flew by. She arrived humming happily to herself and found that Beverly was already in the office making coffee. Beverly smiled ruefully as she carried a tray of mugs and biscuits and set them down on the table as Ellie took off her coat.

“Sit down darling;” Beverly invited, “this is going to be difficult. Sorry about yesterday, sometimes it hard to think about it when I’m reminded; other times it’s not so hard. Yesterday you caught me unprepared so it was a bad time. Overnight I got it sorted in my head. I think I can handle it at the moment.”

“So finally I get to know. Was it really that bad?”

Beverly pursed her lips and gave Ellie a thoughtful look.

“You’ve absolutely no idea Ellie. Count yourself privileged. You’ll be one of the few to know the full thing. I’ve told very few people the full story, just a judge and a couple of social workers who helped me adopt the girls. Even Angela, my own wife, doesn't know the full thing.

Now, if you really are my niece, then you should know what that monster Charlotte did to me, if only so that you are fore-armed. Then you’ll know why it’s a good idea to keep that monster away from your child.”

“That’s my Nan you’re talking about;" Ellie protested mildly, "she’s not really a monster; a little set in her ways perhaps, but never a monster. She’s ---“

“Dammit Ellie! Don't interrupt! I know what she is!!”

Beverly had interrupted a little too sharply and Ellie frowned impatiently. She hadn’t come for a shouting match but she now realised that Beverly was unduly stressed by the meeting and consequently Ellie softened her tone.

“Sorry Miss Beverly, I didn’t realise how bad this must be for you.”

“Thank you Ellie, firstly I’m sorry I was rude yesterday. I didn’t mean to shout again this morning but sadly I have been stressed out all night and despite all your protestations, I know what she is Ellie and it's not possible for me to change my feelings and opinions about her. If she’s really who you say she is then she was the bitch that spawned me – the whore that rejected me. I can’t apologise for using those words. I can’t use the word mother to describe her because that’s a word that means everything and yet nothing to me. Everything I lost, leaving nothing to love. But enough of all the maudlin, self pity stuff. Prepare yourself for some real shit --- then make up your own mind. D’ you want to hear this stuff or not?”

Ellie hesitated then forced herself to say -

“Yes! Was it really that bad?”

The mood in the room seemed to turn cold but Ellie pressed on as she sensed, and even seemed to physically feel the darkness yet to come.”
Beverly nodded as she took her first sip of coffee and settled in the opposite armchair. The silence hung thick again just like the previous afternoon but this time Beverly didn’t let it endure. She picked nervously at a thread in the arm of the chair as she conjured up the courage to take the conversation forward. Finally she looked up and spoke softly. Ellie could readily see that Beverly was struggling to stay calm and resolute. Finally the words came.

“If you are who you say you are; you’ll have worked out that I’m two years younger than William, your dad --- my brother.”

“Yes,” Ellie agreed. “So you were born just after the war then.”

“Correct, it was nineteen forty six but that’s immaterial except to set the time period and the circumstances prevalent at that time.”

Ellie nodded; “Go on.”

Beverly drew a deep, uncertain breath then resumed talking in the same soft but strained tone.

“I started dressing; that is cross-dressing when I was four. I presume you know about transvestism and transgenderism so you'll know that's the usual sort of thing. Stealing my sister’s knickers and that sort of thing; your Auntie Rosie’s and Auntie Sandra’s knickers to be precise. You’ll know they were fourteen and sixteen then.”

Ellie nodded but stayed silent. She could sense that any interruption might stop the older woman. Beverly picked up again.

“Two years later at aged six, I found a pair of her stockings and put them on. Needless to say I laddered them because I didn’t put them on properly. My sister was going out that night and when she found them laddered she didn’t have another pair. Finally, she lost her temper. She was sick of finding her underwear disturbed and dishevelled. Well the upshot was she became so angry that evening she lost her temper and tried to castrate me.

She said ‘If I wanted to be a girl, she would bloody well make me into one.’ Fortunately all she managed to do was cut into my scrotum with her fingernails and cause it to bleed before my father came running upstairs at my screams. They had to take me to the casualty unit and I was kept in for three days. Mostly for assessment and stuff I think.

Anyway, when I came home, arrangements were already in hand to have me ‘put away’. I was the problem you see, the thief, - the pervert, - the .....‘sicko’.”

Beverly sensed the hateful irony causing Beverly words to stick like phlegm in her throat. After a brief pause, she carried on.

“Some days later a big maroon and black car arrived to take me away and I was simply told that the doctors were going to help me and I would be ‘cured’. The last sight I ever had of the bitch that spawned me was of her standing by the garden gate and watching the car going up the road. She turned and walked inside even before I was out of sight. I was kneeling on the back seat looking out of a small oval rear window until she disappeared. No goodbyes, no waves, no kisses, and no promises to come and see me – she never did you know. None of those bastards ever did!”

Ellie felt forced to comment.

“Yes. I know that bit; Auntie Sandie confirmed that, even though she kept looking for you.”

Beverly nodded but the set of her jaw and pursed lips told the harder story as she continued.

“Six years I spent in that fucking hell-hole. Six years of therapy, six bloody years of abuse. You name it, I got it. Waking up with my joints in agony after electro-convulsive therapy and yet those bastards kept telling me ‘it wasn’t painful’. It was! - Well the aftermath was, aching joints, muscle cramps, pins and needles – you name it. Not to mention the head-aches, the dizziness, and the bleeding eyeballs – yes tears of fucking blood!!! Sorry, no call for that sort of language but – well.

Then there was chemical aversion therapy causing me to vomit and wretch with stomach convulsions as they tried to persuade me to ‘give it up’ and so on. Try sleeping when you’ve got stomach ache all night or you’re in a dizzy stupor from some bloody psychosomatic drug or something. Headaches? Yeah plenty! – And lost days when I had no recollections of anything.

Then there was all the other therapies; psychotherapy, hypnotherapy, cognitive therapy, immersive therapy! You name it, I must have had it! Talk, talk, talk – babble, babble, babble and then all the stupid, stupid fucking questions, ‘Why d’ you think you do it? Why d’ you want to do it? How do you see yourself, and so on? I was six!! How could I ever answer questions like that – and a thousand other stupid questions, mostly to do with their puerile curiosity I suppose? I didn’t know the answers then and I don’t know much more now!

All I knew was that some days I felt like a girl and some days I felt like a boy! How does that work, how was I supposed to know? Six bloody years I spent in a single room with a bed, a table and chair, a small locker and a basin. Nothing but questions, questions, bloody questions!!! Especially about the flip – flop gender thing; boy, girl, - girl, boy and so on! Oh and glory be. Once a month I got a trip as a treat! Sometimes I didn't even get that! All the usual, stupid places; Chester Zoo or the football at Anfield or Goodison, when all I wanted was to go shopping for lingerie or dresses. I had plenty of bloody boy stuff. Did they listen? Did they hell. I would have loved ballet lessons on my girly days but oh no.

Six years being forced to wear the wrong clothes as often as not on the wrong day. Did I get a choice to dress as a boy or girl as and when I needed? No! Always I had to dress as a boy if I was being taken out on a trip. Or, if not a boy then something androgynous because of what was down there!”

Beverly pointed angrily down to her crotch and actually hit her own stomach violently in what could only be frustrated anger. Ellie winced but kept silent. Beverly’s mood brooked little interruption as she raged on.

“Then, then; God forgive them cos’ I fucking can’t! I reached my twelfth birthday, February 1958. That was it, almost to the bloody day. They came for me; they never gave me the reason though I suppose it was cost or surrender, or something, I’ll never know. Could you imagine if they had to explain to me, what would they have said?

‘Time’s up kid. You can no longer stay here. You haven’t responded to treatment. Psychiatric beds are expensive; we can’t seem to cure you so we’re giving up. We are finding you alternative accommodation.’

The following weekend they told me that they couldn’t find a children’s home for me because of my condition. Children were separated in those days you understand; girl’s homes or boy’s homes and obviously I didn’t fit. I suppose Girls homes couldn’t take me because I had working boy bits, and I actually know that boy’s homes refused me because I heard them talking about me. I was deemed a pervert who might ‘infect’ other boys or ‘turn them queer!’ I don’t know they came to that conclusion, I’ll never know why either, but I remember those were some of the phrases they used.

Even Barnardo’s rejected me! What's their boastful claim? - Never turn a child away!! That was utter bullshit!! They’d take anything else but transgendered kids; - black kids, brown kids, white kids, yellow kids, mongol kids, blind kids; deaf kids, crippled kids even deformed kids – in fact, everything except a bloody little pervert! Having exhausted their hunt for a children's home, they went instead looking for a secure residential unit and they finally found one. It wasn't far from Liverpool either!"

Ellie nodded slowly and Beverly realised that her niece already seemed to know; obviously she must have heard it from Beverly’s sisters. Nevertheless the older woman continued ranting on but in a lower, brittle, almost metallic tone that seemed to enhance the abiding rage within her breast. Silent bitterness caused her to croak as she struggled to keep from tears.

“Yes that’s right, borstal; bloody borstal, a boy’s prison full of sociopaths, psychopaths and just plain evil bastards! They put a twelve-year-old transgendered kid into a fucking prison with anything up to a hundred-and-fifty glands! - You know what I mean! That’s all they were, just dicks looking to dump their shit wherever they could! - sex maniacs, bullies, and criminals - you name it - not much else.
Within days of my being put in there, every cock in the building knew about me and that very first night the shit started. Yes; after that very first night for almost every other night I was ra-“

Beverly’s voice became a strangled whisper that betrayed the rage within her as she struggled to finish the sentence, “raped.”

Ellie simply stared, mouth agape.

“Raped!? But; but the wardens -.”

“Were soon to become m-my pimps.” Beverly finished with a hoarse, choked squeak.

The inevitable silence returned again as Ellie struggled to accept Beverly’s words. Beverly was tearfully staring into some far off place that Ellie realised was some sort of long standing, well used, private mental refuge locked away deep in Beverly's head. For long moments Ellie sat patiently before finally plucking up the courage to interrupt the older girl's cognitions.

“D’ you want to leave it for now?” Ellie asked nervously.

Beverly blinked as though confused for a moment then she shook her head and returned to the present.

“Wha- no, no. I was just thinking, remembering. Memories you know; no I’ll carry on. Where was I?

“About the wardens; you said they were your pimps!”

“Oh! That’s right, oh - yes. To keep order they started a schedule which boy or boys would use me each night and sometimes they even used me themselves. Huh, some order!”

Ellie just stared while wagging her head, words had escaped her – but not Beverly - who continued in a low whisper that almost resembled an angry serpent’s hiss.

“The only nights I got respite was if there was too much blood on the sheets from the previous night. That was another insult, a brutal demonstration of their self-interested greed. If the sheets were covered in blood in the morning it was obvious I was too injured to be used again the following night or sometimes following nights. It was not my health they were concerned about, just my continued availability. Golden goose and all that.

But I still had to wash my own sheets in the morning . . . . Cold water, so the blood stains didn’t set and so that the sheets never went down to the laundry. I don’t know why they were so worried about the boys in the laundry seeing my sheets. All the boys working there had raped me – and seen the state of my sheets if I bled. So who else would have seen the evidence? My sheets were just more shitty proof of the bloody corruption! I don’t suppose any of her fucking majesty’s prison inspectors ever got as far as the laundry anyway, so why they made me wash my own sheets, I don’t know. I suppose they got some perverted ‘power-kick’ out of it. Needless to say, my sheets eventually became pink with constant staining, another symbol of my low girly status.”

“Didn’t you try to resist? Fight back or something?”

Beverly’s jaw dropped in disbelief at Ellie’s naivety.

“Oh come on Ellie! I was an underweight, undernourished, undersized adolescent GIRL! How could I resist. Here; feel these.”

She took Ellie’s fingers and guided them up and down both arms. Each time she stopped she pressed Ellie’s fingers against her arm and through Beverly’s pretty silk blouse; Ellie could feel hard lumps and deformities on the bones.”

“Are those breaks?” Ellie asked incredulously.

Beverly nodded as she explained.

“Yes, every one. I had nine breaks in two-and-a-half years; every long bone in both arms and also my shoulders; you name it - humeri, ulnas, radii, my right scapula and left clavicle. Not to mention my fingers! They used cricket stumps mostly but the scapula was done by a cricket bat. If I tried to resist the rapes they actually broke my bones. I ended up in Chester Royal Infirmary about a dozen times all told - but not once did the doctors ask me what happened. They just looked at the borstal uniform and presumed I was another bad-un, deserving of a good beating. If the warden said I walked into a door or stumbled down the stairs then that was it – I had fallen down stairs!! Who was there to contradict them? Certainly not I!

And why did they take me to Chester!? Why not Liverpool or Sefton General – or even Billinge or Manchester Royal infirmary? Chester’s miles away!

Not once did any of those so-called doctors interrogate me or the wardens further. Twelve visits to A&E in two years! No questions asked just that crude assumption - - - ‘Borstal kid --- wrong-un! Got what he deserved!’ Or where the doctors in Chester in on it, you know; secret gangs. What do they call them today; paedophile rings I believe is the term?!

Resistance!!? Dream on Ellie. That was a sure-fire way to another beating. The only time I resisted was if my arse was still on fire and I wanted another night’s rest from the constant pounding. The bastard wardens would actually look at the stained sheets and debate – yes or no. Then if there was ‘ just a little blood’ on the sheets or staining in my pants I was deemed to be faking it. All that got me was another beating and sometimes broken bones! Dream on Ellie!”

“But you should have ...!” Oh no, I suppose ....”

Ellie trailed lamely off as Beverly gave her a ‘look of ages’ as tears of frustration threatened to burst forth again. She held it but another trance-like fit induced another tense silence

The silence endured as Ellie tried to assimilate it and Beverly recovered her composure. Briefly she dabbed her eyes with a tissue then hesitated with seeming confusion. Ellie sensed Beverly’s turmoil.

“D’ you want another mug of coffee?” She asked her aunt.

“Yes – no; make it a cup of tea. Tea would be nice.”

Ellie busied herself in the little kitchen then returned with the tray.

Beverly sipped tentatively at the delicate porcelain cup, pausing after each sip while Ellie strained to suppress her impatience and rising anger. Eventually Beverly finished the first cup and stood slowly to make her way to the teapot. Ellie bounced out of her seat.

“I’ll get that, you just stay comfortable.”

“I need some air darling, let’s sit outside it’s quite warm and there’s nobody about on a Saturday unless a ship is working cargo. The Speedwell sailed early this morning.”

Ellie decided to make up another tray with teapot, milk and sugar. Beverly smiled and nodded towards the quay wall. There was an old, disused railway siding with large, worn key-stones pinning the platform edge. They sat with the tray between them while their legs dangled over the disused loading bay. They had a clear view of the container berths and the entrance to the harbour whilst the immediate area around them was deserted and offering plenty of privacy. Ellie sensed Beverly scanning surreptitiously to make sure nobody could eves-drop. She finished the second cup before resuming her story after Ellie had gently prompted her.

“How long where you there, when did you get out?”

Beverly shrugged and ‘swanned’ her neck almost apologetically.

“I escaped – eventually; but not before I nearly died at the first attempt.”

“How?” Ellie asked bluntly.

“The first time was immediately after my fourteenth birthday, February - nineteen sixty. The warden came and told me I was having a fourteenth birthday party. I wondered what was going on because they’d never celebrated my thirteenth birthday. My twelfth happened in the clinic but they didn’t celebrate that either. In fact, I’d never celebrated my birthday since I was seven and I was asking myself why. But I soon found out. I was taken away to a house somewhere south of Liverpool; I knew that much because we went through the Mersey Tunnel and that takes you south to Chester and North Wales. Other than that I knew nothing else.

When we arrived at the house, I was the only kid there. The rest were all adults, men and women, - - that’s when I realised it was my birthday - but I was the cake!

That was the night I learned that women could rape little boys as well as men - - - - oh, and dogs!”

“Dogs!” Ellie almost screeched!

Beverly nodded and plunged on as though desperate to get through the ordeal before she broke down.

“Yes dogs. That was there last bit of sport cos' something went seriously wrong. You know dogs have some sort of knot on the ends of their dicks and it swells once the dog is inside the bitch.. Well this dog had a raging hard on and when the animal was made to withdraw it tore me. The knot was too big for my rectum I bled all the way home and all through the next day. They let me recover but it took over a week and things were never right with my arse after that. I still have trouble - - you know, going.”

“Defecating,” Elli finished.

Beverly nodded and pushed on.

That’s when I realised after that I was not going to get out alive if I stayed much longer... That’s a pretty brutal conclusion for a fourteen-year-old kid to arrive at isn’t it? Well I did and so I tried to escape. Once my arse was no longer hurting I broke out through the perimeter fence during a cross-country run. Huh, fat chance!”

“What d’you mean?” Ellie asked but almost afraid to hear the answer.

Miss Beverly explained.

“Nineteen sixty was one of the worst winters of my life. The snow still lay two or three feet deep even in March and when I escaped I was beaten by the cold and snow that very same night. I’d made no proper preparations I’d simply run without a single thought as to how I’d manage outside. I was in shorts vest and gym shoes. How stupid can a kid be or was it - how desperate?

A trucker found me wrapped around an illuminated traffic bollard trying to get warmth from the light. It was a fluorescent light with almost no heat, you know; where the internal illumination is set down below the plastic bollard in the ground. The bollard was as cold as a concrete post. How dumb can a kid get? The trucker took me to a police station and I was too far gone with exposure to try and escape again. The police returned me to the borstal and I was beaten to within an inch. That’s when my scapular and right humerus got broken; they used a cricket bat, not a cricket stump.

So that was Beverly Taff’s first lesson about escape techniques. Get prepared! It’s not the escaping, it’s the survival outside!
After that escapade, they confiscated my shoes and I had to walk bare-foot everywhere. Even when mucking out the pigs and outside in the snow. The frozen clods of shit and mud would cut my feet and not to mention when square-bashing bare-foot on gravel every morning; rain, snow or sunshine. My feet eventually hardened up but it was a couple of months of agony first. Despite my feet, I decided to lie low and wait for summer, From March through to August I didn’t raise a whimper, I just knuckled down and did the best I could not to antagonise anybody. Needless to say the rapes continued un-abated save that my arse bled more easily and frequently, and for longer. There were two advantages to that The blood appeared quicker and served to lubricate my arse earlier thus making it less painful and it also meant I got more frequent and longer rest intervals when the bleeding was too bad.

I had become nothing more than a fuck-doll with a real, lubricated hole. But I didn’t protest or resist, I just planned and prepared for that all important day. Escape!

Consequently, my next escape was more successful. I had prepared properly. I had cut another hole in the perimeter fence behind a thorn bush where it was invisible. The wardens were so bloody lazy and overconfident, they never discovered it. Very early every morning on my punishment runs, I sneaked out and stole an item of girl’s clothing and hid it in a hole by the fence. It only took ten minutes cos there were houses close to the fence by some woods. Once I had a stash of clothes I arranged my escape for a Friday when a particularly nasty warden supervised the cross-country runs. That was the day all the boys had to do a run and the cross-country trail was full of boys running at all different speeds.

Before the run I deliberately made some remark about Fatty Gardiner loud enough for him to hear it. Naturally he gave me a beating but I had anticipated that and rolled with the strikes. More importantly was that he ordered me to do twenty laps instead of ten. He also bruised my leg but that was an extra benefit to me because the other boys saw the bruise and accepted my excuse that I was hurting and couldn’t keep up. On the second lap I dropped further and further back until I was out of sight then I dashed for my escape bid. I dug up the polythene bag with my stolen clothes and shoes then I crawled through the pre-prepared hole I had already cut in the fence. First I crossed a road behind some houses then across some fields and into a wood where I had a chance to change from my running singlet and shorts. I wore a dress at first to make it along a busy road, until I came to a canal. The path was muddy so I changed back into some male jeans and a dark shirt so as not to spoil my dress. The dress was to be an important part of my disguise.

After running for a few miles, I found a bike on the tow-path. That was a god-send and I made it all the way to the Preston branch of the Leeds and Liverpool canal. There I got a puncture so I threw the bike in the canal and carried on running north away from that hell-hole. The further away I got, the safer I felt

Eventually the canal emptied through a lock into a wide estuary and I found myself standing on the south shore of the River Ribble - though I had no idea where I was, I thought it was the border with Scotland; how dumb is that? I changed again into my running shorts and vest then tied my clothes as tight as I could in the polythene bag and plucked up the courage to make a swim for it. Fortunately it was a warm August evening and the river was flowing back upstream towards the spire of Preston Church. The tide was flooding but I didn’t know that. I just slowly waded out until the water was too deep and I had to swim for it. I was lucky, had the tide been ebbing I wouldn’t be here now; just a corpse at the bottom of the Irish Sea I suppose or washed up on some rocks or some beach or something.

Anyway once I started swimming I found myself being steadily swept up the estuary and that gave me hope for the estuary was getting narrower and the other shore was getting closer. I just kept plodding away, with the breast stroke while the bag was between my teeth. As I crept painfully slowly across and up the river, it slowly got darker and eventually I touched the bottom on the other side. The tide was too strong though and I couldn’t keep my feet but I was still being swept towards the lights of Preston.

By the time I made the other shore I was exhausted but fortunately the bank was not steep and it was fairly hard clay. I crawled up to the grassy edge and collapsed exhausted. It was totally dark when I recovered enough to seek shelter. I was cold and hungry but the first thing was getting warm. The polythene bag of clothes had leaked and all my clothes were wet so I was forced to find anywhere where I could simply lie down and rest. As I walked along a lane towards the lights of Preston I came across another canal and broke into a large building that proved to be a derelict warehouse. Inside I located some old sacks in the dark but that was enough, I simply curled up under the sacks and slept like a log, oblivious to the dirt and dust.

In the morning I realised how filthy the place was and quickly gathered my bag of clothes. I was filthy from mud and dirt and whatever the contents of the sacks had been – some sort of large nuts or beans. I didn’t know what they were but the rats had been chewing them, possibly for months or even years. At least the place where I had slept was dry but other parts of the roof were leaking. I learned many years later that the beans had been Carob and they last for years if stored in a dry place.

Outside in the morning light, I found the canal water to be clean so I tried to clean myself. Then I dressed in the frock and girl’s shoes in an attempt to disguise myself. My short hair would have given me away as a boy had it not been from my undersized frame and undernourished body. I looked just like some street urchin from one of Dickens’ novels. I set off down the lane to Preston and soon came to the outskirts. Once on the streets I began to feel conspicuous because it was getting busy and everybody was staring at me. In the end I went into a park until the rush-hour traffic had finished and I saw a mother and child feeding the ducks.

She looked at me and frowned as she asked me if I was okay. I asked her for some of the bread in the bag but she refused me and took her child away. I must have looked a horrible site and I realised that unless I tidied up my appearance I was going to get noticed all the time.
Between the morning rush-hour and the shopping hours, I went into Preston market and stole some fruit from the stall. I wasn’t caught and made away to eat my prize, the first food since the midday lunch in Borstal the previous day. That night I stalked the suburbs and stole some boy’s clothes from the washing lines. The next day I looked more passable and attracted less stares. Now it was a matter of food. I tried the market again but it was too risky, boys get watched more than girls, I suppose the stall holders know where the thieves are likely to be. Eventually I returned to the market and simply sneaked some bread rolls off the front of the stall. It was getting busy as everybody was closing up and clearing the displays. Outside I had a jam bun and some plain bread rolls then I drank from a tap that the stall-holders used to sluice down the market.

For a few days I managed to go un-noticed but eventually the stall holders started to notice me. One was watching me and saw me stealing a pork pie. The next day he was waiting for me and when I thought I’d got away with it, he chased me and dragged me back to his stall where he swore at me and ordered me to stay there while he fetched the owner of the butchers’ stall where I’d stolen the pie. I suppose kids were more obedient in those days and he expected me to stand still all repentant and tearful. The moment he turned his back to fetch the butcher - I was gone. Goodbye Preston hello Manchester. I sneaked a lift on an empty market lorry returning to ‘God knows where’, when I got out I discovered myself in Manchester.

The same things happened there but there were more places to steal so I lasted a couple of weeks before I got noticed. I was caught again but escaped again and then it was Liverpool next. A lorry bound for Liverpool docks.

I stayed a few days but then I recognised somebody who worked at the Borstal and I realised it was not safe to stay there. He didn’t recognise me because I was dressed as a girl but I still felt unsafe. Goodbye Liverpool, hello train, hello Birmingham.

Now it got worse. I was standing on a street in Birmingham city centre one evening, waiting for it to get dark before I made for my ‘hide-away’ for the night. I never visited my sleeping place during the day, there were too many eyes. There were also eyes by night but it’s easier to give them the slip. Well that particular evening I was ‘approached’ by a man who asked me if I was alright. I said I was fine and he said I looked hungry.
Of course I was hungry! I was always bloody hungry – and cold. Girls’ frocks are not the warmest clothes and I still hadn’t found a girl’s coat. I looked like an orphan in a storm and I knew it. He asked if I wanted to go somewhere warm and of course I was immediately suspicious but curious. I asked bluntly if he was looking to shag me and he hesitated uncertainly then looked around before he nodded. Naturally I backed off but I was still curious. I put a steel telephone exchange box between him and me and made sure I had my escape route clear. After looking around to check it wasn’t some sort of trap I felt a little safer. There were very few people around and none up the narrow side-street I intended using as my escape route. He then asked me if I wanted to go somewhere warmer and I asked him if he meant a bed. He nodded and then explained it was a hotel room with a bed.

I was suspicious of going into any building with a stranger but out on the streets I felt safe; much safer; safer even than borstal. On the streets I could escape and run – and believe me, I could run.

I said I would let him fuck me but only in the street behind some builder's rubbish skips and in a dark doorway where nobody could see us. To my mild surprise he agreed, he must have been as desperate for a fuck as I was to eat. Now the big problem was ‘how could I keep my boy bits a secret’. I said he could take me doggy style provided he let me do the guiding. There was to be no fingering from him. I pretended I was still young and tight and I didn’t want him to hurt me so I’d guide it in.

I must have sounded like a street hardened prostitute, - well I certainly knew all the moves and techniques! Anyway, he agreed and that evening, even before dusk had fallen, I turned my first trick. Jerk! Jerk! Twitch, twitch – thank you bitch. Men don’t take long when it’s just a warm wet hole they’re after. More importantly though, he was gentle with me and that surprised me. Then he paid me and then I realised we hadn’t even agreed a price before-hand. Nevertheless, it was money! Five bob, that is twenty five pence in today’s money; yeah, so I was cheap, what did I know?

I learned later that young trannies can charge far more than real girls. Who’d have thought it; I had more worth as a tranny prostitute than fifty percent of the whole human race, the women! Well, I could charge more that is!

Me! – More valuable than an adult woman! Imagine what that does to a kid’s sense of worth!!! Yeah! Twisted values I know but what the hell, I had a sort of inverted, perverted status.

I knew however to make sure I had my money before I disclosed my big secret after he had fucked me. Laughing like a maniac I once again made sure I had an escape then I lifted my frock and tugged down the waist-band of my knickers and taunted him by prancing around waving my dick.

‘Look at that you fucking fool! You’ve just fucked a boy, now you’re a queer!’

His jaw sagged and he tried to call me back but I was gone; money in my purse and food to come later; fish and chips, a huge mug of sweet tea and change to boot. I couldn’t believe my luck!

As I curled up in my hide-away that night my mind kept turning over as I fingered the shilling and sixpence in my purse. Change from the five-bob-fuck after the fish and chips There was easy money to be made.
And I did.”

~o000o~