I often imagine myself as Grace Darling, the heroine, battling the elements, forcing a way through the surf, my hair blowing wildly in the gale, my dress sodden and clinging, but I am not a 25 year old Victorian heroine, I am Jack Armstrong, a 22 year old man living in modern times.

Grace Darling lived with her father on the Longstone lighthouse off the Farne Islands near the coast of Northumberland. On 7th of September 1838, during a violent storm her father spotted a boat foundering in distress on the rocks of a nearby island. The seas were too rough for the lifeboat to safely and quickly come all the way out from North Sunderland (Seahouses) on the mainland, so Grace and her father took a rowing boat (a 21 ft, 4-man Northumberland coble) across to the survivors, taking a long route that kept to the lee side of the islands, a distance of nearly a mile. Darling kept the coble steady in the water while her father helped four men and the lone surviving woman, Sarah Dawson, into the boat. Although she survived the sinking, Mrs. Dawson had lost her two young children (James 7 and Matilda, 5) during the night.William and three of the rescued men then rowed the boat back to the lighthouse. Grace then remained at the lighthouse with Sarah while William and three of the rescued crew members rowed back and recovered four more survivors. As news of her role in the rescue reached the public, her combination of bravery and simple virtue set her out as exemplary, and led to an uneasy role as the nation's heroine. Grace and her father were awarded the Silver Medal for bravery by the Royal National Institution for the Preservation of Life from Shipwreck, later named the Royal National Lifeboat Institution. Subscriptions and donations totalling over £700 were raised for her, including £50 from Queen Victoria; more than a dozen portrait painters sailed to her island home to capture her likeness, and hundreds of gifts, letters, and even marriage proposals were delivered to her.

Being born and bred up in nearby Bamburgh, I was brought up with the story from a young age and she became my heroine, I was fascinated by her story, her bravery, and the way she dealt with the fame that followed. Even as a young boy, I imagined myself as her, read all I could about her and often visited the local museum to her memory. Instead of my bedroom wall being covered with posters of footballers or comic superheroes or supermodels, I used to go to sleep and wake up seeing pictures and memorabilia of Grace around my room. I used to dream about Grace and wondered what it would be like to be her. If she were still alive I would probably be classed as an obsessive stalker

As I grew older my obsession did not wane and in fact got stronger, throughout my teens whenever the opportunity arose and my parents were elsewhere, I dressed in girls’ clothes and continued to visit the museum to stare at the paintings of her and tried to copy her looks, growing my hair long and curly, and dieting and wearing a tight belt to get a narrow waist. Luckily I had never grown to more than 5’6’’ or bulked out like most teenage boys and was never recognised when dressed. I never thought of myself as a boy dressing in girls’ clothes, in my mind I was Grace !

I kept a diary recording my innermost thoughts and details of how i felt, where I went, how I was dressed, and who I had met, and inevitably one day when I had just left school at 18 I did not put this away properly and my mam discovered it and read it. When I got home, she really had a shout at me, it was wrong, it was perverted, it was not normal. If she told my dad, he would go mad at me, and unless I stopped this obsession with Grace she would tell him and wouldn’t be responsible for the consequences.

My dad was very much a ‘man’s man’, he was a fisherman, and a member of the local lifeboat crew at Seahouses. In general I was a disappointment to him, I was not interested in a career at sea and wanted to go to university, wouldn’t go drinking with him and his friends down at the pub, wasn’t interested in most sports, my only redeeming feature in his eyes was a passion for sailing. I had a 4.2m laser dinghy, that I learned in and then used to sail up and down the coast or out to the Farne Islands or over to Holy island (Lindisfarne). It was an easy boat to handle single-handedly and it became my escape from the world where I could forget my worries and cares, and live out some of my fantasies covering the waters that Grace had travelled. Over the years I had learned a lot about water safety, tides, currents and reading the movement of the waves.

Over the last couple of years Dad had previously taken me on a few training sessions to try to get me interested in the lifeboats, but I was not allowed on an actual rescue until I was 18 and fully trained, and because I would soon be leaving for university, I lost interest. Although he was proud of his service with the RNLI, he couldn’t understand my obsession with Grace, “ That was nearly 200 years ago, times have changed, you ought to be honouring the current heroes of the service, not some exaggerated fantasy created by the Victorians.”

Unfortunately, Mam felt that she needed to confide in someone and discussed it with a ‘trusted friend’, who was anything but, and word soon got around. I was considered a weirdo and lost all my friends, and was the constant subject of gossip and ridicule. Dad was disgusted with me and ashamed, and spoke to me only when absolutely necessary, Mam was livid that her confidential chat with her friend had been betrayed and I had been exposed, and couldn’t look me in the eye. That summer until I left to go to university was absolute hell and I couldn’t wait to get away.

I went away to university to study economics, accountancy and business management, another thing that didn’t please my Dad, as itwas for wimps not a job for real men according to him. Whilst I was desperate to get away from the gossips and the unkind comments, I was saddened to be leaving the beautiful Bamburgh area with it’s glorious unspoilt beaches, its awe inspiring castle perched high on its rocky outcrop, and the magnificent countryside of Northumberland.

During my stay at university, away from the influences of Bamburgh, my thoughts of Grace got less intrusive into my life, but I still often dressed as a girl whenever I could, it gave me lot of inner contentment and calm. My first year when I was in the halls of residence did not give me many opportunities, but in my 2nd and 3rd years I was sharing a flat with a friend, Sally, a girl I had met and got on very well with, we were good friends but that was it.

University social life is very active, as well as the usual social groups in the bars and clubs, there were often special event fancy-dress parties which gave me the opportunity to dress. The first time was for a halloween party in the Students Hall. Sally took great delight in helping me get dressed in a black leather skirt and jacket, fishnet tights 4” stilettos and over-the-top goth makeup. I had not told her about my fantasies of Grace or my delight in dressing as a girl, it just seemed a good idea to her at the time and I pretended to going along with it reluctantly, but I did tell her that I would like to be called Grace when we were out that night. We had an amazing time, going in with Sally and being introduced to everybody as Grace, I was just accepted as a girl by her friends, dancing and drinking and having a good time with them.

Every year most students at universities take part in what is called ‘Rag-week” which is basically a series of charity fund-raising stunts where the students involve the townsfolk to join in with often stupid events, all with the purpose of raising money. As part of a parade, the finale to the week, Sally and her friends were dressing as fairies to mix with the watching crowds and rattle collection buckets at them. The night before the parade, one of the girls dropped out because she was feeling unwell, and Sally asked if, for a bit of fun, I would l like to join in with them. While my heart was almost bursting through my ribcage with anticipation, I initially refused on the grounds that I would look silly, but of course I eventually agreed.

“I knew you would agree in the end, you enjoyed your night out with us at Halloween, and to be blunt nobody even knew you are a boy, you are more girl size and have lovely long wavy hair. However, the costumes for tomorrow are quite flimsy and sexy, so this time you can’t hide behind the goth clothes and make-up, you will have to make a bit more effort. There is some Nair cream and spray in my bathroom, rub on the cream where you can easily reach and use the spray for the more difficult to get at bits, I’ll come in and spray your back areas. Leave it for a while, as long as possible unless it tingles too much and then shower it all off and soap yourself down with some of my body lotion. While you are in there, shampoo and condition your hair, but leave it wet and I’ll have a go at it when you come out.”

Body hair removed, showered, moisturised, wearing a towelling dressing gown and with my hair wrapped in a towel turban, I came out of the bathroom a half-hour later. Sally part blow-dried my hair and finished it of with a heated styling brush, My hair was naturally wavy but Sally had done a wonderful job in turning it into a much more feminine style. She gave my eyebrows a light trim, just to take away the bushiness, but not making them a too obviously feminine shape, shaped and painted my nails a sparkly pink and with a big grin said, “That will do for now we’ll finish you off in the morning.”

I slept fitfully that night, my dreams of Grace coming back to me, I began to feel like a girl again, rather than as a boy dressed as a girl.

Sally woke me up the next morning, “Come on we have a lot to do and there is not too much time.”

She tied my hair back and made me up with a really light shiny foundation, eyes highlighted by a pale pink glitter shadow, liner, and mascara, glitter blusher and a pale pink lipstick. When she let me look in a mirror at the result, I almost burst out crying with joy, but that would never do, I was supposed to be doing this reluctantly and also it would ruin my makeup and we would have to start again.

“If you are going blend in you have to have breasts like the rest of the girls, I’ll not say who, but one of the girls has always need a bit of help in that area, I knew you would go along with this so I have borrowed some silicone enhancers for you, they are not too big, but will be realistic enough. I’ve left your costume on your bed, go in and get changed and I’ll sort myself out. Before I forget, we called you Grace at Halloween, are you still happy with that?

I put on the matching white panties and bra, popped in the enhancers, and pulled up the heavy white tights and a second pair of panties. I didn’t understand why I needed the second pair until I put on my dress. it was a typical fairy costume, a light tulle material very short with a flared skirt that would undoubtedly show of my panties to the world. I decided that I better make sure that I would not be easily seen as a boy, and so dropped everything down again, tucked myself back between my legs, and now with the two pairs of panties and the tights I was securely hidden away. As we were going to be walking a couple of miles and occasionally running to catch up, the girls had decided on wearing trainers rather than heels for which I was grateful, and Sally had found me a white pair with pink trimming to match my makeup and nails. The outfit was completed with a pair of clip-on wings, a tiara, and a fairy wand, and I was ready to go.

It was a successful day, we raised a lot of money for local charities and had loads of fun. After the parade we all went for a drink together, still in our costumes, to talk about the people we had met and talked to and how all the other groups were dressed, particularly the sexy boys in the leather shorts and waistcoats showing off their bare chests and six-packs. I was not in the least bit fazed by all this chat about sexy boys, as in my head I was Grace, not Jack, and had the same emotions as the other girls.

Back at the flat relaxing with a glass of wine with Sally, she stared at me considering what to say.

“ You really fitted in with the girls today, and you seemed so natural, be honest with me, have you done this before?”

I told her about my lifelong obsession with Grace Darling, about my fantasies about being her, my dressing up, my family discovery and the reaction of them and the villagers, and was waiting for her to get hysterical, call me names and telling me to leave the flat.

“That’s awfully sad that you were treated like that, it’s the 21st century not the 1800s, times and attitudes are changing. To be honest, I thought there was something out of the ordinary about you, but never guessed what. If you are interested, and tell me if I am being pushy, it would not be a problem for me if I was sharing the flat with Grace rather than Jack, it’s all up to you but the offer is there.”

For the rest of my time at university, I lived and dressed as Grace most of the time, except when at lectures when I was more androgynous, and became close friends with Sally’s crowd and became one of the girls with them, Sally did not tell them about Jack and they just saw me and treated me as Grace. She and I became almost sisters, sharing our secrets, our experiences of life, and our clothes at times, she totally overlooked the fact that I was still was boy, and talked to me and behaved with me completely as another girl.

Although my parents had strongly disapproved of my thoughts of Grace, and did not know that I was now her most of the time, they were proud of me finishing university with a degree, the first person in their families to do so, and came to my graduation ceremony, where I had my degree conferred dressed formally as Jack. I wouldn’t call it a reconciliation, but at least we were speaking to each other again. Despite that, I couldn’t face going back to live in Bamburgh, although it is a beautiful part of the country, and I had enjoyed my life there until I was exposed, too many people knew too much about me for me to be comfortable.

Sally was from Whitehaven on the Cumbrian coast, and was going back to work in her family’s business, although she wasn’t going to live at home, but in a cottage at St Bees, a seaside village a few miles down the coast. Although on the opposite side of the country to Bamburgh, the way she described it, it sounded like it had a similar character to my home area, a small village, beaches, nature reserve, heritage coast, and some historic buildings, although nothing to compare to the spectacular castle at Bamburgh. I decided that it sounded like a place that I would feel at home with, and we agreed that if I could find a suitable job in the area, that I would join her in her cottage there.

I also decided that I was going to live and work as a woman and applied for jobs with accountancy firms in the area, using the name of Grace Armstrong, but otherwise sticking to the truth of my background and qualifications.

I got lots of rejections, some because they had no vacancies, some because they were looking for someone more experienced, some- although they wouldn’t say it openly- because they were looking for a man not a woman. Eventually I was invited for interview at a small practice about 3 or 4 miles inland from St Bees, who covered business development and management advice as well as the standard accountancy services, and seemed like a good fit with what I was looking for.

I was interviewed by the two partners, unusually both women, and got on well with them and impressed them with my attitudes and abilities, and they invited me to join their practice. I felt that I had to be honest with them and, having taken a deep breath to prepare myself, I told them my real identity and that I was living as a female while I decided whether I wanted to fully transition, and that I hoped they could understand and be tolerant and still want to employ me. In a nice way, this amused and intrigued them, all of their staff were female, and a high proportion of their clients were too, and they told me that if I had applied in my own name that they probably would not have interviewed me, never mind offering me a job, They were delighted that, as long as I lived as a woman and kept my identity a secret, I would be joining them and helping to increase their client base.

There was a problem in that, for legal reasons, any work that I carried out would have to be signed off by my legal name, and that before I started with them I would have to officially change my name, and formal records. The name change by deed-poll was easy, but getting my qualifications and professional registration changed was a lot more bureaucratic, and arranging the changes on government documents, tax details, National Insurance documents, driving licence, etc, was a pain, but all went through smoothly. A few weeks later, I moved in to share a cottage with Sally, and start my new job, officially now as Grace Armstrong. The company records and my details had only been completed after my name change, and only the two partners Jane and Jackie, knew the truth about me.

I wrote to my parents telling them that I had changed my name to Grace and was now living and working as a woman in Cumbria, but not exactly where, I was not sure how they would react when they realised what I was doing. I gave them my email address and mobile phone number so that they could get a message to me if needed, but not my address or landline number. I received a curt message back, “Not what we would have wished for, but it is your life, please keep in touch.”

For the first few months of working with Jane and Jackie, I was confined to the office, doing routine bookkeeping and tax accounts, until they had total confidence in me , both in my abilities and in my success at presenting as a woman. My appearance was helped by me wearing my breast forms, fixed with adhesive, all the time and wearing padded briefs to give my backside a bit more of a rounded shape The other women and girls just treated me as one of them, nothing special, the normal petty office spats and rivalries, the normal chats and discussions about life in general and boyfriends and husbands in particular, and being a woman now became just natural to me, Other than when I was in the shower or getting changed, it never crossed my mind that I was different from the others.

Soon I was allowed out to meetings with clients, originally with Jane or Jackie to be introduced and to let the clients get confidence in me, but I soon had established a client list of my own that I dealt with by myself. Now I was out meeting clients I had to have a more professional image. In the office I had worked in casual dresses, or skirts and tops, and with my hair hanging loose onto my shoulders, but now I was usually in a smart business skirt suit with a formal blouse, wearing heels, and with my hair in a tidy updo style, all smart but comfortable and very professional-looking.

When we had a request to assist the Treasurer of the local lifeboat station, I was very keen to handle that account. It wasn’t a major account, as between the local Treasurer and the RNLI national finance team, all the major decisions and policies were made elsewhere, it was just a case of general auditing and keeping the station staff updated with changes to taxation, financial obligations, or employment or Health & Safety regulations. However because I knew the life my father led with the lifeboats and the wonderful work that the crews, all volunteers, did, and because it reminded me of the good times out on the sea at Bamburgh, going out to the Farne Islands or over to Holy Island (Lindisfarne) in my dinghy, I felt a close affinity with the local station and wanted to help in any way I could.

This led to me volunteering for weekend work at the station, not as a crew member, just assisting in the station and their shop or guiding visitors around, or keeping the rescue boat clean and tidy and stocked with its necessary provisions. My enthusiasm was noticed by the Station Officer, who asked if I would be interested in becoming a crew volunteer, they were always looking for new members, especially younger people. They were particularly interested in getting a female member, as unusually nowadays they were one of the few all-male stations, I would good for the image of the station, and quite often if people were panicking a female voice tended to calm them down better than a man’s. I told him that I had previously been on several training sessions and already knew the basics, but obviously I still had a lot to learn and needed updating.

The next 12 months were very busy at work, developing our involvement with business management advice, which was becoming my specialism, in addition to the general accountancy roles of financial planning, bookkeeping, auditing and taxation advice. I was gradually being given more freedom and responsibility and was really fitting in as a team member, and getting on well with the rest of the girls. As with a lot of businesses in small towns, the staff lived scattered around nearby villages or on farms, and there wasn’t much opportunity for socialising out of work hours, but we did all try to get together once a month, usually in Whitehaven or Workington, but even occasionally up to Carlisle to the theatre. They were a lively friendly crowd but all had their own lives to live, and my social life was mainly limited to drinks in the local with Sally and a few friends

Personally too my life was becoming much pleasanter, whereas previously I was a shy introverted unsociable boy, I was now much friendlier and open with people, quite bubbly and lively, with an active social life. I was now just totally natural as a girl, both in looks and behaviour and when out with the crowd I was often chatted up by the local lads. Whilst I met several really nice lads that I got on well with, I didn’t let it get beyond going out for a date or drinks or a meal, I did not fancy the idea of gay sex, either physically or emotionally, I saw myself as a woman and decided to wait until I felt comfortable enough to transition before I went down that path, but I still kept in touch with them as friends.

I continued with my training at the lifeboat station and attended additional specialist courses at the RNLI college at Poole in Dorset, and after 12 months I was accepted as a fully qualified crew member. The training was continuous for all crew members and we met weekly for exercises or briefing sessions. The training sessions often took the form of a mock rescue either from the sea or from rocks or coves and I took my turn with the others as the victim. My first time was treated as an initiation ceremony, and involved a lot of time in the water, being rescued and then thrown back in, they all knew that I was a really strong swimmer and had no worries about my safety. They made no concessions for the fact that in their eyes I was female and I was expected to perform the same duties as any others in the crew, and take my turn doing the less pleasant or more dangerous tasks. The only concession to me was that my all-weather protective waterproof kit was about 3 or 4 sizes small than anyone else’s, but otherwise I had all the same kit as the men, and I was allowed to change in a separate room rather than in the main locker room whenever I was soaked through by immersion in the sea.

Our rescue boat, an Atlantic 85 RIB, a rigid inflatable boat with twin powerful 115hp outboard engines, was normally crewed by a helmsman (the driver) and 3 crew members when out on exercise or or on a call. As all the crew were volunteers and had other jobs to do, as well as family commitments, there were obviously more of us in the crew team that were needed on an emergency call-out, and usually it was a case of the first ones that got to the station after our alarm pagers went off were the ones that went out, time was often a major factor in a successful rescue.

Most of the rescues were routine, yachtsmen who had capsized their boat, kayakers or jet-skiers that had got into difficulties and damaged their craft on the rocks, surfers or swimmers that had got out of their depth, or sunbathers who had got trapped by rising tides in the coves under the cliffs along the shoreline. Thankfully more often than not, the rescues were not major problems, and although to the people we rescued it was a traumatic time, to us it was often not much more than a training exercise. Our work was primarily within a few miles of shore, deeper sea operations were usually carried out by the larger Severn -type boats at our flank stations at Workington and Barrow.

However, inevitably, the day came when I was involved in a major rescue. There was a storm coming in from the West, and there was a heavy swell rising on the sea when the station got a call from the coastguards that there were two people trapped by the tide in a cove around the headland that was inaccessible from the land and the cliffs were overhanging and dangerous for rescuers to abseil down to help.

It was a weekend evening and I was at home when the call came out, so I was at the station in a few minutes and was the first crew member to arrive, and I was in my all-weather waterproofs and preparing the boat when the rest of the crew arrived, the boat was towed down the slipway and we launched into a heavy choppy sea which tossed us about a lot and meant that we were not at full speed, but it was a reasonably local location we were headed for and we were soon stationed offshore in sight of the trapped people.

The tide was high and the strong onshore winds were really churning up the seas with what for this stretch of coast were quite high waves. The surf was not going straight in to the cove, but was running at an angle and causing a lot of turbulence and eddies. Joe, the helmsman, decided it was too risky taking the A85 RIB close in to the shore, he knew that on this stretch of coast there were many boulders near the shoreline, and with the choppy seas they would not be seen and there could be major damage to the boat. He thought it safer to hold position about 30 yards offshore, If we had been in a smaller D class inflatable we might have had a chance, but our A85 was too big to risk. The only option was for two of us to swim and wade ashore and lead the casualties out to the boat. They didn’t want me to go, and to stay on the boat to deal with the victims when they were brought out, but I argued that was unfair on the others and that I was just as capable and well-trained as them, and was probably the strongest and most capable swimmer of them all.

Jack, one of the crewmen, and I, jumped in and swam for the shore, between the undertow of the tide, the choppy waves, and the bulk of our waterproofs, it was a struggle, it was a case of ‘two strokes forward, one stroke back’, but when we were about halfway to shore the seabed started to rise and we were able to wade the rest of the way in. A father and son had been out in a kayak in the morning when the seas were calm, and when the seas started to swell they were heading back, but got hit by a big wave and overturned. Luckily they were not too far out and were able to get to the rocky shore under the cliffs. They were frightened, cold, and soaked through but seemed ok otherwise, with no injuries. We calmed them down and reassured them that they were in safe hands, fitted them with life jackets and explained that we had to get them out to the boat as the cove would soon be completely underwater, but for safety it had to be one at a time.

Picking a gap in the intensity of the waves we led the young son out first, each of us strongly gripping his hands, a lifeline was thrown out to us and we used that to pull ourselves out to the boat, and the boy was soon aboard, and we went back for his father. He picked up his rucksack with their belongings and came to go out with us. I told him that he would have to leave the bag, we needed him to focus on what we were doing, and when we got him on the boat I would return for it. As we had told Joe that we had not come across any underwater rocks on the first trip he had brought the boat in a few yards and we were able to wade out most of the way to it, although a couple of the waves did lift us of our feet and throw us back when they passed, but we soon safely had the father and Jack on board. As we were nearer the shore, I tied on a safety line for the final round trip, collected the bag, but had to carry it rather than put my arms through the straps as my waterproofs were too bulky for it to fit, and just before I reached the boat I slipped on a patch of kelp and tumbled over into the water. Luckily I was able to hold on to the bag while they pulled on the lifeline and dragged me to the boat.

Our casualties and I were wrapped in blankets for the return to the station and I chatted with them to keep them alert, which helps to stop hypothermia setting in, found out who they were and where they were from, and told them all about the lifeboat service of the RNLI and how we were all volunteers who gave up a lot of our spare time to help those in distress on the sea. They couldn’t believe that we were not a funded emergency service and did this for goodwill.

By the time we arrived back in St. Bees, there was quite a crowd on the beach, the crew members who had arrived too late to go out on the call had followed events on the radio and knew that we had carried out a successful rescue and they had alerted the local press. There was also a camera crew from the local TV news channel, who by coincidence were filming a news item a few miles down the coast at the Seascale Nuclear site. By the time we reached the bay I was standing up in the bow of the boat guiding us in and ready to throw across the mooring ropes for the team waiting on the slipway to tow us in. The wind was blowing through my hair and drying it and my clothes, and I felt really proud of the part I had played in the rescue.

Our first priority was to get the two casualties inside in the warm where they could be looked after by the paramedics. While I was dealing with the casualties and the paramedics Joe, the helm, and the rest of the crew were being interviewed outside by the TV crew and the local press reporter and gave their account of the rescue mission, including the fact that three times I had gone out into heavy seas. When the reporters had all the details from them, I was asked to go out and give an interview too.

“Congratulations Grace, we hear that you did a magnificent job in an extremely difficult situation, you were a heroine, without you the casualties would undoubtedly have been washed out and drowned, you deserve a medal.”

“That’s not fair on the others, we are a team and we all had our parts to play, my part was just a bit wetter than the others. It was a dangerous situation and Joe did a super job getting the boat in and keeping it from damage, and I only made one more trip than Jack who did an excellent job with me, they are just as worthy of your praise as I am, we were all glad to be of help.Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to go back inside to get warm, changed and dried.”

The lads on the team all gave me a round of applause when I got back inside. “That was very modest of you,” said Joe “you didn’t have to go into the water, the lads could have done it, you insisted on putting yourself in danger. It was also very kind of you to share the praise, it would have been easy for you to play the heroine, a brave attractive lass facing danger with no concern for herself, but you chose to just play your part as one of the team, and we are all glad that you are.”

Unfortunately that was not the end of incident. It turned out that our rescued couple were relatives of a director of the local TV station and they ran a feature about the rescue on their evening news programme, starting with an opening shot of me at the bow, with my arms spread wide ready to throw the mooring rope, my head held high to look up at the slipway and my hair streaming behind me, it was all very reminiscent of the famous scene in Titanic, except that I didn’t have Leonardo DiCaprio holding on to me. They ran interviews with the rest of the crew who described the details of the rescue and the problems we had, and finished with my interview, with a parting shot of “What a brave young woman and so modest with it, her name of Grace could not me more appropriate.”

That was just the start of it, the local paper ran a major article on the work of the RNLI in general and the history of the St Bees station in particular, including accounts of the other recent rescues with which we had been involved. It raised a lot of interest among the locals and among the holidaymakers who stayed at the nearby caravan parks and holiday cottages. I was disappointed that they all seemed to feature me as a sort of poster-girl, they even picked up on my Northumbrian roots and compared me to Grace Darling, and I was concerned that the lads at the station might think that I was glory-hunting, which was definitely not the case, I would have preferred a much lower profile, considering my personal gender situation.

The lads in the crew were brilliant about it, they joked that I was the only one that wasn’t too big and ugly for photo shots, which was not the case as many of them were quite fit and fanciable.They welcomed the publicity for our work and the additional funds that were coming in from contributions and sales, and were glad for me to be the main focus of the media. They also told me that hey had sent off copies of the newspaper article and a video of the TV report to headquarters with a recommendation that I should be considered for a bravery award.

I didn’t get a bravery award for that rescue, they were to come in the future, but the story of the rescue was featured in the RNLI magazine which was sent to all the stations and crew members, as well as being available to all our fund-raisers and subscribers.

Some weeks later there was a knock at our door and when I answered it, there stood Mam and Dad. They had seen the article in the magazine, put two and two together, realised where I was, contacted the local station and got my address. There were hugs and tears all round on the doorstep before I invited them in.

“ I know that I have not been very kind to you over the years, particularly recently, but I totally misjudged you. I thought you’re a wimp with no backbone who would never follow in my footsteps, or more appropriately in my wake, but you have proved me wrong, you are as big a heroine as your idol Grace Darling, and in my eyes even more so. Can you ever forgive me?”, Dad wept as he held my hand.

Mum took my other hand tightly. “I’m so sorry that I let out your secret, that was inexcusable, and it caused you so much bother at the time, I only discussed it with my friend to try and get my head around what you were doing, not realising what a gossip she was, and the way people would react. I can only apologise, and hope that I can get to know my daughter properly.”

We sat and talked for a few hours, Sally had made us some tea and put out some cake and biscuits then went out to leave us to make up in private. They decided to stay for a few day so I booked them into a self-catering villa in the town, which was a bit more personal than a hotel, and which allowed us to continue our catch-up.

Dad told me that when he seen the article, he was worried what the reaction would be down at his lifeboat station, after all it was a very macho crew, mainly fishermen, boatmen and farmers, and he wasn’t expecting a lot of tolerance about his “tranny” son/daughter. He was surprised and delighted when he got to the station, all he got were congratulations on his heroic daughter and that he ought to be proud of her, and a few apologies over how she had been treated those few years ago. Times and attitudes had changed in those years, even in the traditional and socially conservative Northumbrian folk. He said that if I ever returned to Northumberland that I would be welcomed back as one of theirs and treated with the respect deserving of an RNLI crew member.

This all prompted me to decide the importance and need for me to fully become a woman. Other than Jane and Jackie, nobody in St. Bees knew about my past and I needed to complete my transition before anyone else found out. Just over a year later, after hormones had changed my body and the surgery had got rid of the final trace of my previous manhood, after a recovery period, I went down to my first training session at the station completely as Grace.

I was expecting just the normal quiet “Hello and welcome back”, but was faced with a guard-of -honour leading me to a large banner “Welcome back our Darling Grace, our real-life heroine”. It turned out that when I took time off to go in for surgery, someone, being nosey, had checked the records of my medical that I had when I joined the crew and noticed that I was listed as Male, totally inappropriate and unprofessional, and had found out why I was in hospital, but nobody owned up to it and nobody really cared. They all knew me and had risked their lives with me as Grace, and that was good enough for them.

Later I Thought about that banner “Welcome back our Darling Grace, our real-life heroine”, and realised that I didn’t need my fantasy heroine, Grace Darling, any more, I was now my own real-life heroine, Grace Armstrong.

The end