Aunt Greta’s Homework

By Gabi

‘AUNTIE GRETE! MUM’S ON THE ’PHONE––She says that Tim’s come back from camp with bubonic plague!’

‘Bubonic plague, dear? Are you sure?’

‘Well, p’raps not Bubonic plague, but Mum says it’s something dead catching that I haven’t had. She says can I stay on here until Tim’s bug-free?’ I passed Auntie the ’phone.

‘Hello, Peggy?–What’s all this Gab’s saying?…About bubonic plague?…Oh I see. Scarlet fever…No-no-no–he’s no trouble; I adore having him here, he makes me feel eleven years old again.’

While Auntie Greta’s on the ’phone to Mum, I’d better fill you in on the facts. My name is Gabriel Chambers. I’m 11, have hazel eyes and what Mummy calls “mouse-coloured” hair and I’m in Yr6 at Tuckton Middle School and as it’s the end of the summer holls, I'll be in Year 7 when school starts again. I’ve been staying with my Great Aunt Greta while Mum and Dad were away at a conference and my big brother Tim was at Scout camp. It was almost my last day at Auntie G’s, and I’d been having such a brilliant time, I didn’t really want to go home.

Auntie Grete’s fifty years older than me and she’s really-really cool–not your usual prim and proper great-aunt–No way–she zooms around on a BMW motor-bike wearing leathers and a Bellstar helmet, and last week she got stopped by the police for doing wheelies away from the traffic lights! And, my ton-up-auntie can swear like a French brickie’s mate–IN FROG!–well cool eh?

‘Am I going to stay here, Auntie Grete?’

‘Yes, my pet. If you went home, you couldn’t go back to school because you’d be in quarantine.’

Tuckton Middle School is just round the corner from Auntie Grete’s, so I won’t need to get up so early. Cool! I like her house; it’s dead old-fashioned inside, except for the kitchen, which is really-really up-to-date. The rooms have yellowing wallpaper and dingy brown woodwork with fake wood grain that looks like somebody ran a comb along it while the paint was wet. In the sitting room there’s a big old-fashioned radio set that she calls ‘The Wireless’–which I think is a silly name because once she showed me the inside and there were millions of wires in it! The dial has really-really romantic names on it, like Hilversum, Luxembourg, Rome and Daventry–

On the Thursday before term began, it was 8th September, Mum had just brought all my school things round, and after she had left, Auntie Grete and I went up the loft to find something for Auntie to give as a wedding present. It was like Aladdin’s cave up there, full of all sorts of treasures, and suitcases galore, mostly, I was to discover, containing old-fashioned clothes.

‘I hate throwing anything away,’ Auntie confided, rummaging through the suitcases. ‘You never know when something might come in handy.’ As she searched case after case, I wondered what she was looking for.
‘Eureka!’ she exclaimed suddenly, waving a strange oriental-looking vase in the air. ‘And look, Gab–here’s my old Tuckton school hat.’ It was navy-blue velour, with a mauve and Kermit-green hatband. She plonked it on my head and pinged the elastic under my chin.

‘Ouch! That hurt! I bet the girls are glad they don’t wear school-hats now!’

‘Sorry, my pet. D’you know, with your longish hair you look just like me when I was your age. I’d forgotten I’d got so many ancient garments up here. Gosh! Here’s a gym tunic I wore to school–I should think I must have been about your age when I wore it.’

She held it up against me; it was navy-blue with wide box-pleats and a square yoke. Auntie Grete had been in my form in 1944. Last term, when it was 50 years since D-day, she came and told us what it was like being at school during wartime. It was really interesting.

‘Good gracious. All my old school things seem to be up here. You might as well have my blazer,’ she said, ‘then you can keep your new one for best. We won’t even have to change the name-tape. Look, it says; “G Chambers.” I know you’re a boy, but I doubt anyone will notice the difference.’

‘Err–P-Please may I try your school things on, Auntie G?’ I asked blushing a deep puce colour. ‘I’ve often wondered what it would be like to wear girls’ clothes and I think it would be rather fun. It’s not as if anyone else is going to see me.’

‘Dressing up’s fun isn’t it? I’ve always loved it and so did your dad when he was a boy.’ She took a rather plain grown-up dress from the trunk. ‘This is one of my Mummy’s wartime frocks. Clothes were rationed, you know, so everything was made to use as little material as possible.’ After more rummaging she held up something else. ‘And this is my ghastly party-frock. Isn’t it absolutely vile? I loathed and detested it.’

No wonder! It was dead yucky–all shiny-pink with puffed sleeves, a Peter Pan collar and flounces. ‘I guess no girl today would be seen dead in it!’ I said. ‘I’d have refused to wear it if I was a girl.’

‘When I was your age, Gab, we had to wear what we were told. Mummy was terribly strict. She wouldn’t even let me wear shorts in the summer holidays like some of the other girls used to.’

‘How awful. I must have been horrible to have to wear dresses all the time. Wouldn't she even let you wear jeans?’ I asked.

Auntie laughed; ‘I never had jeans until I was grown up. Nobody in England wore jeans when I was a little girl, not even the boys–they all wore short trousers until they were thirteen or fourteen.’

While we took everything down to my bedroom, Auntie Greta said; ‘I know what we’ll do, Gab; we’ll both dress up–you in my old gymmer, and I’ll put on Mummy’s frock–and we’ll pretend it’s 1944 again. I’ve got a book of Mummy’s that’s full of wartime recipes, so we can have a real 1944-style supper.’

‘Brilliant! We’ll pretend that I am you and you’re my mum–your mum.’ I pulled off my T-shirt and wriggled out of my rather tight jeans.

‘If you like you could even wear the proper undies,” said Auntie. ‘I know I have a pair of knickers like we had to wear at school.’ Without waiting for my reply she disappeared, leaving me to examine the clothes she had put on my bed. Beside the gym tunic, there was a white shirt a tie and a pair of white ankle socks. After a couple of minutes she returned with a plastic bag containing something navy-blue.

‘I knew I had these, Gab. I was going to give them to the local am dram soc for their wardrobe. Slip your Y-fronts off and put them on,’ she instructed, holding them out for me.

I stepped into them and she pulled them up. They were bigger than I expected and rather baggy with tight elastic round the legs. ‘We all had to wear knickers like this,’ she said. ‘Some of my friends’ ones even had a pocket to keep their hankie in. Now put your blouse on and button it up.’

I slipped my arms through the sleeves and tried to fasten the buttons–they were on the wrong side!

‘It’s a girl’s blouse, Gabriel–or should I call you Gabrielle–so it fastens on the girl’s side.’ It felt strange doing it the “wrong way round” but I soon had it buttoned up to the neck. ‘Now your tie, dear.’

That was easy as I wear a tie to school every day. Then she dropped her old gym tunic over my head and showed me how to tie the Kermit-green girdle round my waist.

‘Sit down on your bed and put your socks on, Gaby,’ she said. ‘Your own black school shoes will do as they are almost the same as we wore in 1944.’

That done she sat me down in front of the dressing table and started brushing my hair. “Shall I have a ponytail like I usually do, Auntie?’ I asked.

‘I can’t remember anyone having ponytails then, poppet. If we had hair as long as yours we had to plait it.’ She gave me a centre parting and then set to giving me two very tidy plaits. ‘How’s that, Gab?–Or p’raps I should call you Greta now? You’re the very image me fifty years ago. If you’re naughty I shall call you Greta Louise like Mummy did when she was cross with me.’

Staring back at me from Auntie’s long mirror was a girl who might have just stepped from one of the old school photos round the walls of the Assembly Hall at school. I rather liked the way the hem of the tunic brushed my knees and the air on my thighs as we walked through to Auntie’s bedroom. I watched as she dressed in her mum’s frock and did her hair in plaits which she pinned up in coils over her ears–like earphones. It made her look exactly like her mum in the photo on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. Then we went downstairs to get the tea.

‘Are you hungry, Greta, darling? Would you like a jam sandwich as well as a piece of chocky cake?’ For a moment I wondered who she was talking to, then I realised it was me. ‘With your home-made strawberry jam? Oooh! Yes ple-ease!’

‘I thought you might. I was always hungry when I was eleven, but rationing meant everything was scarce. We were allowed just one egg a week, and our sweets ration was four ounces, about 120 grams. You go ahead to open the doors, and I’ll bring the tray.’

In the sitting-room Auntie put down the tray and I sat on the tuffet. She passed my sandwich and a wedge of choc cake. ‘Thanks, Auntie Sal. Mmmmm! I love your strawberry jam!’

‘I used to sit there, have my tea and listen to Children’s Hour. We loved the wireless; it brought us the news, which often made us glum, and then cheered us up. Mummy used to let me stay up in my nightie every Thursday to listen to ITMA*. Everyone listened to ITMA, even the King. Tommy Handley was so funny. We adored mimicking the characters, like Mrs. Mopp–“Can I do yer now Sir?”’ she mimicked, ‘or Poppy Poo-Pah–or even Mona Lott, “It’s being so cheerful that keeps me goin’”. Sometimes the siren would go and we’d rush out to the shelter and wait for doodlebugs.’

‘Doodlebugs?’ I queried. ‘Weren’t they a sort of rocket thingy?’

‘Doodlebugs were what were called V1s– the flying bombs, like aeroplanes but without a pilot and filled with explosive. Some people called them buzz-bombs because they made a horrid buzzing noise, and had just enough fuel to get here. When it ran out, the engine stopped and the doodlebug crashed to the ground and exploded. The rocket thingies you mentioned were the V2s; they arrived without warning.’

‘I think Hitler was horrible! He made so many people unhappy. Did he make you unhappy, Auntie G?’

‘Yes,’ she replied quietly. ‘My best friend–Wendy–was killed when a doodlebug destroyed her house on the seventh of September 1944–fifty years ago. I cried and cried, and I still can’t remember a thing about that air-raid.’

‘We’re going to learn more about the war next term. Oooh!–It would be fun dress-up in 1940s uniform for school when we do it. I don’t think Wattie could possibly object. What d’you think Auntie G?’

‘What would the other boys say if you went dressed as a girl? And would Miss Watson let you?’

‘Oh, Wattie won’t mind,’ I replied. ‘She’s a real sport, but I hadn’t thought about the boys.’

‘We’ll think about that later then. Let’s put on the wireless, shall we, Greta?’ said Auntie. She clicked on one of the knobs, but nothing happened.

‘P’rhaps it’s not plugged in,’ I suggested.

‘It has to warm up first,’ replied Auntie. It began humming and making whoops and whistles as she twiddled the knob.

‘Hello, children!’ said the wireless, ‘We begin Children’s Hour today with another episode from “The Wind in the Willows” by Kenneth Graham. Part eight, “The Return of Ulysses”.’

‘Brill! Is that a cassette, Auntie? It makes it seem like it really-really is 1944. Amazing!’

‘What do you mean, Greta? Of course it’s 1944! And what, pray, is a “cassette”? It sounds like something rude to me; and why did you call me Auntie?’ (Her voice was different–‘Clever Auntie!’ I thought. She looked younger too!–Dead weird!)‘And it’s high time you started your prep. Go and get your satchel from the hall, there’s a good girl.’

Prep? Did she mean homework?

‘But, Auntie, I haven’t got any homew–err, prep. tonight. It’s still the holls.’

‘The word is holidays, Greta Louise! I will not tolerate your speaking in that slovenly, guttersnipe manner! And why do you keep calling me “Auntie” when I’m your Mummy? I cannot understand what’s come over you. Have you forgotten that you were at school today? Now, don’t be so tiresome and go and do your prep. like a good little girl, or I won’t allow you to listen to ITMA tonight.’

‘Mayn’t I listen to Children’s Hour first? Ple-ease?–’

‘For goodness sake, girl! Go and do your prep this instant, or I’ll be cross. If you’d not dawdled so long at Wendy’s after school, you could have listened to Children’s Hour. You know the rule; “Prep first–Play afterwards.” It’s so unfair of you to play me up while Daddy’s away in the Navy. Take the tray to the kitchen, and then please go and do your prep. There’s a good girl.’

Something really-really weird had happened that I couldn’t understand; so I just said, ‘Yes, Mummy,’ meekly, picked up the tray and took it to the kitchen.

Auntie G’s smart modern kitchen units were gone! In their place was a china sink with a wooden draining board, an old gas cooker, a tall cabinet with a let-down flap, a wooden table and three chairs. I left the tray on the draining-board and went back to the hall.

Sure enough, a brown leather satchel was hanging on the hall stand. I looked inside. It contained a wooden pencil-box with a sliding lid, two textbooks and a green exercise book with; “Greta Chambers. Form 3. English” written on the front. Inside, the neat handwriting was in purple ink. One page was about “parsing”, whatever that was, and there were poems and essays from the summer term. In the last essay, “What I like doing during the holidays”, Greta had made one tiny spelling mistake, and had got nine out of ten. Her teacher had written; “Very good” in red ink. The next page was headed:— “Autumn Term 1944. Preparation.” and on the next line; “7th Sept: Essay: Things I shall look forward to when the war is over.”

In the sitting room Mummy was darning a funny-looking vest with suspenders attached. Looking up, she said: ‘What is the matter with you this afternoon, Greta? You’re acting very strangely. You always do your prep in the dining room. Are you not feeling yourself?’

‘Definitely not!’ I thought, but I replied; ‘I’m alright, Mummy, really. I was just thinking about my essay.’

‘Pop and write it then; there’s a good girl.’

‘Yes, Mummy!’

I crossed the hall to the dining room. How long would I stay in 1944? What if I had to go to school tomorrow? I wouldn’t know anybody in my form! I emptied the satchel, and opened the pencil-box. Inside were two plain wooden pencils, a dip-pen, a fountain-pen, and a wooden ruler marked in inches! I had never used a fountain-pen, only a ball-point or felt-tips. I unscrewed the cap and headed the page; “Things I shall look forward to when the war is over” and underlined it using the ruler. As I took the ruler away, the line smudged––

‘Oh barley-sugar!’ I exclaimed loudly.

The door opened. ‘Greta Louise Chambers! I shall make you wash out your mouth with soap if I hear you using unseemly, guttersnipe language again!’

‘Sorry, Mummy, but I smudged my English exercise book. And I only said barley-sugar.’

‘That’s no excuse, Greta. You know perfectly well it means something much worse. NICE little girls do NOT swear. I cannot understand what’s got into you today.’

‘Yes, Mummeee––’

She stared hard at me–sniffed–and went out.

I enjoy writing essays, and writing one forty years before I’d been born, although seeming a bit weird, didn’t worry me. What luck my handwriting was so like Greta’s! I tried to think what she would write about. Of course! She’d be really-really looking forward to the end of sweets rationing; she’d think that would be dead brill and well wicked! And the latest CDs! And what about the end of clothes rationing? She’d certainly want some really cool gear to impress her boyfriend; and no more doodlebugs or cold nights in the air-raid shelter! After that, the essay did not take long. I had just finished it, when I heard a loud wailing sound.

Mummy burst in. ‘Come along, Greta,’ she said, urgently. ‘At once. Didn’t you hear the siren? Leave your prep till later. Quickly now!’

I stood up and followed her into the garden. In one corner was a grassy mound with a wooden door. The air-raid shelter? We hurried inside. Mummy lit a candle, and closed the door.

We sat, holding hands–waiting and listening. A false alarm? Then I heard it–a droning, crackling, buzzing noise–Getting louder–and louder– and louder––

––A DOODLEBUG––!!!

It was coming closer–and closer––I knew it was directly overhead–I felt really-really scared, and heard myself say: ‘Please, God, don’t let the engine stop now.’

Amen,’ said Mummy, hugging me tightly. I felt a bit braver then. The doodlebug seemed to stay over us for ages. I held my breath, clinging to Mummy, hoping and hoping it was going away.

And then the engine stopped––

The silence was unbearable. I clung to Mummy, burying my face in her clothes. After what seemed like hours, but which had only been about ten seconds, there was a ginormous explosion. The ground shook! The candle flickered and went out! I screamed! Mummy hugged me tighter, kissed me and said; ‘That was a close one, my darling.’ I looked up at her and smiled.

After the “all clear” we went back indoors. The wireless was still talking: “Here is the news read by Frederick Allen. British troops in Belgium are firmly established on the Albert Canal, stretching from Antwerp to the German frontier. They’re also firmly installed in Ghent and closing on a big stretch of the Belgian coast, including the ports of Ostend and Zeebrugge. Field Marshall Montgomery has been to Brussels. The Germans in Calais and Boulogne are still fighting it out. French troops from the south––”

The voice faded, and I found myself back in Auntie Sal’s sitting room. My slice of choc cake was untouched, and Auntie Sal was listening to the six o’clock news on Radio 4, and mending the jeans I had torn while climbing one of the apple trees in the back garden two days before.

‘I think must have gone to sleep,’ I said.

‘Did you, Gaby dear? I didn’t notice. I was busy mending. Why d’you think you dropped off?’

‘I must have, ’cause I had the weirdest dream.’
‘Did you pet? What was it about?’

‘Well, I dreamt I was you, sixty years ago, during the war, and I had to do your English homework; it was an essay about “Things I shall look forward to when the war is over.” And there was an air-raid and your mummy and I went to the air-raid shelter in the corner of the back garden and a doodlebug came over and I heard the engine stop. It was deathly quiet, and really-really scary. Then there was a ginormous bang, really close by, and everything shook. After the “all-clear” we went back indoors and began listening to the news. Then I woke up, and you were listening to the news.’

‘Oh, Gabs! That’ll have been the doodlebug that killed poor Wendy,’ said Auntie G, with great sadness in her voice. She stood up, went to the bureau and took out a green exercise book. ‘Do you mean this one, Gab?’ she asked opening the book and handing it to me. ‘I never could remember writing that essay, and Miss De’Ath, our form mistress, was terribly cross with me and gave me a misconduct mark–just because I had smudged my exercise book with my ruler and couldn’t explain what I meant when I wrote: “The end of sweets rationing will be dead brill and well cool!”’

The End

* ITMA: Short for “It’s That Man Again”, a BBC comedy radio programme starring Tommy Handley, that kept everybody’s spirits up during those dark days of wartime and post-war rationing.
see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ITMA

 ©2007 Gabi Bunton

Aunt Greta’s Woolton Pie

By Gabi
Chapter 2 of a Continuing Saga…

In response to requests here is some more of the story of
Aunt Greta and her nephew/niece Gabriel/Gabrielle

After I told Auntie Greta about what I had thought had been a dream about doing her homework in 1944, she told me that Miss De’Ath, her class teacher, had been cross with her over something I had said in the essay I had written. I felt guilty that I had not thought more carefully about what I was writing.”  I realised I must have had a brief sojourn in 1944.

‘I’m sorry I got you into trouble, Auntie Grete, Wattie quite likes it when we use a few modern words in our essays." I took a bite of the chocky cake that I hadn’t eaten earlier. I was still wearing her old 1940’s school uniform–navy-blue box-pleated gym tunic, white blouse, tie and white ankle socks–that must have been my "ticket to the past".

‘That’s all right, Gaby,’ she said. ‘The only thing was I had no idea what it meant so I couldn’t explain. In the end Miss De’Ath decided that it must have been because the doodlebug had interrupted my thoughts and caused me to write gobbledegook. So what did you think of being a girl in 1944?’

‘Not that much different from being a boy in 1994,’ I replied, ‘except for the air-raid–and the clothes, of course. I liked your mummy–she looked just like you do, ’cept a bit younger.’

‘Well, dear, she was quite a bit younger than I am now. She was 31.’

I did a quick sum in my head. ‘Twenty years older than you; Jeez, she’d be 81 now, kewl,’ I stated. ‘That’s really-really old.’

‘It’s not so old nowadays,’ Auntie replied. ‘Let’s get these crocks into the kitchen, and we can load them into the dishwasher.’

‘I didn’t see a dishwasher in your mum’s kitchen,’ I remarked.

‘Good gracious, no. I don’t think they had even been invented. Now I’ll put everything on the tray and we’ll go to the kitchen and decide what to have for our 1944 wartime supper. Will you open the door for me, please, Gaby?’

I opened the door and held it open for Auntie while she carried the tray through to the kitchen. It sounded odd to be called Gaby, but I was wearing girls’ clothes. My name is Gabriel Chambers, but Mummy, Daddy and my big brother, Tim, usually call me Gab–they say I chatter too much and at school I sometimes get called Gab-pots for the same reason.

In the kitchen we put the tea-time crockery in the dishwasher while Auntie emptied the tealeaves from the teapot into her ‘compost bucket’. Now, let’s find that old receipt book,’ she said, reaching up to the shelf where she kept her cookery books and taking down a very tatty old one that had definitely seen better days. ‘I thought we would have a Woolton Pie for our wartime supper tonight, Gabs. We often had it and it was very delicious. It’s named after Lord Woolton who was the Minister of Food during the war.’

‘Wattie told us about him in history last term,’ I said.

‘Well we’ll have his pie this evening. Do you want to help me? I often helped Mummy when she made one,’ she said putting on her apron and tying it behind her back.

‘Yes please, Auntie G, that would be fun.’

‘Then you’d better put a pinny on. Mummy always insisted I wore one when helping in the kitchen so I didn’t splash anything on my tunic. I’ll go and find one for you.’ She left the kitchen, leaving me wishing I knew more about what it was like for children during the war. A minute or two later she returned. ‘There you are, Gaby, I knew I’d seen one amongst those old clothes we found in the attic.’ She handed me a plain white linen apron. ‘This was what we wore at school for dommy sci. Now let’s make our Woolton Pie.’

‘What’s in it?’

‘Well, d’you remember I told you about the rationing and how short everything was?’

I nodded; ‘Yes, Auntie.’

‘Our meat ration was minuscule so we had to make up with extra veggies which nearly everyone grew in their gardens or on allotments.[see note 1] Mummy had an allotment just round the corner and we hardly ever had to buy vegetables. She was one of about four women who had one. The other allotments were all kept by elderly men who were too old for military service. The government had a slogan "dig for victory" to encourage everyone to do their bit.

‘Mummy was a bit naughty, actually,’ Auntie G confided in me, giggling. ‘When she went out to the allotment she used to wear a slightly shorter skirt so that when she bent over the old men could see some of her knickers; she said she did it to encourage them to go out to work their allotments. She insisted it was her bit towards the war effort!’

‘I can’t imagine your mum doing that,’ I said. "She seemed rather serious and strict to me.’

‘Oh, she was very prim, but she was very patriotic and if giving a glimpse her bloomers to a few elderly men would make them go out to dig their allotments, she was up for it. Our knickers in those days were huge in comparison to the ones we ladies wear now.’ She smiled at me and started leafing through the old recipe book

‘I noticed,’ I replied, thinking about the navy knickers I was wearing and how loose and baggy they were in comparison to the briefs the girls at school wore under their netball skirts. ‘So what do we need for our Woolton Pie?’ I asked.

‘Here we are, Woolton Pie. Goodness, this receipt will make one for four people, so we’d better halve the ingredients. It says here that we need a pound each of diced potatoes, carrots, swedes, and cauliflower, I think we’ve got all those–although I remember Mummy didn’t dice the cauli, just separated it into small florets–so we’ll do that. Then we need four spring onions [see note 2] so two will be enough then we will either need some pastry to cover it or we could do what my mum did sometimes and cover it with overlapping potato slices.’

‘I think sliced potatoes would be nice,’ I said.

‘Right then, here’s a potato-peeler; roll up the sleeves of your blouse and I’ll get what we need,’ she said, taking a colander from the pan cupboard and going into the larder. [see Note 3] Auntie had a fridge-freezer, but she also had the larder that had been part of the house ever since it was built back in the 1030s. It was always cool and Auntie kept her vegetables and tinned goods there. While she rummaged for the veggies, I filled a bowl with water.

‘Good girl,’ she said, when she came back. I felt myself blushing, and she must have noticed because she added, ‘Sorry, Gabs, seeing you dressed like that, I forgot you’re a boy.’

‘It’s okay, Auntie, I don’t mind. In fact I’m rather enjoying wearing your tunic an’ stuff. It somehow feels kinda right.’

‘P’raps you should have been a girl, poppet,’ Auntie suggested, tipping potatoes and carrots into my basin of water.

‘P’raps I should. I often play with the girls at school.’

‘You peel and I’ll dice. This swede’s far too big so we’ll only use half of it,’ Auntie stated. ‘While you’re doing that I’ll separate the cauli into florets and slice the spring onions.’ I had soon peeled the spuds and carrots and passed them over to Auntie; then I started on the swede which was much more difficult. When everything was prepared, Auntie put the vegetables in a saucepan, then added a teaspoonful each of Marmite[see note4] and oatmeal together with just enough water to cover everything and put them on the gas to cook.

‘The receipt says they should cook for ten minutes, stirring occasionally so it doesn’t stick to the pan,’ Auntie told me. ‘After that we put it in a pie-dish and let it cool before we sprinkle it with chopped parsley, add the potato crust and pop it in the oven. I’ve saved some of the spuds to use to cover the pie so I just have to slice them thinly.

‘It’s dead easy to make, isn’t it?’ I said.

‘Yes, Poppet, it is. Now if I wash up the utensils we used, would you be a helpful girl and watch the saucepan and stir it occasionally.’

Okay, Auntie G,’ I replied, feeling myself blush at being called a "helpful girl", until I remembered how I was dressed. A few minutes later, Auntie had finished the washing up and came over to look at the mixture bubbling in the pan which was beginning to thicken up and resemble porridge with vegetables in it–not surprising seeing as that is exactly what it was.

‘That looks fine, Gaby; just like I remember it looked when Mummy made it. Turn off the gas now and put the pan on the draining board to let it cool while I light the oven so it gets up to heat. Why don’t you go and read your book?:’

‘Okay, Auntie G.’ I put the hot pan on the draining board and went back to the sitting room. I picked up my book, went to the sofa and sat down. After taking off my shoes, I tucked my feet up under me, smoothed out the skirt of my tunic and got back to the story.

Some time later, I’m not sure how long it was, I heard Auntie Greta going upstairs. Shortly afterwards I heard the loo flush and then Auntie came in and joined me. ‘What are you reading, sweetie?’ she asked.

‘The Picts and the Martyrs,’ I replied.

‘Oh, Arthur Ransome. I loved his books about the Swallows and Amazons; in fact I still do.’

‘This is one of yours,’ I mentioned, ‘I’ve not read this one before and I’m really enjoying it. Nancy is sooo different in this story, not the wild girl terror of the seas, but much more civilised. She’s my fave character of all in the stories.’

‘She’s mine too,’ came the reply. ‘In fact I always wanted to be her when I was your age.’

‘Me too,’ I replied without thinking and then blushed as I realised what I had just said. Here I was, a boy, saying I wanted to be a girl in a story. Auntie must have noticed my blushing because she came over and sat beside me and gave me a hug.

‘It’s all right, poppet, you’re pretending to be me as a girl, aren’t you? Of course you’d want to be Nancy.’

‘It’s not just coz I’m pretending to be you as I girl, Auntie. Even when I’m being me, Gabriel, I want to be her. D’you think that’s wrong? I mean, it’s not right for a boy to want to be a girl.’

‘Is that what you’d like, Gaby?’

‘I don’t really know, but wearing your old school uniform feels right somehow, as if I was meant to wear girls’ clothes.’

‘Have you ever dressed up in girls’ clothes before?’ Auntie asked. I could feel myself blushing again and before I could admit or deny it she added, ‘I guess you have.’

I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘I found some of Mummy’s clothes from when she was younger that fitted me. I felt so good wearing them.’

‘Does Mummy know?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I replied, feeling tears welling up behind my eyes. ‘I think she’d hate me if she thought I wanted to be a girl. How could I find out?’

‘Well now, let me put my thinking cap on.’ She was silent for a few seconds and then said, ‘Do you know how Tim is?’

‘He’s got scarlet fever.’

‘I know that, but why don’t you phone Mummy and ask how he is; she’s bound to ask what you’ve been doing, so you could tell her about dressing up in my old school uniform for our pretending it’s 1944, and find out what she thinks about it.’ You needn’t tell her about going back and being me as a girl–unless you want to, that is.’

‘Okay, I’ll ring her,’ I said, wiping my tears on the sleeve of my blouse. ‘Sorry, Auntie, I haven’t got a hankie; it’s upstairs in my room and I’ve nowhere to keep it in what I’m wearing.’

‘Most of us girls used to stuff our hankies up our knicker-legs,’ Auntie admitted. ‘Here, borrow mine.’ So saying she pulled her hankie from the sleeve of her dress and handed it to me.

I dried my tears, got up and went upstairs to fetch a hankie of my own. When I came back down I stopped in the hall, picked up the ’phone and dialled–Auntie’s phone still had an old-fashioned dial–the number at home. I could hear it ringing at the other end.

It only rang four times; ‘Tuckton 868517,’ I heard Mummy answer.

‘Hello, Mummy,’ I said. ‘How’s Tim?’

‘Hello, darling; are you all right, you haven’t called me Mummy for ages. Tim’s not very well, but the doctor says that’s to be expected. How are you, sweetie? Are you having fun with Auntie Greta?’

‘Yes, it’s sooo kewl. We’re both dressed up in world war two type clothes. Auntie’s wearing one of her mummy’s wartime utility dresses and I’ve been wearing her old Tuckton school uniform all day. We had a wartime-type tea and we’re going to have a wartime supper from one of Auntie G’s old recipe books; something called Woolton Pie. It’s made from veggies and is in the oven now.’

‘So you’re wearing girls’ clothes, then? You like that, don’t you?’

‘How did you know?’

‘Mums get to know such things. I knew you sometimes dressed up when you were alone in the house.’

‘But how did you find out?’

‘Easy, sweetie, you don’t fold my things the same way I do.’

‘Sorry, Mummy. Are you cross with me?’

‘’Course not, honey. You like wearing girls’ clothes, don’t you?’ she asked again.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘They make me feel right, like the real me, like I ought to be wearing them.’

‘You mean you feel like you ought to be a girl?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Mummy,' I replied quietly. 'Does that upset you?’

‘Of course not, sweetheart. I’ll love you whatever you are. Look we can’t discuss this on the ’phone; we must talk about it another time when we’re sitting down together.’

‘That’d be cool, Mummy. Give my love to Tim and tell him I hope he gets well soon. Oh, and Auntie G sends her love too.’

‘All right, Gabrielle, my darling. I must go now. Be a good girl for your Auntie. ’Bye.’

‘’Bye, Mummy. Love you.’

‘Love you, too, sweetheart.’ And there was a click as Mummy rang off.

Back in the sitting room Auntie G was continuing to repair my torn jeans. ‘I’ll finish these for you and then you can wear them tomorrow,’ she said.

‘Must I?’

‘Not if you don’t want to; what would you like to wear?’

‘Could I wear some more of your old wartime clothes, please?’

‘If you like, but there’s not a lot of choice. Even then we never had many clothes to choose from because of rationing, but I’ll see what I can find. Unlike you children now, we hardly ever bothered to change out of our school clothes when we got home. I often used to go to play with my school chums–or they’d come round here–after school and we were still wearing our tunics.’

‘But you must have had something else to wear.’

‘Of course, but not much. One of my friends had an elder sister and she got her hand-me-downs. Sometimes a neighbour who had a girl older than me would offer us an out-grown frock; that’s how I got that ghastly party frock. I think I only wore it about twice or three times. But I did get some quite nice dresses, and we had gingham dresses for school in the summer–with baggy gingham knickers to match; my grandma called them "harvest festivals". She giggled, making me giggle too.

‘Why did she call them that?’ I asked

‘Because "all was safely gathered in", as it says in the harvest hymn.’ She put down my jeans and stood up. ‘There, that’s finished those for you in case you want to wear them tomorrow. I’ll just go and see how our Woolton Pie is doing, so why don’t you be a good girl and go upstairs and wash your hands.’

‘Okay, Auntie. I need to go to the loo as well.’

I left the room and climbed the stairs, heading straight for the loo, which was in a small room on its own. I opened the door and got a surprise–it was different: instead of the modern loo pan with a smart white plastic seat there was an old-fashioned-looking one with a wooden seat and the cistern for the flush was high up on the wall with a long chain instead of Auntie’s nice modern low cistern with a handle. I realised that I was once again in 1944. I lifted the seat, raised my skirt and put my hand up my knicker-leg to find my willie. IT WASN’T THERE! I looked inside my knickers and discovered that in place of my penis was what my cousin Kate called a "front-bottom". So not only had I slipped back in time again, but I had changed sex as well. ‘Kewl,’ I thought, then, ‘Help, how do I have a wee?’ I realised I had to sit down, so I dropped my knickers and did just that and relieved myself. I remembered that girls had to wipe themselves afterwards so as not to get drips of wee on their undies, so I pulled off a couple of sheets from the roll. It was horrid paper–not the nice soft Andrex loo-paper that I was used to, this was more like tracing paper that we used in art lessons at school and had "Bronco" printed in the corner of each sheet. I discovered that my front-bottom was rather sensitive and the "Bronco" was rather rough and scratchy. I was in shock and after pulling up my knickers and shaking out my skirt, went to my bedroom to think things out.

My bedroom was different too: in one corner was a large dolls’ house and there was a teddy-bear and two dolls lying on the pillow of my bed. The bookcase was absolutely crammed with books and I recognised the dust jackets of several of my favourite Arthur Ransome books. I thought about getting a book and sitting down to read, but decided I should explore before I was whisked back to 1994. I went to the chest of drawers where my 1994 clothes were kept; would they be there? I opened the top drawer where my t-shirts and Y-fronts should be: knickers in various colours, white, pink, pale blue and navy, and what I took to be vests. I went over to the dolls’ house; and kneeled in front of it; the whole of the front opened to show the inside; it was beautifully set out with miniature furniture.

I was just going to examine it more closely when I heard a call from downstairs; ‘Greta, are you all right? You’ve been up there an awfully long time.’ It sounded like Auntie G, but I realised it must have been Greta’s Mummy.

‘I’m all right, Mummy,’ I replied, remembering that she objected to slang.

‘Will you come down, two of your school chums are here, Susan Brown and Judith Wilson. They want to ask you about tonight’s prep.’

‘Just coming, Mummy,’ I replied, getting to my feet. I quickly shook out my skirt and headed downstairs. In the hall stood two girls about my age, dressed in the identical uniform to mine. One was blonde with pigtails and the other had dark hair cut in a bob with a navy-blue ribbon keeping it from flopping over her eyes

‘Hello, Grete, Judy and I never wrote down what the Grim Reaper told us to do for our prep tonight,’ said the blonde girl who I worked out must be Susan. ‘Can you remember what it was? We were going to give you a tinkle to ask you, but our phone’s not working since that doodlebug dropped.’ I couldn’t help giggling when I heard that Miss De’Ath’s nickname was "The Grim Reaper".

‘It’s an essay called "Things I shall look forward to when the war is over"; I thought of things like the end of sweets rationing–‘

‘–and clothes rationing,’ squealed Judy. ‘What are you looking forward to, Sue?’

‘Being allowed to swim in the sea again,’ admitted Sue. ‘We have super beaches here, but what use are they to us with the anti-landing defences and all the mines? That should be quite easy, then, and the Grim Reaper doesn’t want it till Monday so there’s lots of time. Wo0uld you like to come and play for a bit?’

‘Yes please, but I’ll have to ask Mummy first. It’ll soon be our supper time’

‘All right, we’ll wait here.’

I headed for the kitchen where Mummy was wiping some cutlery. ‘Mummy, Sue has asked if I can go out and play with her and Judy.’

‘It’s nearly supper time and I would like you to lay the table in the dining doom, so I’m afraid you can’t go and play with them tonight.’

‘Oh, Mu-um!’

‘Ask them to come and play here on Saturday. They can come to tea.’

‘Okay, Mummy,’ I replied and got a "look". I don’t think she liked the "okay". I went back to the hall.

‘Sorry, Sue, but Mummy says our supper’s nearly ready and she wants me to lay the table. But she says would you and Judy like to come round here for tea on Saturday?’

The two girls looked at each other and nodded. ‘We’d love to, Grete, but we’ll have to ask our mums. We’ll tell you at school tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’

‘So long, then, and thanks for telling us about our prep,’ replied Sue. ‘G’night, Grete,’ she added, giving me a hug.

‘G’night, Sue, g’night, Judy,’ I replied, and I hugged her too.

‘G’night, Grete,’ replied Judy.

I opened the door for my friends and let them out. ‘’Bye,’ I called as I watched them walk down the path to the gate and wondered if I would be here for them when they came to tea on Saturday or if it would be the real Greta.

To be continued–

”  see Aunt Greta’s Homework http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/4837/aunt-gretas-homework
1 Allotment garden: see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allotment_%28gardening%29
2 Spring onions: Scallions to our American (and other) friends
3 Larder: see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Larder
4 Marmite: A vegetable (yeast) extract popular in UK, especially spread on hot-buttered toast. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marmite

A Second Helping of
Aunt Greta’s Woolton Pie

By Gabi
Chapter 3 of a Continuing Saga

I closed the door after waving goodbye to Sue and Judy and returned to the dining room where I had been doing my prep. Mummy had laid a cheerful checked cloth on the table so all I had to do was put out place mats and lay out the cutlery. Auntie G kept the "dining-room cutlery"–as she called it–in one of the drawers of the Welsh dresser, so I went straight to it and opened the drawer, and sure enough, there were knives, forks and spoons for all occasions–many of them strange to me–but I was able to select what I thought was needed and laid up two places.

I remembered that Auntie G had told me that her mum was a stickler for doing things correctly and always laid the table with a full set of cutlery for each person–even if it was going to be a simple one-course meal–so at each place I put a large and a small knife on the right, a large fork on the left, and a desert spoon and fork head-to-tail and side-by-side across the top. I wondered if I should lay a soup spoon as well, but decided to ask Mummy if they would be needed. I also placed two mats for vegetable dishes with large serving spoons alongside. There was a vase of chrysanthemums to one side of the dresser and I decided they would look pretty in the centre of the dining table so I carefully lifted them across.

There was a good smell coming from the kitchen, so I went to find out what we were having for our supper. Mummy was at the stove stirring something in a saucepan. ‘What are we having for supper, Mummy?’ I asked.

‘It’s something we’ve not had before, darling; I found it on one of those receipt leaflets that the Ministry of Food give out. It’s called "Woolton Pie" and I thought it would make a change from "corned-beef hash", our usual Thursday supper. It’s made of vegetable, so why they had to give it a fancy name goodness alone knows.’

‘It smells good,’ I said. ‘Was it invented by Lord Woolton?’

‘No, darling, I shouldn’t think he knows one end of a gas stove from the other. The receipt leaflet says it was invented by the head chef of the Savoy Hotel in London. Have you laid the table?’

‘Yes, Mummy, I didn’t know if I should put out soup spoons or not.’

‘Well, I do like the table to be laid properly, Greta, and that should always include soup spoons for a sit-down meal in the dining room. It so important to keep our standards up, particularly in wartime. Daddy would be horrified if he came home and found us eating at the kitchen table, like some of your school chums do; it’s so slovenly.’

‘I’ll go and lay soup spoons now,’ I said, turning to leave the kitchen.

‘Would you take these dinner plates through, darling,’ she said handing me two large china plates she was holding with a tea-towel. ‘Use the cloth, because they’re hot.’ I managed to take them from her and while she opened the door for me I took them to the dining room. The dining room door was ajar so I turned my back and pushed it open with my bum–golly, I mustn’t call it that in front of Mummy, Auntie Greta told me that she had to call it her "sit-upon" when she was a girl! I put the plates on one of the big serving mats in front of Mummy’s place and looked at the table to check if everything was there: soup spoons! I took two from the cutlery drawer and laid them outside the knives to the right of each place setting. There was nothing to drink out of so I got two glass tumblers from the dresser cupboard and put them in place before going back to the kitchen for some water. As I was filling the water jug, Mummy was pouring brown gravy into a gravy boat; she asked me to carry that in as well as the water. By the time I reached the dining room again I could hear sounds of Mummy getting the Woolton pie from the oven, so I placed the water jug on the table and the gravy-boat on one of the serving mats and waited, standing behind my chair, listening to Mummy’s heels clicking on the kitchen floor tiles.

‘Ah, there you are, Gabs,’ said "Mummy" coming through the door; she looked older again so I realised that she must be Auntie G and I must be back in 1994 again. This was getting soooo confusing. ‘It’s turned out rather well, poppet; look.’ She placed the pie dish on one of the serving mats. The potato slices on top had turned a gorgeous golden brown and it smelt rather delicious too. ‘I must say you’ve done an excellent job laying the table; even my mum would have approved. That’s odd, the gravy’s here, and I was just going to ask you to go and fetch it from the kitchen.’

‘Auntie, I think I should tell you that I think the gravy’s from 1944, as I was asked to bring it in by a lady who was wearing your dress and was calling me Greta. And I met two of your school mates, Susan Brown and Judy, Judy, err–’

‘Wilson?’

‘Yes, they came round to ask me about our homewor–prep, coz they had forgotten to write it down. And you never told me your form teacher’s nickname.’

‘"The Grim Reaper",’ giggled Auntie. ‘D’you know, I’d forgotten all about that: poor Miss De’Ath, she was actually a really nice, kind lady and didn’t deserve the name we horrid little girls gave her. Shall we say grace? For what–’

‘–we are about to receive,’ I joined in, ‘may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.’

Auntie took a sharp knife and cut into the top of the pie and lifted a slice of the potato crust on to one side of my plate and then spooned out some of the steamy, goo-ey vegetable mixture and placed the crust back on top. She handed the plate to me saying, ‘Help yourself to gravy, honey, and don’t wait for me to start; it would be a shame to let it get cold.’

I poured some gravy over the pie, picked up my knife and fork and tried a mouthful. It was really, really tasty. ‘Mmmm, Auntie G, it tastes great. Can we have it again soon?’

‘Thank you, darling, but you should give yourself a pat on the back too as you did at least half the work. It would be fun to do it again, and perhaps try some of Mummy’s other wartime receipts.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘So what did you think of my two chums, Sue and Judy?’

‘I thought they were really-really nice–they asked me to go and play with them which would’ve been cool, but your mummy said supper was nearly ready and asked me to lay the table; so I didn’t meet them for very long.’

‘Soon after Wendy was killed by that doodlebug, Judy’s parents moved to Scotland, taking her with them and Sue and I became best friends for the rest of our schooldays. She went on to become a teacher and eventually headmistress of a girls’ boarding school.’

‘Do you still see her?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but not very often; she’s retired now and lives in France but whenever she comes over here she usually comes and sees me.’

‘I’d love to meet her sometime. We could tell her about my meeting her as a little girl.’

‘I’m not sure she’d believe you. It would be different if you had met her several times, then you could provide more proof of your time travels.’

‘Well, I might have some more time travels, Auntie, after all I’ve done it twice today. Your mum was making a Woolton Pie when I was in 1944, did you have it often?’

‘Quite a bit, although I can’t remember the first time Mummy made it; we usually had a baked apple and custard for afters; it made sense to make use of the oven while it was hot. We always had plenty of apples because of the apple trees in the back garden and Mummy managed to hoard a small supply of raisins, currants and mixed peel to stuff in the hole left when the core was removed. We would have cooked more apples if the sugar ration had been bigger. Mummy used to save as much sugar as possible by having saccharine in our tea. The other pudding that we loved was spotted dick;’ I couldn't help giggling and Auntie grinned realising I was having impure thoughts! Mind you, spotted dick is one of my favourites too, except mum prefers to call it fruit sponge.

‘I can’t imagine having food rationing,’ I remarked. ‘It must have made things very difficult.’

‘It did. Mummy became very expert at using up "left-overs". The left-overs of our tiny Sunday joint would be used as the basis for a stew with lots of veggies and an Oxo cube* added for our Monday meal; or sometimes she would mince it up and make a cottage pie or even make it into a curry. One thing about having food rationing was that there were no fatties among my school chums. The only food that was never rationed during the war was bread. Bread rationing came in after the war.’

‘Really?’ I said, surprised. ‘There are seven fatties in my year at Tuckton–four boys and three girls–who seem to spend all their pocket money on sweets and chips** and they’re all useless at games.’

When we had had our fill of Woolton Pie, Auntie gathered up our plates and I took the gravy boat and empty pie-dish and followed her to the kitchen to fetch our pud.–baked apple and custard–yummy and I was really looking forward to it. The kitchen had changed back into Auntie’s modern one again with its stainless steel sink and Formica-topped kitchen units. There was a double saucepan keeping the custard hot on the top of the cooker as Auntie took the apples out of the oven. They smelled soooo good. Auntie poured the custard into a jug and gave it to me to carry to the dining room while she plated the baked apples.

My baked apple was so good–the flesh was so soft and creamy. I was glad I was eating it in "my own" time rather than during the war as I needed to add some sugar–brown sugar–to sweeten the rather tart Bramley apple. When we had finished we took the crocks out to the kitchen and put them on the side ready to wash-up.

‘While I wash up, will you make a pot of tea, Gabs?’ Auntie asked. ‘Remember one teaspoonful of tea per person and one for the pot.’ Auntie preferred "proper tea", as she called it, because ‘it makes a better cuppa than tea-bags.’

‘Do you want me to dry for you?’ I asked.

‘No, poppet, we’ll leave it to drain overnight and it’ll be dry by the morning.’

I filled the electric kettle and switched it on. When it had boiled I poured a little water into the brown pottery teapot to warm it, emptied it, added three teaspoonsful of tea to the teapot, brought the kettle up to the boil again and poured the still-boiling water into the pot.

‘Good girl,’ Auntie said, and I felt myself blushing as she put the last of the plates on the rack to drain. ‘Let it stand for five minutes while you put our cups and saucers on the tray, and then we’ll go through to the sitting room.’

In the sitting room, Auntie put the tray on the coffee table, and told me to sit on the sofa. I tucked my feet up under my bum, straightened my skirt and watched her pour out our tea.

‘Well, Gabs,’ said Auntie after she had taken a sip of tea, ‘After you’ve had your tea you’d better go and put in half-an-hour’s piano practice. Don’t forget you’ve got your Grade Four exam in three weeks time.’

‘Gosh, yes, I must. Mummy will be cross if I don’t pass.’ We chatted while we drank our tea, Auntie telling me more about her girlhood, and then I made my way to the dining room again where Auntie’s old upright piano was kept. I started off with scales and arpeggios and some exercises to get my fingers going and then practised the piece I would have to play for the exam and then thumped out some bars of Chaminade, thinking of poor Nancy having to perform it for her dreaded Great Aunt in The Picts and the Martyrs. When I finished I returned to the sitting room where Auntie was listening to some music on Radio 2.

‘That sounded quite good, Gabs, you have a nice touch,’ said Auntie, as I settled myself on the sofa, tucking my legs under my bum again, ‘Have you enjoyed being a girl today?’

‘Yes, it’s been great fun, Auntie and I've enjoyed myself trimmensely. Somehow I feel right wearing your old school uniform, as if I was meant to be a girl. I was wondering if you had any of your old pyjamas I could wear tonight.’

‘Oh, I was never allowed to wear pyjams, honey. Mummy would only let me wear nighties; pyjams were only for boys, according to her. I saw a couple of my nighties among the stuff we found up in the loft. You can wear one of them if you like for tonight.’

‘Yes please,’ I replied. It’ll soon be time for me to go upstairs for my bath. ‘Should I wash my hair again, Auntie? I washed it last night, remember.’

‘I don’t think you’ll need to tonight, poppet. Leave your plaits in, though, and I’ll pin them up on top of your head so the ends don’t get wet in the bath water. I’ll come up with you and find you one of my old nighties–if you're sure you want to wear one tonight?’

‘Yes please,’ I replied.

When I undressed I discovered I had my boy’s body again, so I guessed I only had a girl-body when I was in 1944.

I enjoyed my bath, and after I had dried myself, Auntie came in with a pink flannelette nightie for me to wear. She slipped it over my head and unpinned my plaits to let them hang down normally.

‘Should I undo my plaits?’

‘No, hon, leave them in while you sleep. It’ll stop your hair getting tangled while you sleep and it will be easier to manage in the morning. Now into bed with you, girl, and read your book. I’ll be back to kiss you goodnight in half an hour.’

I settled down and read another chapter of "The Picts and The Martyrs" and then Auntie re-appeared for lights out. We kissed each other on the cheek, and she said, ‘Sleep tight!’ and I replied, ‘And see the bugs don’t bite!’ She turned off my light and I settled down under the sheets and was soon in the land of nod.

***

In my dream I heard a loud wailing noise. Soon someone was shaking my shoulder. ‘Greta, wake up, darling. It’s an air raid we have to go out to the shelter.’

I swung my legs out of bed and stood up, shaking my nightie down where it had ridden up my legs. Mummy was holding out a pair of white briefs. ‘Put these liners on, darling. It will be cold in the shelter.’ She pulled them right up under my nightie and I realised that I was a proper girl again. ‘Now these,’ said Mummy holding out my navy blue knickers which I stepped into as well. ‘Put on some warm socks and your outdoor shoes and a warm dressing gown, dear. Hurry up now, and don’t forget to bring your torch.

I did as I was asked and headed for the stairs. Mummy had put on a warm coat and led me out to the shelter. It was very dark outside. ‘Point your torch on the ground, darling, otherwise the German pilots might see it.’ It made me shudder to think about it and I gripped Mummy’s hand tighter. We reached the shelter without incident, Mummy lighted the two candles and we settled down, wrapping ourselves in blankets and huddling together, did our best to keep warm. I tried to get to get to sleep, but I was too tense waiting for that horrid droning, buzz that told of the approach of a V1. We hugged each other more tightly as the noise grew louder and louder.

Then it stopped, and again after what seemed like an hour there was another ginormous explosion. I felt my heart miss a beat and I nearly wet myself. We both screamed, my ears were ringing and hurt and I burst into tears.

‘Mummy, I’m so frightened, hold me tight please.’

‘That’s not like you, darling. You’re usually so brave and stoical during air-raids these days.’

‘Sorry, Mummy, I just feel extra frightened tonight.’

She cuddled me tightly until we heard the "all clear" and then we went back to the house. I was shivering with cold and fright as Mummy helped me back into bed. We cuddled for a while and I must have dropped off to sleep because the next thing I knew was Auntie Greta waking me at half past seven next morning.

‘Come on, Gabs, show a leg, rise and shine. Go to the loo and then have a wash and get dressed. Do you want to be a girl again today?’

‘Yes please, Auntie,’ I replied, and headed for the loo. I lifted my nightie and found I was wearing knickers–two pairs. I remembered Mummy helping me put them on before we went to the shelter as I felt for my willie. But I only found a "front bottom"!

After having a wee–I had to sit down, natch–I cleaned myself up; it was sooo much nicer using Auntie's lovely soft Andrex compared with Mummy's horrid, rough, Bronco. I pulled up my knickers and rearranged my nightie, then flushed and opened the door.

‘Auntie Greta! Can you come here a minute. Something terrible has happened!’

To be continued…

---

* Oxo, a meat extract that was available as a thick brown paste in a jar or as cubes. See:— http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxo_%28food%29
** Note for our friends on the west side of the pond: "Chips"–short for "chipped potatoes", are what we Brits call French Fries–as found in the ever-popular and staple item of British cuisine "Fish and Chips"

I felt for my willie, but only found a “front bottom”! After having a wee–I had to sit down, natch–I cleaned myself up, flushed, rearranged my clothing and opened the door.

‘Auntie Greta! Can you come here a minute. Something terrible has happened!’

At Aunt Greta’s–
Don't Panic!
by Gabi
Chapter 4 of a Continuing Saga…

The revelation that I had not changed back into a boy after my last sojourn to 1944 came as a ghastly shock. I was trying to get my mind round this latest twist of fate when I also noticed that I had an itchy chest. I gently rubbed one of my nipples through my nightie and it immediately stiffened and I could see it sticking out under the flannelette material. I lifted my nightgown right up and had a look.

‘OmyGod, I’m growing boobs!’ I squealed out loud, and pulled my nightie down again as I heard Auntie G returning in answer to my cry for help.

‘Is there something wrong, Gaby?’ she asked.

‘I–I–I th—think I’ve ch-ch-changed into a g—girl.’

‘What d’you mean, “changed into a girl”?’

I decided there was only one way to explain, so, blushing bright crimson, I began to raise my nightie so she could inspect my chest. ‘I—I’m g—g—g—growing b ¬—b—boobs,’ I stammered. ‘L—look!’

‘Did you sleep in your knickers last night?’ she asked when my nightie was half-way up.

‘I didn’t start out wearing them, but there was an air-raid and Mummy–your Mummy, I mean–told me to put them on before going out to the shelter–two pairs of them, I have a white pair underneath.’

‘So you went back to 1944 again. This is becoming rather a habit, young lady.’ As I raised my nightie further I noticed her gaze transferred to my budding breasts with their erect nipples and brown surrounds. She reached out a hand; ‘D’you mind if I touch? Just to check them.’

‘Err, no. It’s okay.’ I had rather enjoyed the sensation when I had touched them myself. She felt gently all round them and frowned.

‘It’s not unknown for boys to start developing breasts,’ she said. ‘In fact it happens quite a lot, but after a little while they just disappear again. I shouldn’t worry, Gabs, it’ll only be temporary.’

‘But that’s not all,’ I replied, easing my knickers down to show her the other change. ‘I have a “front bottom” as well. All my boy-bits have vanished. What am I going to do, Auntie G?’

‘Don’t panic, Gaby,’ she said.

‘Don’t panic! Don’t panic, Mr Mainwaring! Don’t panic!’ I exclaimed, mimicking Lance Corporal Jones in Dad’s Army, and then the full implication of my situation hit me and I burst into tears.

Auntie put her arms round me and drew me into a hug. ‘There, there, poppet. Would it be the end of the world if you were a girl? Didn’t you say to your Mum that you thought you should have been born a girl. Well, now you are.’

‘Yes, but what are people going to say? What’s Tim going to think about having a younger sister instead of a brother? And what about my friends at school? And Mummy? Should I ’phone and tell her?’

‘That might be rather a shock for her, so I think we need to break it to her gently,’ replied Auntie G. ‘We don’t want to give her a heart attack, do we?’

‘No,’ I replied quietly, remembering that Uncle George had died of a heart attack, and the thought of losing Mummy brought more tears to my eyes.

‘Well, then, I suggest you get dressed and I will put on my thinking cap and formulate some sort of plan so we can break it to Mummy gently.’

‘Okay, Auntie. What should I wear? I don’t think I want to wear your old school uniform again today. I s’pose I could wear jeans and a tee-shirt–girls do, after all, don’t they? What about undies?’

‘We’ll need to go shopping for some, pet, but if you wear the white “liners” as knickers, they aren’t so very different from what girls wear nowadays.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I replied. ‘But I guess I’m gonna find out,’ I added with a giggle. ‘Should I wear what Mummy calls my “tidy” jeans?’

‘Yes, poppet. Girls going shopping always like to look smart, and the jeans I repaired for you are just a wee bit tatty looking.’

‘You mean after I tore them climbing trees?’ I replied. ‘Okay, Will we be going on your BMW?’

‘Would you like to?’

‘Yes, but what about bringing our shopping home?’

‘We’ll see. Get dressed now and I’ll go and start getting brekky ready.’

‘Should I have a shower?’ I asked.

‘I don’t think so since you had a bath last night; unless you want one. You can’t have got very dirty while you were asleep.’

‘But I did have to go out to the shelter–’

‘You didn’t fall in a puddle or anything when crossing the garden, did you? I’ll go and sort out brekky for us.’

‘Not as far as I can remember,’ I replied to Auntie’s retreating back and headed towards the bathroom.

I washed and got dressed; The white knickers–well briefs really–were comfortable, not unlike my usual Y-Fronts–except they had no fly for a willie to poke through. I selected an Oasis tee-shirt that Mummy had bought me, which I hardly ever wore because I felt it was a bit girlie, but what the hell, if I was a girl now it was ideal, and I did like it. I got out my best jeans–a pair of Levis–and pulled them on; I was surprised to find them tight around my bum and loose at the waist; strange, because Mum had only bought them just before I came to stay with Auntie Greta. I looked at myself in the long mirror inside the wardrobe door. I looked very much a girl in tight jeans, with a decidedly flat front where there had been a bulge previously. Finally, I unravelled my plaits, brushed my hair, put it into a ponytail with an elastic band, and headed downstairs to breakfast.

Auntie G looked up as I entered the kitchen. She was at the cooker, grilling bacon; she turned round when she heard me come in. ‘You look nice, Gaby,’ she said. ‘I like the ponytail and that Oasis tee-shirt is perfect for a girl like you–very suitable. Is it new?’

‘Mummy bought it for me in the summer, but I haven’t worn it much. I thought it was too girlie for me. But that doesn’t seem to matter now,’ I added looking down at my chest and noticing the two bumps showing rather too prominently for my liking. I could feel myself blushing–it was so strange to have a new body and I suddenly felt very shy.

Auntie must have sensed my feelings because she gave me a hug, saying, ‘Don’t worry, sweetie. I know you must be feeling very strange just now, but I’m sure you’ll soon adjust and it’ll be just like you were a girl all along.’

‘Well, I s’pose I was really a girl all along, inside at least,’ I replied quietly. ‘It was just that I didn’t have the right body.’ Auntie gave me another squeeze and I felt a bit better. ‘I just worry what Mummy’s going to think.’

‘I’m sure she won’t worry at all, sweetheart, since I happen to know that when you were in her tummy she was hoping you were going to be a girl. Now help yourself to cereal and we’ll have brekky, as I think we have a few things to do today.’

‘Okay, Auntie,’ I replied, sitting at the kitchen table and helping myself to cornflakes.

‘Shall I pour your tea?’ Auntie asked.

‘ ’Splease,’ I replied, when I had swallowed my first mouthful of cornflakes. As I ate, more questions were crowding into my mind. Between mouthfuls I asked, ‘And what about Tim? What will he think about having a sister instead of a brother?’

‘He’ll be surprised at first, but I’m sure he’ll get used to it quite quickly when he learns how nice it is to have a sister. Now eat up, your egg’s nearly ready and you know you hate it when the yoke goes hard.’

As I continued my breakfast, thoughts were churning round and around in my head, and most of them concerned school, which started in just over a week. Would I have to get a girl’s uniform? What would my old school mates have to say? I was almost distracted from enjoying my fried egg with two rashers of bacon, a slice of Devonshire Hogs’ Pudding and Auntie’s home-made hash brown potatoes.

After around of toast and marmalade and a second mug of tea, I helped Auntie clear the table and load up the dishwasher then went upstairs to make my bed. That done I went to the loo. While I was enthroned I heard the front door-bell ring followed by Auntie’s footsteps as she went to open the door. There was a brief conversation, but I couldn’t make out any words or even recognise the voices because they were too soft.

‘Gaby, can you come down and meet someone,’ I heard Auntie calling up to me as I left the bathroom.

‘Coming, Auntie,’ I replied and set off downstairs. There were voices in the sitting room, so I entered.

‘Hello, Gabrielle, my darling,’ said a voice I knew and loved. ‘How’s my new daughter?’

‘Mummy! How did you know?’ I squealed and threw myself at her, hugging her with all my strength and bursting into tears.

‘Don’t cry, darling; there’s no need to be upset. Auntie G gave me a tinkle and told me about what had happened; I couldn’t believe what she said, so I just had to come and see you with my own eyes,’ Mummy said, kissing my cheek.

‘I’m n—n—not upset,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m just soooo h—h—haaaa—py to see you. I thought I wouldn’t be able to see you for ages ’cause of Tim’s bubonic plague, and you not wanting me to catch it. Who’s looking after him?’

‘You remember Sheila Tate, who worked with me at the General Hospital? She’s keeping an eye on him until I get back. And it’s not bubonic plague, sweetheart,’ she giggled, ‘it’s scarlet fever and I had that when I was a little girl, so I’m immune to the germs. It’s only if you come home and see Tim that you might catch it. Now let me look at you?’ She held me at arm’s length. ‘Well, I must say, you're looking very pretty; I like the ponytail, but I can see we’ll have to buy you a bra or two and a whole new wardrobe.’

‘A bra?’ I queried. ‘Do I need a bra?’

‘Yes, darling, it will be much more comfortable for you. And we’ll have to take you to see the doctor and I’ll have to tell the school and find out what they’re going to do with you. But first of all, I want you to come upstairs with me so I can look at you properly.’ She gave me a hug and we went out to the hall.

‘Have you told Tim?’ I asked as we went upstairs.

‘Told Tim what?’

‘About me changing into a girl–’

‘Not yet, darling. I found it hard to believe when Auntie ’phoned and I wondered if she had been drinking!’

‘I find it hard to believe too, Mummy; and I promise you Auntie hasn’t touched a drop all the time I’ve been staying with her.’

‘I know, love. That was my little joke.’

‘Oh,’ I replied as we went into my bedroom. Mummy sat on the bed and patted it next to her for me to sit beside her,

‘Now, darling, tell me how you feel. When we spoke on the ’phone yesterday you said that when you were wearing girls’ clothes it felt right.’

‘Yes, Mummy. I don’t know why; it just feels that they’re the clothes I ought to be wearing.’

‘Yet you’re wearing your boy jeans today. I must say they look a bit tighter than I remember from when I last saw you wearing them. You can’t have grown that much in two weeks.’

‘It was when I put them on this morning, Mummy. They don’t fit right; they’re too loose at the waist and rather tight round my bum.’

‘Stand up, Gaby and show me.’ I lifted up my tee-shirt to show how loose they were at the waist. She stuck one of her fingers in the waist band to check. ‘Yes, at least a couple of inches to big at the waistband. Turn round so I can see the back.’ I did so. ‘My goodness, they are tight on you, poppet. Your hips are wider and your waist is narrower, and you’re growing breasts. That means you now have a girl’s shape. If we are going shopping for clothes for you today, I’ll need to take your measurements. I’ll go and get a tape measure from your Aunt while you undress so I can measure you.’

While she was gone I wriggled out of my jeans, but left my tee and knickers on. I felt very shy about my new body and wasn’t sure if I even wanted Mummy to see it.

‘Slip off your top,’ Mummy said when she returned wielding Auntie’s tape measure. I blushed. ‘It’s all right, honey, I know what’s there; remember I’m a girl too and I know how I felt about my body at your age.’ She kissed me and as she lifted my tee-shirt, I raised my arms so she could slip it off over my head. Standing there in just a pair of white cotton briefs I felt very exposed and immediately folded my arms across my chest to hide my mini-boobs. She gently unfolded my arms and placed them by my side.

‘You've got the beginnings of a very good figure. Where did you get those knickers?’ she asked.

‘They were Auntie G’s. She called them “linings”, and they were hers when she was a girl. I had to put them on last night when we had the air-raid. Auntie’s mum told me to put them on and a pair of baggy navy-blue ones on top.’ I noticed Mummy’s eyes widen in astonishment.

‘Was it a bad raid?’

‘Doodlebug–you know, a flying bomb. I was very frightened and nearly wet myself when it crashed so close to us, but I didn’t.’ I giggled and then grinned at her. ‘I can’t understand why I had to wear two pairs.’

‘When Auntie was your age, most schoolgirls wore two pairs of knickers. The liners would be changed every day for hygiene reasons, so the bloomers on top could last for several days before they needed washing. Even when I was a girl, twenty years ago several of my school chums wore linings under their school knickers.’ She reached a hand towards my chest. ‘Do you mind if I touch your breasts?’

‘That’s okay. You’re my mum, after all, and you used to be a nurse, too.’

‘Yes, a gynaecological nurse,’ she replied, gently touching one of my nipples which reacted immediately, growing stiff and erect and I felt a tingly sensation that was rather nice. ‘Is it sensitive?’ she asked.

‘Very.’

‘Okay. Let’s get your measurements and then you can get dressed again and we can go shopping. You must have your own undies for a start and you’ll need several complete new outfits.’

‘Skirts and dresses and things?’

‘Yes, darling, and girl’s jeans, and some shorts, jammies, socks and tights and shoes–’

‘–Golly, as much as that?’

‘Yes, poppet. Now, I’ve brought one of the skirts Kate left behind when she stayed with us earlier in the summer. You’re the same age so it should fit okay and it will be easier for you to try things on if you’re wearing a skirt.’ (Kate is my girl cousin who lives in Scotland; she is somewhat scatterbrained and is always losing things. She often spends a week with us during the school holidays, or Tim and I go and stay with her in Dunoon, especially in the summer so we can visit the Cowal Highland Games.)

‘I s’pose so,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never thought about that before but it sure makes sense. What shoes should I wear. I’ve got trainers, sandals and my school shoes here. And what should I do about socks? I haven’t any girls’ socks.’

‘I think sandals would be best with the skirt I’ve brought and it’s warm enough to go without socks, but I did get a pair of tights for you from the corner shop on the way here. I expect you’ll be expected to wear either tights or white knee-socks for school.’

My mind was in a whirl–a girlie whirl–as I thought about all this new information Mummy was feeding me. I was vaguely aware of Mummy saying something as my thoughts zoomed round and round my brain.

‘Gaby! Did you hear what I just said?’ Mummy asked loudly, bringing me back to consciousness.

‘Yes, about tights and knee-socks for school,’ I replied.

“I thought you were away with your own little world, that was at least two minutes ago,’ Mummy informed me. ‘I’ve been downstairs to get Kate’s skirt in the meantime.’

‘Sorry, it’s just all so confusing.’

‘For me too, darling. Now would you just slip your panties off so I can check you down below. I just want to make sure everything is all right down there before we go to see Doctor MacNeish.’

‘It’s strange having a front-bottom,’ I said.

‘It’s called a vagina, darling.’

‘I know, but I didn’t like to say it; is sounds a bit rude somehow.’

‘Well, I reckon that at 11 you’re old enough to use the right word. After all you’ve called your willie a penis for over a year now.’

‘Yes,’ I whispered, blushing furiously. ‘I’m glad it’s disappeared.’

‘Will you lie on the bed, sweetie?’ I obeyed. ‘Now spread your legs and raise your knees while I take a quick look: I won’t hurt you, I promise.’ Once again I obeyed and felt very exposed and vulnerable. ‘It’s not the most comfortable position, but now you’re a girl you’ll find that it's something we have to go through from to time if we're to keep healthy down there.’

I felt her fingers gently parting the lips of my vagina while she had a look. I thought how lucky I was that my mum was a gynaecological nurse so she could do it and not some stranger.

‘Is everything all right down there?’ I asked anxiously.

‘Perfect, honey. You have everything a girl should have. We’ll have to let Dr MacNeish have a look, but she’s very gentle; I know from personal experience. Now get dressed and we’ll head for the shops and buy you some nice threads.’

‘Threads?’

‘Clothes.’

‘Oh–’

Twenty minutes later we were in the car heading for “town”, as we called the town centre where all the best shops were. It was a lovely sunny September morning and I was enjoying the freedom and airiness of wearing a skirt. My legs felt so much freer. The skirt Kate had left behind was tartan–MacDonald tartan because that was her surname–with pleats all round, reaching to about two inches above my knees. She had also left a denim miniskirt behind but I felt it was a bit short until I was more used to wearing skirts. I’m not sure that my Oasis tee was ideal to go with Kate’s skirt, but the creamy-pink colour didn’t clash with the tartan.

‘If we go to Marks and Sparks first, we can get your undies there, and they have some nice things for girls too. And we could look in Next, they have lovely things, if a bit on the pricy side, and we ought to look in Debenhams or John Lewis to enquire about school uniform.’

‘Are we going to buy that today too?’ I asked in my state of bewilderment.

‘No, love,’ came the reply, ‘but it seems wise to see what you’re likely to need. Once we’ve seen Dr MacNeish, I’ll ring Miss Morgan so we can find out about school. I’m thinking it’s lucky you were christened Gabriel. We only need to add L-E to the end to girlify it.’ Miss Morgan was the headmistress of my school–Tuckton–the same one Auntie G went to.

We parked the car in the multi-story and headed straight for John Lewis which was closer to where we had parked than Marks and Spencers and the “Junior Miss” department. Previously it was somewhere I had seen as we passed through to reach another department, with me feeling embarrassed and looking to neither right nor left! How different I felt now–I just knew I belonged. Mummy picked out two packs of five pairs of knickers, one all white and the other in pastel shades, pink, blue, lilac, yellow and cream, and then started looking at bras. There was a sales assistant nearby so Mummy called her over.

‘Yes, madam,’ the sales girl said.

‘My daughter needs a bra. Have you any suggestions?’

‘Is it her first one? Do you know her size?’

‘Yes, 32A. Something quite plain that will do for school.’ Several that were deemed suitable were selected and I was taken to a changing cubicle so Mummy could check for fit. Eventually she decided on a style and bought three for me, and I kept one on. I must say I felt much more comfortable and not so self-conscious as my nipples were no longer poking out under my tee-shirt. Mummy also bought me socks, tights and some nightwear and then we went to look at shoes. After settling on three pairs we were beginning to droop and feel in need of refreshment so we went to the restaurant for a cup of coffee and a cake. I had a very gooey chocolate éclair and I only just managed not to squirt cream down my front. After that went to look at school uniforms, but didn’t buy anything this time as we didn’t know what was going to happen about school yet.

By the time we headed back to Auntie’s it was nearly mid-day and Mummy wanted to phone the doctor before she went off on her rounds. She also phoned her old nursing colleague who was looking after Tim while she was with me, to find out how he was.

Dr MacNeish said she would see me at five o’clock that afternoon. Luckily she had had a cancellation.

 © 2008 Gabi Bunton All Rights Reserved

---

To be continued…

Comments gratefully received

At Aunt Greta’s–
School ’n Stuff
by Gabi
Chapter 5 of a Continuing Saga

FOLLOWING THE SOMEWHAT shattering discovery that after my latest sojourn back to 1944 I had returned with a girl’s body, Mummy and Auntie Greta had taken me shopping for girl clothes, and Mummy used her mobile to ’phone Dr MacNeish who said that luckily she had had a cancellation and could see me at five o’clock that afternoon.

As soon as we arrived home Aunt Greta headed for the kitchen to fix some lunch, while I rushed upstairs to my room closely followed by Mummy. Between us we unpacked my new ‘wardrobe’ from the numerous carrier bags and laid them out on my bed so we could see what I had before we started putting things away. I had not realised how much we had bought and I am sure that Mummy’s credit card was feeling very weary after our spree.

‘Well, Poppet,’ Mummy said, drawing me to here and giving me a squeezy hug, ‘I think we did rather well, don’t you?’

‘Yes, and wasn’t it fun? I always thought clothes shopping was really-really BORing.’

‘That’s because you were a boy; shopping for girl-clothes is always fun. Are you pleased with what we have bought?’

‘Rath-ERRR, but I’m a bit worried that you had to spend such a lot of money. And we bought four pairs of shoes! Why did I need so many?’

‘A girl can never have enough shoes, so don’t worry your pretty head about that, darling. I really enjoyed myself, after all I’ve never had a daughter until today so I suppose I was making up for a lot of lost time. Remember you’ve often had to put up with hand-me-downs from Tim, so you’ve not really had many new clothes of your very own.’ She gave me another squeeze and I hugged her back. ‘What do you want to wear this afternoon? I’m sure now you’ve got your own things you won’t want to stay in Kate’s skirt.’

‘I rather enjoy wearing it, but I’d prefer to wear a pair of my own knickers now I’ve got some. These old white ones Auntie Greta wore as a girl are a bit old-fashioned and don’t fit very well.’ I picked up one of the packs of knickers, tore the plastic bag and took out a pair of pink ones with pale yellow and blue flowers on them.

‘Pink ones, Sweetheart? I thought blue was your favourite colour.’

‘Well, not really, but when I was a boy I could hardly admit that pink was my fave colour, could I?’

‘Well, you could have, but you’d have got teased about it. Now, let’s get your new things put away.’ It took us about five minutes to tidy everything away in my chest of drawers and wardrobe.

‘I’m going downstairs to phone the school and tell Miss Morgan she has an unexpected new girl next week,’ said Mummy as she closed the doors of my wardrobe, ‘and I’ll be able find out what you will need in the way of uniform.’

‘Okay, Mummy. I’ll be downstairs as soon as I’ve changed and been to the loo.’

* * *

I was downstairs again about five minutes later wearing my new undies which were very soft and really comfy. It still felt strange having to sit down to wee, and I found that a few dribbles tended to migrate round to my ‘back-bottom’. However, Mummy had explained to me about wiping myself properly every time. Being a girl was certainly different. Before, a few shakes of ‘Percy’ was all that was needed.

Mummy was still on the ’phone, so I went to the kitchen to see how Auntie G was getting on with the lunch preparations.

‘Anything I can do to help, Auntie Greta?’ I asked.

‘That’s kind of you, Gaby darling. If you could get a lettuce, some tomatoes and spring onions from the fridge and wash them, you can make a salad. I’ve already sliced up some cucumber.’

I noticed that she had opened a large tin of tuna, had sliced up some cooked potatoes and two hard-boiled eggs and there was a jar of olives on the counter. ‘Are we having my fave salad?’ I asked.

‘Now I wonder what that might be, honey?’ she replied, her eyes twinkling.

‘Salade Niçoise?’

‘I’d never have guessed,’ she teased. ‘When you’ve washed the tomatoes and spring onions, would you pop out to the greenhouse and pick me some basil, please.’

‘How much?’

‘About three stalks should be ample.’

I went out the back door and crossed the garden to the greenhouse. I loved the smell inside, a mixture of tomato plants and herbs. I found the tray with the basil plants and carefully picked three stalks and returned to the kitchen. Auntie was rubbing the wooden salad bowl with a clove of garlic–something else I adored, although I suppose I would have to be careful from now on in case I got a boyfriend who wanted to kiss me! Eeeewww!

‘Will you wash rinse it under the tap please?’ she asked when she saw the basil in my hand. I did so and shook it dry over the sink and put it on the counter by the tomatoes and spring onions.

‘Did you know the oven was on, Auntie,’ I asked.

‘Yes, Gaby. I thought we’d all enjoy garlic bread with our Salade Niçoise.’

‘Oooh, yummy, how scrummy,’ I replied enthusiastically. ‘I adore garlic bread.’

‘Is there anything you don’t like to eat?’ Auntie asked, laughing.

‘Loadsa things–mostly at school; things like tapioca pudding, yukk! School boiled cabbage, double yukk! School macaroni cheese, triple yukk! The cabbage is sooooo revolting, it lies there on the plate, drowning in a pool of smelly cabbage-water and pleading with sad eyes to be put out of its misery. There should be a RSPCSC.’

‘What’s that, Gabs?’

‘The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to School Cabbage! Mind you the cauliflower is equally revolting, and the spuds get over-boiled too.’

‘Things haven’t changed since my day then,’ giggled Auntie. ‘But there was an excuse during the war that food was on the ration so there wasn’t much choice. The gravy they gave us used to make me feel sick.’

‘Eeeewww! Poor you,’ I sympathised.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Mummy coming into the kitchen.

‘Auntie said that the gravy they got at school during the war used to make her feel sick.’

‘The Brussels sprouts were awful, too,’ said Auntie. ‘They were sooo revolting I used to put them in the hanky pocket in my knickers and flush them down the loo after lunch.’

‘What? Your knickers?’ I giggled.

‘No, you silly girl,’ laughed Mummy. ‘She meant the Brussels. Ours were pretty awful too, but we didn’t have pockets on our knickers, so I had to use my hanky, hoping I wouldn’t have to blow my nose later.’

‘Eeeewww! Mummy! Yukk!’

‘Gaby darling, you sound just like a girl now. It’s almost as if you’d always been one.’

‘But I HAVE always been one, but inside. I’m now one on the outside too. Isn’t it sooooper?’

Mummy grinned and gave me a hug. ‘If you say so, sweetheart. I must say I always wished you had been a girl.’

While we had been comparing school food, Auntie had finished preparing the salad, which she covered with cling film and put in the fridge. Then she put the garlic bread in the oven. ‘If you’d like to lay the dining room table we can eat in fifteen minutes,’ she told us.

Mummy and I went to the dining room. There was already a checked cloth on the table, so I got out the cutlery and started to lay the places.

‘Well, Gabs,’ Mummy said. ‘This is something new for you.’

‘Not really,’ I replied, ‘I’ve been doing it for Auntie ever since I came here.’

‘What, even when you were a boy?’

‘Natch, but then I never thought I was a proper boy like Tim. Did you speak to Miss Morgan?’

‘Yes, she wants to see us both at two-thirty at the school. She sounded rather shocked.’

‘I bet she did,’ I replied with a giggle.

* * *

Lunch was gorgeous. I think I had one too many bits of garlic bread, but I do enjoy it soooo much. The salad was amazing too; I think Salade Niçoise is my absolute fave of all. Auntie makes fab French dressing for it too and there was nothing left the salad bowl by the time Auntie brought us all a chocolate ice-cream for afters. At a quarter past two Mummy and I got into the car for the short trip to the school.

I was feeling a little scared at the prospect of meeting Miss Morgan. I was not scared of her, for she was a really nice lady and a good headmistress, but she had only known me as Gabriel–a boy, and now I was Gaby, or Gabrielle–a girl. I was uncertain how to explain what had happened to me without her thinking I was feeble-starkers-bonkers.

We arrived at the school in a few minutes as it was very close to Auntie’s house. The new term did not start for another four days so the buildings and playground looked deserted, save for some of the teachers’ cars. Mummy parked and we got out. I must say I felt very strange walking into the school I had, up to now, attended as a boy dressed as I was that day.

Mummy looked at me and took a hairbrush from her handbag and gave my hair a brush and said ‘There you are, darling, that makes you look so pretty. Let’s go and see Miss Morgan.’

We entered through the main entrance that as pupils we were not normally allowed to use as it was for staff, parents and visitors only. I took Mummy to Miss Morgan’s study and we knocked on the door.

‘Come!’ came the headmistress’s voice from the other side of the door. Mummy opened it and pushed me in in front of her. Miss Morgan, sitting at her huge desk, looked up and smiled.

‘G-g-g-good afternoon, Miss M-Morgan,’ I stammered. ‘I’m Gaby–I mean–Gabrielle Chambers.’

‘Good afternoon, Gaby,’ she said. ‘I must say you are a very pretty girl.’

‘Thank you, Miss Morgan. This is my mum,’ I replied, turning to look at her.

‘Hullo, Mrs Chambers, I’m so glad you could come so quickly. Please sit down, both of you,’ she replied indicating a sofa. I sat down carefully, remembering to smooth my skirt under my bum. Mummy sat next to me and Miss Morgan came and sat in an armchair opposite us. ‘Now, young lady, tell me what happened to your alter ego?’

‘Err–my what, Miss Morgan?’

‘Your other self–the boy you used to be.’

‘Well, I really don’t know. It all started when Auntie Greta and I were up in her loft searching for something to give as a wedding present and she found this old trunk which contained a lot of her old clothes, including the uniform she wore when she was a pupil here during the war. So we decided to have a dress-up day and pretend that it was 1944 again. Well––’ I then went on to explain what happened with me slipping back in time, becoming Auntie Great as a girl and doing her homework (see Aunt Greta’s Homework http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/4837/aunt-gretas-homework ).

Miss Morgan let me tell the story without interrupting me. ‘When did you discover you had changed sex?’ she asked when I finally stopped talking.

‘Oh that was on another occasion when I slipped back in the middle of the night when there was an air-raid and we had to go out the shelter at the end of the garden. It was a doodlebug that fell quite close and I was really really scared. Mummy–well, Auntie Greta’s mummy actually–told me to put on two pairs of knickers coz it would be cold in the shelter. I woke up next morning still wearing them under my nightie, and when I went to the loo I discovered I hadn’t changed back into a boy.’

‘And she’s been a girl ever since,’ added Mummy.

‘I find it very difficult to believe,’ said Miss Morgan. ‘Are you sure she’s a girl?’

‘Absolutely positive,’ Mummy replied firmly. ‘I’m a registered gynaecological nurse and midwife and I have given her a thorough examination.’

‘It’s not that I don’t believe you,’ said Miss Morgan, ‘but if I was to call our school nurse, would you let her check Gabrielle too; just so I have a second opinion?’ She looked at me.

‘Nurse Parry’s nice,’ I told Mummy. ‘I don’t mind her checking me so long as you’re there too.’

‘Actually we’ve got an appointment to see our doctor at five o’clock,’ Mummy said, ‘and as Gaby doesn’t mind Nurse examining her, I have no objection.’

Miss Morgan picked up her ’phone, pressed a couple of buttons and waited for an answer. ‘Hullo? Is that you, Cathy–? If I bring one of our pupils round, would you have a look at her for me?… Excellent, we’ll be there directly. Her name–?…Oh, Gabrielle Chambers–and her mother’s here too. We’ll be with you in a couple shakes.’

When we arrived at Nurse’s room she looked at me and did a double take. ‘Cathy, this is Mrs Chambers and her daughter.’

‘How d’you do, Mrs Chambers,’ said Nurse Parry. ‘I thought you had two sons–’

‘So did I until a few hours ago, but Gaby’s undergone some sort of extraordinary transformation. I’m a gynae-nurse and I couldn’t believe it until I examined her myself.’

‘Well, Gaby,’ Nurse said, ‘if you slip behind the curtains and undress down to your undies, your Mum and I will be with you in a minute.’

‘Yes, Nurse.’ I could feel myself blushing, but I supposed I would have to do this again when we went to see Dr MacNeish. I took off my skirt and top and sat on the bed awaiting my fate.

* * *

Nurse’s examination was similar to Mummy’s, but not so thorough–I’m glad to say. As they left me to get dressed again they were talking in low voices, but I could not make out what they were saying.

Nurse accompanied us back to the Head’s study, where we were asked to sit on the sofa again. ‘Well, Cathy, what do you have to report?’

‘Apart from the fact that Gaby is definitely anatomically a girl, nothing at all, except that she shows normal signs of the onset of puberty that I would expect with a girl of her age.’

‘May I ask a question, Miss Morgan?’ I asked.

‘Of course you may, dear,’ came the reply.

‘It’s just that everyone in the school will remember that I was a boy, so how do we explain that during the holidays I seem to have changed into a girl?’

‘Maybe we could say you always were a girl, but very tomboyish and wanted people to treat you like a boy,’ suggested Mummy.

‘Oh, you mean like George in the Famous Five?‘ I added.

‘If you like. Did anyone ever see you naked?’

‘No, and the boy’s loo has cubicles rather than stand-up stalls,’ I replied. ‘So I always shut the door and went in private.’

‘Well, I should think that if we say you always were a girl,’ Mummy suggested, ‘but during the holidays you started to develop female characteristics–breasts and wider hips, for example–so you could no longer get away with masquerading as a boy.

‘That should explain things simply enough,’ agreed Nurse Parry, ‘don’t you think so, Headmistress?’

‘Yes, I think that would be the answer. Do you think your doctor would be prepared to support that, Mrs Chambers?’

‘I’ll ask her when we see her this afternoon,’ Mummy replied. ‘I wonder if we can do anything about Gabriel’s birth certificate? After all we know that she is undoubtedly female, and that a mistake was made at birth. All we need now is a girl’s uniform list.’

Miss Morgan opened one of the drawers of her desk. ‘Here you are, Gaby,’ she said, holding it out for me and giving me a friendly smile. ‘We shall look forward to welcoming our newest girl pupil next week. By the way, how is Timothy? I hope he hasn’t suddenly changed sex as well.’

‘Ah, that reminds me,’ said Mummy, ‘Tim won’t be coming back to school straight away. He picked up Scarlet fever while at scout camp.’ A gasp escaped from Miss Morgan. ‘Don’t worry, Gaby’s spent the whole holidays with her Aunt Greta so she’s not in quarantine.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ sighed Miss Morgan.

* * *

It was a quarter to four as we left the school. Mummy drove straight home and Auntie Greta made us a cup of tea and a jam sandwich.

‘So how did it go, then?’ Auntie asked as we settled down to our tea. ‘Are there going to be any problems?’

‘No, Miss Morgan was very nice about it,’ I replied, ‘but I think she was a bit surprised.’

‘Well, sweetheart, it’s been a bit of a shock to all of us,’ Mummy said. ‘I should think she was flabbergasted!’

‘Her flabber was never so gasted,’ Auntie added, which made us all laugh. So what else happened?’

‘She was examined by the school nurse,’ said Mummy, ‘and then we had a chat and we got a copy of the girl’s uniform list. We can shop for them on Monday or Tuesday next week.’

We set out for Dr MacNeish’s surgery as soon as we had finished our tea and been to the loo. We didn’t have far to go since her practice was now situated in the new purpose-built Health Centre about two miles away. Being a new building there was more than enough car parking space, unlike the old one which was really cramped. Once inside, we reported to the receptionist and sat down in the waiting area until Dr MacNeish called us.

We had only been waiting for about ten minutes when we heard ‘Gaby Chambers to go to Dr MacNeish in Room Three…’ announced over the loudspeaker system. Amazingly they had even called me by the right name!

Mummy and I stood up and walked down the corridor to Room Three. I knocked at the door and heard, ‘Come in,’ called from inside. As I opened the door, Dr MacNeish stood up and smiled as I offered my hand to be shaken. She took it in both hands and gave it a really friendly squeeze. ‘Well, young lady, what’s all this I hear about your defying the laws of medical science?’

‘Errmm–’ I said, suddenly rendered speechless, until I was able to stammer, ‘I s-s-seem to h-have ch-ch-changed s-s-s-sex.’

‘So your mum has told me, and I have to believe her because being a nurse she knows about such things. So, how about telling me what happened.’

‘Well, it all started when Auntie Greta and I were up in her loft and…’ I related the whole story to date while she listened with a look of amazement on her face.

‘Well, that’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. Now, if you’ll just pop behind the curtains and undress, I’ll be with you in a minute.’

‘Undress completely?’ I asked.

‘Just to your under-things for now. Then sit on the bed.’

It did not take me long to get down to my bra and pants, and I had just sat on the bed, which was rather high, when the doctor and Mummy came into the cubicle.

The doctor had her stethoscope hanging round her neck and she started by listening to my chest. The end of the stethoscope felt cold on my chest. ‘I wish you’d warmed it up a bit,’ I said.

She looked up at my face and must have noticed I was grinning. ‘I’ll have to get a centrally heated one for you next time,’ she joked. ‘Will you take off your bra, please?’

I started fumbling round the back to unhook the fastening. ‘Sorry,’ I said, feeling my cheeks getting hot. ‘I’ve not had much practice at this yet. I’ve never had one before.’ However then I succeeded and slipped it off my shoulders.

‘You certainly need one,’ she said. ‘Lie back while I check how they’re developing.’ I did so and she gently prodded and poked me; when she touched my nipples they tingled and stood up. It was a rather pleasant sensation, and a completely new one to me. ‘Good,’ she said. They are developing nicely. Now will you slip your panties off please.’

When she had completed her examination she took some blood. I had to avert my eyes while she stuck this needle-thingy in my arm and extracted a huge amount of blood from me and then told me to get dressed again. She and Mummy left me to it, and I joined them in the main part of her office a couple of minutes later.

‘Well, Gaby, there can be no doubt that you are a girl through and through,’ Doctor MacNeish said. ‘Tell me, how do you feel about it?’

‘Actually I am rather pleased, as I always had a deep-down feeling that I should have been a girl; like I was a girl inside, but I never had the courage to admit it.’

‘She admitted as much to me on the ’phone the day before yesterday,’ Mummy explained. ‘That was the first inkling I had of it. Do you think it would be a good idea for her to see a psychiatrist?’

‘I do. I’ll make an appointment for her with Dr Knutter. She specialises in gender identity problems, although I think we can say that Gaby is pretty sure what she is now.’

‘Definitely a girl,’ I said with a huge cheesy grin.

‘And proud of it by the sound and look of you,’ replied the doctor.

‘Is Dr Knutter a nut doctor?’ I asked with a giggle.

‘Her name starts with a K–as in knights of old.’

‘Still, it’s a really kewl name for a psychiatrist,’ I said.

* * *

We said goodbye to the doctor, who wanted to see me again in two weeks time, and headed back to Auntie G’s house where Mummy dropped me off so she could go and relieve Mrs Tate who was looking after plaguey Tim. ‘I’ll give you a ring a before you go to bed tonight,’ she said, kissing me before she drove off.

Auntie was listening the six o’clock news when I went into the house. ‘Is that you, Gaby,’ she called.

‘Yes, Auntie,’ I replied and joined her in the sitting room. ‘Turn off the wireless and tell me how it all went.’

‘My goodness,’ she said as I finished telling her what happened at school and the doctor’s, ‘They certainly put you through it. I should think you are quite tired with all the prodding and poling.’

‘Yes, I’ll be quite glad to get to bed tonight,’ I admitted. “I guess I’ll sleep well tonight–if I don’t get dragged out to the air-raid shelter tonight.’

My supper was baked beans on toast and after reading my book for a short time, Auntie brought me a glass of milk and two chocky biscuits, and after that I was soon asleep.

* * *

I waked in the morning with a slight tummy ache; I took it to be a hunger pang that would go when I had had breakfast, so I thought no more about it. Then Auntie’s mother came in and told me to get up as it was a school day. On the chair beside my bed was my 1944 school uniform, so I had slipped back to being Greta again. All my nice new girl clothes had been left behind in my own time.

I struggled out of bed and headed to the loo. I soon discovered that I was still a girl, so after a wee and a poo I went to the bathroom for a wash. As I returned to my room I heard “Mummy” call from downstairs. ‘I’ve put out clean linings and a clean blouse for you, darling. Get dressed as quick as you can; I'll come up to plait your hair and I’ve got a treat for your brekky today, a boiled egg; Mrs Rea next door gave me one for you yesterday, you lucky girl.”

I remember Auntie telling me that the egg ration was one per week, and often you were lucky if you got that, so an extra one from Mrs Rea next door, who kept some hens in her back garden, was a real treat so I started dressing straight away. The clothes on the chair did not include a bra, but there was a vest, so I put that on, then the white linings and the baggy navy-blue knickers, which had tight elastic round the legs. I slipped on my blouse and did it up and tied my tie. Then came the gym-tunic with the ghastly kermit-green girdle round the waist and finally white ankle socks and black lace-up shoes. I was brushing my hair when Mummy came in and plaited it in two pigtails with Kermit green ribbons at the end of each one.

We breakfasted at the kitchen table. ‘Lovely egg, Mummy,’ I said, remembering how Auntie had told me what a treat they were in wartime. I had toast soldiers spread with Marmite to dip in my egg–just like I did in my own time–and two cups of weak tea. I enjoyed it in spite of my tummy ache which didn't seem quite as bad.

‘That was a lovely treat, Mummy,’ I said. ‘Thank Mrs Rea for me, won’t you.’

‘I will, darling. Now, put on your blazer–I don’t think you will need a raincoat today–and then you’ll be ready for Judy and Susan when they come past.’ (So Auntie walked to school every day with Judy Wilson and Susan Brown whom I had met briefly when they came to ask me about homework on a previous sojourn to 1944.) ‘Are all your books in your satchel?’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ I replied, picking up said satchel and hoping that the real Greta had put them in after she did her prep last evening. I soon saw the shadow of the other girls through the stained glass of the front door. ‘They’re here, Mummy. I’m of now,’ I called, opening the front door.

‘Let me see you, Greta,’ Mummy called, coming into the hall. ‘Where’s your hat?’

Hat! Hat? Then I remembered Auntie telling me about it. ‘Oops, I am a silly girl,’ I said as Mummy put the hat on my head and pinged the elastic under my chin. ‘Ouch! That hurt!’

‘It might remind you not to forget it next time. One of these days you’ll forget your head.’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ I sighed as Judy and Susan were giggling together on the doorstep.

‘Have a lovely day, darling,’ Mummy called out as we walked down to the gate.

‘I will,’ I called back over my shoulder, suddenly realising that I was walking to school holding hands with a girl I had only met once who thought I was my Aunt.

‘I’m jolly glad we didn’t have an air-raid last night,’ Judy said. ‘Wattie’s always in such a mingey mood when she’s had a disturbed night.’

‘She’s not the only one,’ added Susan, ‘Ma’s like a bear with a sore head next day when we have to traipse out to the shelter in the dark, and last time she caught her nightie on a rose bush and tore it. She tried to blame ME for it, the mean cow.’

Judy and I giggled, but I got the idea that Susan was not very fond of her Ma

‘Ooh, goody,’ said Judy suddenly. ‘We’ve got gym first lesson after prayers. Isn’t that top hole?’

‘Super,’ I said without enthusiasm. I had a tummy ache and Auntie had told me that when she was at school all the girls had to do it wearing just their vests and knickers!

---

To be continued…

Comments gratefully received

At Aunt Greta’s–
Back to 1944 Again!
by Gabi
Chapter 6 of a Continuing Saga…

Author’s Note: I have made some minor changes to the previous chapter (School ’n Stuff)
so you might like to re-read that before delving into this latest offering.
Thanks to Angharad for her excellent proof reading service.

I WAKENED NEXT morning with a slight tummy ache. I soon discovered I was back in 1944 once again–and that it was a school day. That meant that I would have to attend as Greta–whose place I had taken again. I was walking to school with Greta’s two best friends, Judy Wilson and Susan Brown. There was hardly any traffic, the occasional bus or delivery van, a milkman with his horse-drawn float, and lots of school children riding bicycles to school. Our chatter was about the unusual lack of an air-raid during the night, and how tired we all were the next day after there had been one.

‘Ooh, goody!’ exclaimed Judy, brightening suddenly. ‘We’ve got gym first lesson after prayers. Isn’t that top-hole?’

‘Super,’ I said without enthusiasm, thinking of my tummy ache and the fact that Auntie had told me that when she was at school all the girls had to do gym wearing just their vest and navy-blue knickers and gym shoes! The very thought of it filled me with horror and embarrassment and I could feel my cheeks getting hot.

‘You’re quiet, today, Grete,’ said Susan. ‘You usually talk the hind legs off a donkey. I s’pose you’re missing poor Wendy?’

‘Yes,’ I thankfully agreed and added, ‘I had a bad night, and I woke up with a tummy ache.’

‘Poor you,’ said a sympathetic Judy. ‘I hate it when I get a tummy ache–or a headache.’

‘Are you feeling any better now?’ Susan asked, sounding concerned and giving my hand a friendly squeeze.

‘A bit.’

‘P’raps you should ask if you could be let off gym,’ suggested Judy. ‘It’s horrible having to do gym when you’re feeling under the weather; ’specially if you’ve got a tummy ache.’

‘You’re not coming on, are you?’ Susan asked suddenly.

‘Coming on?’ I queried, looking at her blankly.

‘You know,’ she said before lowering her voice and whispering, “the curse–your period?’

The penny dropped and I answered hastily, ‘Can’t be that, I haven’t started them yet.’

‘You lucky THING!’ Susan remarked. ‘Mine started in the Easter hols, worst luck!’

‘Mine started at the start of the summer hols,’ Judy stated.

We were nearly at the school, and I suddenly thought that now I was a girl, I would be having periods too, and must ask Mummy about them, or Auntie G. I was not thinking about where I was or what I was doing and automatically headed for the usual entrance.

‘Hey, Grete!’ exclaimed Judy. ‘Where d’you think you’re going? That’s the BOYS’ entrance. You’re not a BOY!’

‘Well if she is,’ Susan said giggling. ‘HE sure is wearing the wrong uniform! What sort of boy d’you s’pose would go to school dressed in a gymmer?’ I could feel myself blushing. In my own time there was only one entrance, shared by boys and girls.

‘A very confused one?’ I suggested to cover my blushes. At this we all dissolved into a giggle-fit and headed for the girls’ entrance. Once inside I followed my two friends to the girls’ changing room, where we deposited out hats and blazers, and took off our outdoor shoes and replaced them with what the other girls called “house-shoes”–black leather slip-ons with elastic panels at the side–that were in my shoe locker under my peg on which I had hung my blazer.

‘Don’t forget to bring your hanky,’ Susan told me, lifting the skirt of her tunic and stuffing hers up her knicker-leg. I quickly took my own hanky from my blazer pocket and stuffed up the right leg of my own knickers. (‘What a handy place to keep things,’ I thought.)

‘Come on, slowcoaches,’ Judy told us, picking up her satchel, ‘or Miss De’Ath will get to our form room before us, and you know how ratty that makes her–a fate worse than Death!’ This made Susan and one of the other girls giggle.

Miss De’Ath? After a moment’s puzzlement I remembered she was Auntie Greta’s form mistress; her very name filled me with apprehension. I wondered what she would be like; I imagined her as old and prim with a tight mouth and grey hair in a bun–my vision of a typical old-fashioned schoolmarm. I was not looking forward to meeting her, particularly since Auntie G had told me about her remarks about my essay about what I was looking forward to after the war was over. If I remember rightly I wrote: “The end of sweets rationing will be dead brill and well cool!” which was very far from how kids talked in 1944, so it was far from kewl as far as Miss De’Ath was concerned and the very thought brought a flush to my cheeks.

I felt very self-conscious in my gym tunic amongst these girls. I know I’m a girl, but I’ve only been one for a couple of days. We left the cloakroom and I followed Judy and Susan because I did not know which form room we were in. Imagine my surprise when they turned into my own form room in the future. I was wondering if it would be very different when we entered. There was the usual hubbub of young voices that I was used to, but all the faces were strange to me. Three boys were having a loud argument about German air-raids, and whether Spitfires could shoot down doodlebugs. I am sure I had read somewhere that Spitfire pilots developed a way of changing the doodlebug’s course by flying alongside and lifting up one wing so it changed direction away from its proper target. My two companions guided me towards a group of girls talking near the window.

‘Hiya, Judy,’ said one girl whom I didn’t know from Adam–or should that be Eve?

‘Hiya, Evelyn,’ Judy replied. (‘Kewl guess,’ I thought!)

‘Hiya, Sue,’ Evelyn said. ‘Hiya, Greta, I was so sorry to hear about Wendy; you must miss her soooo much.’ She came and gave me a hug.

‘Thank you, Evelyn,’ I answered solemnly. ‘It hasn’t really sunk in yet that I’ll never see my best friend ever again.’ Saying the words made me feel very sad, and I nearly started to cry, even though I had never known Wendy; she had been Auntie’s best friend so it was inevitable that the sadness would affect me. Several other girls came and gave me hugs as well, and then I really did begin to cry. I groped for my hanky and pulled it out to wipe my eyes.

‘Come and sit at your desk, Greta,’ said Susan, taking my hand and leading me towards the second row of desks and sat me down behind one of them. Judy and Susan took their places on my right, leaving an empty desk between mine and the window; I wondered if it had been Wendy’s. The other girls went to their desks and sat down.

I was not expecting to hear a loud and very clangy hand-bell being rung. Suddenly, as the first clang had barely sounded, there was an unruly rush as the boys scrambled to get to their places before our form-mistress arrived. When Miss De’Ath–I presumed–came in, one very scruffy looking boy with very unruly hair was still not in his place.

‘Good morning, Miss De’Ath,’ we all chanted together, standing up as we said it. Miss De’Ath came as something of a surprise to me. She was very far from my mental picture of her. She was quite young, about the same age as my mum, and she had bouncy blond wavy hair that just touched her shoulders. She was wearing a modest amount of makeup and I reckoned I would like her a lot if I had to stay being Greta,

‘Good morning, children,’ she replied. ‘Michael Winterbottom, why weren’t you standing at your desk when I entered the form room?’

Michael Winterbottom blushed deep puce and mumbled, ‘Dunno.’

‘What did you say, young man?’ said our teacher, bristling slightly.

‘I dunno!.

‘Master Winterbottom,’ retorted Miss De’Ath, ‘please answer my question properly and not in that guttersnipe way. You should have said, "I do not know, Miss De’Ath".’

‘I dunno, Miss De’Ath,’ repeated the unhappy Michael. Miss De’Ath raised her eyes heavenwards as if in supplication for Divine Help.

Judy tapped my leg and I looked at her. She was smiling, so I grinned back and gave her hand a squeeze while the poor Winterbottom boy searched the dictionary for the word. ‘Well, Master Winterbottom, can you find that word?’

‘It don’t seem to be here, Miss,’ replied the boy. ‘I dunno why.’

‘That is because the word does not exist,’ replied Miss De’Ath. ‘What you should have said was “I do not know”. Do you understand?’

‘I fink so,’ replied the boy sullenly.

‘Hmmm!’ said the lady. ‘Take a misconduct mark.’ She made a note in a book on her desk and then looked up and smiled. ‘Now, sit down, girls and boys, and I will call the register and then you may line up ready to march into prayers. Joyce Alexander?’

‘Here, Miss.’

‘Lucy Barker?’

‘Here, Miss.’

‘William Biggs?’

‘Here, Miss.’

‘Susan Brown?’

‘Present, Miss De’Ath.’

There were two more names and I tried to see who was answering so I should know who they were. ‘Greta Chambers? – Greta Chambers?’ Judy poked me in the ribs and I realised I was being called.

‘Present, Miss,’ I replied hurriedly.

‘Please try to wake up, Greta, it’s not as if we had an air-raid last night.’

‘Yes, Miss, sorry, Miss,’ I answered feeling the colour in my cheeks rising.

‘That’s all right, Greta. I realise you must be missing Wendy. Now, where was I?–George Danbury?’

‘Here, Miss.’

When Judy, whose name was last on the list, had replied, ‘Present, Miss De’Ath,’ the lady snapped the register shut and put it in the drawer of her desk.

‘Don’t forget your hymn books,’ Miss De’Ath called out, then, ‘Form Captain and Door Keeper,’ One of the boys sprung to his feet and went to stand by the door with his hand on the knob, Judy nudged me in the ribs and hissed, ‘Go on, girl! You’re form captain!’

‘Wake up, Greta dear,’ said Miss De’Ath. ‘You’re form captain this term, remember? So go and stand by the door so the rest of the class can fall in behind you.’

‘I’m s-s-sorry, Miss De’Ath,’ I stammered, my cheeks burning. ‘I’m feeling a bit off colour this morning.’ I stood up, squeezed between my desk and Judy’s and went to the door.

‘Right, class, fall in behind Greta.’ There was a rumbling of desk seats tipping up as they were relieved of the weight of each pupil and everyone fell in behind me. The door was still shut with us waiting; I wondered why when the bell clanged again. ‘Open the door, Robert,’ said Miss De’Ath, ‘and, Greta, lead on to the assembly hall. Left! Right! Left! Right! Left! Right!’

I was glad I knew where the assembly hall was, as I had noticed it was the same as in my own time when Judy and Susan led me to our form room. I had to wait while one of the lower forms left their form room in front of us, and I just followed on after their teacher. Two seniors, a boy and a girl were waiting inside the hall and directed me to the row of chairs that were allocated to our form. The younger kids were already standing in their rows in front of us and soon the rows behind us were filled with older pupils. The staff went to the dais and stood in front of their chairs.

A few moments later the headmistress, Miss Norma Sterne, swept through the door; she was a large lady, carrying some papers and a hymn book clasped to her ample bosom with her right hand and her black academic gown billowing out behind her. On reaching the dais and taking her place in front of the big chair in the middle, she looked at us over her half-moon spectacles and said, ‘Good morning, school.’

‘Good morning, Miss Sterne,’ we chanted in reply.

‘Turn to page forty-three in your hymn books and we will sing All things Bright and Beautiful.’ There was a rustling of pages as we found the place; after a few seconds silence reigned again. ‘Right, Miss Griffiths,’ commanded Miss Sterne and an elderly lady at the piano began to thump out the tune. We joined in after a short introduction. Afterwards Miss Sterne led us in the Lord’s prayer, and then she added a prayer for the Allied forces advancing through Belgium towards Germany. After that we were dismissed to go to our lessons.

In our form room we put our hymnbooks away in our desks and then headed once again for the changing room to get ready for gym. The girls from the next form up were sharing the lesson with us while the boys of both forms went out into the playground for their PT which was taught by a former army physical training instructor called Sergeant-Major Ball. The name Ball rang a couple of bells in my brain and I wondered if he was an ancestor of the two Balls who attended the school in my time.

My tummy ache was still there and it must have shown in my face because Susan turned to me and asked, ‘Are you feeling all right, Grete?’

‘I’m okay,’ I replied. ‘It’s just my tummy ache is a bit worse. Maybe some exercise will do me good.’ I loosened the hideous Kermit-green girdle round my waist and pulled my tunic over my head, then off came my tie and blouse; I was just copying what Susan and Judy were doing.

‘Well if it gets worse, maybe you should go and see Nurse,’ Judy told me as we changed our house-shoes for gym shoes–or plimsolls as everyone seemed to call them–before making our way to the gym just down the corridor, where we found our gym mistress waiting for us. Strangely, I didn’t feel shy walking down the corridor in my undies being in the same boat as all the other girls, and the boys were already outside with Sergeant-Major Ball.

‘Good morning, Miss Springer,’ everyone chanted as we entered the gym–I left off her name because I didn’t know it.

‘Good morning, girls,’ she replied. ‘Form up in four lines, please, feet together, arms loosely by your sides, and we will do some exercises to loosen up.’

She looked quite tall for a lady, and was made to look taller than she probably was because the gym tunic she was wearing left most of her long legs uncovered. In my own time it would definitely come into the category of skirts that Mummy referred to as pelmets because they seemed to be designed to keep the bare minimum hidden. I was surprised that Miss Springer was dressed like this because our gym teacher–forty years later–always wore a polo shirt and trackie-bums (as the girls called them).

We formed out four lines as told. ‘Right girls, running on the spot, beeee-GIN! Hup-hup-hup-hup-keep-up-E-liz-a-beth-hup-hup…’ and so on. I wondered who Elizabeth might be, but didn’t dare look. Then we did “stride-jumps with raising and lowering of the arms, then a relay race (our team won) and then we were lined up to vault over the “horse”. The horse was about the same as I was used to in my own time except that instead of a mini trampoline to spring on to to gain enough height to clear the horse, there was a spring-board. I supposed that trampolines had not been invented in 1944 and anyway with most materials needed to make armaments–as I had learned 40 years later–trampolines could hardly be classified as essential war materials.

We formed a long line so we could vault in turn; I was about fourth in line so I watched the first three doing their stuff. Run up, bounce on the spring board, hands reaching forward on the horse, legs astride and swinging through to land neatly on the mat the far side of the horse. Easy-peasy, I had done it tons of times. I ran up, sprung, placed my hands on the horse and swung my legs through and landed feet together on the mat with Miss Springer steadying me on landing. I stood to attention on the dismount as I had been taught and then I got a terrible pain in my tummy and everything went squiffy and I was falling…

I became conscious of a strong pungent smell and saw a lady in nurse’s uniform holding a bottle under my nose. I was on a bed with curtains drawn around me. ‘It’s all right, Greta,’ she said, ‘you fainted during gym and Miss Springer carried you here. You’re in the sick-bay.’

‘Do you know what happened?’ I asked, becoming conscious of my tummy ache again.

‘You had vaulted the horse and landed and then you just collapsed.’

‘I’ve got a terrible tummy ache, Nurse.’

‘Can you show me where?’ she asked.

‘Down here,’ I answered, adding ‘below my tummy button.’ I put my hand on where the ache seemed to be coming from.

‘Is your period due?’

‘I’ve not started them yet,’ I replied. ‘I don’t know much about them.’

‘Hasn’t your mummy explained about periods?’

‘I can’t remember,’ I said. ‘Could I please go to the lav?’

‘I’ll get you a commode.’ She hurried out and returned a few minutes later wheeling a wooden box with a loo-seat with a chamber pot underneath. She helped me out of bed, gave me a roll of loo paper and left me on my own. Through the open window I could hear the Sergeant-Major bawling out commands at the boys as he drilled them in the playground and I felt rather sorry for them. I pulled down my knickers and sat down. It was then that I saw some spots of what looked like blood on my white under knickers. When I had relieved myself I wiped myself and dropped the paper in the potty–the paper was AWFUL, as rough as sandpaper and about as absorbent!

‘Nurse,’ I called.

‘Finished?’ she asked, putting her head inside the curtains.

‘There’s some blood on my knickers,’ I said and could feel myself blushing.

‘I thought there might be, Greta. You’ve got a period pain.’

‘What should I do?’

‘I’ll give you a sanitary towel and then send you home. Will your mummy be at home? I’ll give her a tinkle; can you remember your number?’

‘Tuckton 4763.’

* * *

Mummy came and collected me and as we walked home together she started to explain about what was happening inside my body and how it would now happen every month. When we arrived home, we went upstairs, and she told me to undress and get ready for bed so I could have a good sleep. Before leaving school, Nurse had got me my bottle of mid-morning milk so I wouldn’t miss out on it–milk was rationed, but children got extra and we all got a third of a pint at school every day at mid-morning break.

I got into bed, and Mummy brought me my milk which she had hotted up, then she gave me an aspirin for my period pain, closed the curtains and suggested I try to sleep.

* * *

I waked up some time later. My tummy still ached, but not as badly so I reckoned the aspirin had helped. The door creaked and I turned to look who was there and saw my own mother. I was back home as myself.

‘How are you feeling, Gaby darling,’ Mummy asked. ‘Auntie said you were feeling poorly.’

‘Oh, Mummy,’ I exclaimed and burst into tears.

She came and sat beside me on the bed and took my hand. ‘What’s the trouble, poppet?’

‘I’ve been back to 1944 again and went to school as Auntie G. During gym I got this awful pain in my tummy and fainted. It turned out that I had started my first period. Auntie G’s mummy came and took me home and put me to bed with some hot milk and an aspirin. I went to sleep and when I w-woke up and you were here.’ I buried my face in her cardie and cried.

‘There, there, my darling,’ Mummy soothed me, stroking my hair which was still in two plaits. ‘How is your tummy now?’

‘It still aches, so I suppose I must have started my periods and I don’t really know what to do.’

‘Auntie Greta warned me that you might have; she remembered she started her first period a few days after Wendy was killed by the doodlebug. So I stopped by Boots and bought you a pack of pads.’

‘The nurse gave me a sanitary towel when I told her I had some blood in my knickers.’

‘I thought she might have. When I was at school we always went to nurse if we came on and didn’t have a pad.’

‘Came ON?’ I queried.

‘That’s girl-code for having your period.’

‘Oh, Auntie G’s friend, Susan, called it the curse,’ I said.

‘We used to say that too, sometimes,’ Mummy told me, ‘but it’s not very polite.’

‘So if I was to tell another girl I was on, she would know what I meant.’

‘Yes, darling, and remember, we girls stick together and look out for each other. Now you must make a diary so you know when you will be due next time. It may be a bit irregular to start with but it will soon settle down to a regular pattern. I know that I should be on the week after next. Are you feeling any better, poppet?’

‘Sort of. It’s lovely having a cuddle with you, but my tummy still aches.’

‘I’ll get you a hot-water bottle to put on your tum; that always helps. Auntie wondered if you would like some soup for your lunch? She’s got some of those lovely fresh soups from Waitrose.’ *

‘That would be lovely,’ I said.

‘I think she’s got asparagus or cream of chicken. Oh, and she’s just taken a fresh wholemeal loaf out of the bread maker.’

‘Ooh, cream of chick, please; with some of her new bread–that’s always GORGEous. I like asparagus, but it always gives my wee a strong pong.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ replied Mummy with a giggle. She kissed my cheek, gave me another hug, stood up and went to get me a hottie and to tell Auntie G my choice of soup for lunch.

* * *

Mummy brought me my hottie and I laid it on my tum which soon began to feel better. As I lay there I went over the events of the morning and I couldn’t help thinking about Sergeant-Major Ball and his possible descendents who attended school with me. The elder one, Kevin, is three years ahead of me and has always been a bit of a thicko so I don’t really want to ask him, particularly as I am now a girl. His sister, Kristal, is in my form, so I decided I would ask her if she was related. Kristal fancies herself as a boy magnet and is always getting told off for wearing makeup and jewellery in excess of what the school rules allow. In fact she is about the only girl in our form who always wears makeup, and Wattie–our form teacher–is always sending her out to the washroom to take it off. The other thing about Kristal Ball is that she always believes implicitly what her horoscope says.

There’s one boy at school that I’m dreading meeting–Kenneth Quinn. A large, oafish bully who likes nothing better than to throw his–very ample–weight about. He always made things unpleasant for me when I was a boy, and my feeling is that he is certain to pick up the wrong end of the stick when I return to school as a girl. I can remember many occasions when he has called me names–wimp, girlie, coward, pansy, wally–all of those and more. The other thing that he enjoys is waiting and waylaying kids smaller than himself on their way to school or home and demanding sweets, money or anything else he thinks he can get away with. Not a nice character.

I really missed by brother, Tim, still in quarantine for bubonic plague, or whatever it was. I was wondering what he would say to me when we eventually met. He was two years older than me and had always been protective towards me. I was longing to talk to him and wondered if I would be allowed to ’phone him. Another thing to ask Mummy.

I must have fallen asleep again because the next thing I was aware of was being gently woken by Mummy. ‘Are your tummy cramps any better, Gaby darling?’

It took me a few moments to answer, ‘Much better, thanks, Mummy. The hottie has helped a lot.’

‘So how do you feel about getting up and having your soup downstairs with Auntie and me? We’re having the same as you.’

‘I’d like that. Should I get dressed?

‘If you like. You could wear your new girlie jeans.’

‘I’d rather wear my new denim skirt. The more practice I get wearing skirts before going back to school the better.’

‘Okay, that’s sensible. Why don’t you have a bath? It will help your tummy and you’ll feel much fresher afterwards.’

‘Yes, I’d like that. Err, Mummy…I was wondering if I could have a chat with Tim on the ’phone? I don’t even know what he thinks of having a sister.’

‘He was rather shocked at first, but when he thought about it he was rather pleased. He was only worried about how you felt about it.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I said I thought you were rather pleased because of what you had told me a day or two ago. Was that the right answer?’

‘Yes, It was.’

‘Good. I’ll go and run your bath for you.’

* * *

Having a hot bath really relaxed me, lessening my stomach cramps and easing the worries I’d been having about the reception I was going to get when I went back to school. Mummy came and washed my hair, and I rinsed off in the shower afterwards. Then I put on my towelling bath robe and returned to my bedroom where Mummy dried my hair with the new hair-dryer we had bought on Saturday and put it in a high ponytail with one of my new scrunchies. She had laid out my clothes for me on the bed, but before I started dressing she gave me a pad and showed me how it fitted inside my knickers and after that it took me only a few minutes to dress.

When I got downstairs I was greeted by the wonderful smell of freshly-baked bread. ‘Mmmm, Auntie G, that smells gorgeous,’ I exclaimed and went to give her a hug.

‘And you look gorgeous,’ she replied, returning my hug. ‘How’s the tum?’

‘A bit better. Having a hot bath was a great idea.’

‘That’s good. I’m afraid you’ve rather got landed in the deep end of the start of womanhood,’ she told me. ‘I’m sorry you have missed out on your girlhood, being a little girl is such fun.’

‘Well it would have happened pretty soon anyway, so it doesn’t matter that it’s started now.’

‘You’re very philosophical about it, Gaby,’ Auntie told me as the telephone started ringing. ‘Will you answer it for me please?’

I picked up the handset saying ‘494763…’

‘Is that my new sister Gaby?’ said a familiar voice.

‘Ti-i-i-immmmmm!’ I squealed gleefully.

* Waitrose: A supermarket chain in Britain providing higher quality produce than the larger, cheaper supermarket chains.

---

To be continued…

Please leave a comment to give me an even bigger head than I already have!

At Aunt Greta’s–
Two New Friends and…
by Gabi
Chapter 7 of a Continuing Saga…

I WAS IN THE KITCHEN with Auntie Greta when the ’phone rang. ‘Will you answer that for me please, Gaby?’

I picked up the handset saying, ‘494763…’

‘Is that my new sister Gaby?’ said a familiar voice.

‘Ti-i-i-immmmmm!’ I squealed gleefully.

Auntie Greta looked up and grinned, so I wonder if this had been arranged after what I had said earlier.

‘How’s the bubonic plague?’ I asked. ‘Does it make you feel awful?’

‘Doh! It’s not bubonic plague, it’s scarlet fever. Luckily the doctor says I’ve only got a mild dose. She stuck this huge hypodermic needle with antibiotic in my bum and it has brought my temperature down quite a lot. But I don’t want to talk about me, I want to know what happened to YOU.’

‘I’ve changed into a girl,’ I giggled.

‘You giggle like one, anyway. But then you always did act a bit girlishly.’

‘That’s coz I always felt deep down inside that I was one, but had the wrong body.’

‘So you don’t mind, then?’

‘No, I think it’s sooooo kewl. It’s what I always wanted and I’m loving every moment of it. And the clothes are sooo comfy.’

‘That’s kewl. I’m happy for you. So what are you wearing?’

‘A denim miniskirt and a pink tank top, bare legs and sandals and my hair is in a ponytail. Do you approve?’

‘Sounds perfect to me. I’m really looking forward to seeing you. Mum says you’re going to school as a girl.’

‘Well, I can’t really go as a boy, can I? I mean, I don’t have a willie any more, so I can’t wee like a boy now and anyway I don’t fancy changing in front of all those boys, especially that gross Kenneth Quinn. I’m worried about him anyway. He was always teasing me.’

‘Don’t worry, Gab, I’ll take care of that ugly fat oaf if he gives you any grief,’ my big brother said.

‘But you won’t be going back to school at the start of the term,’ I reminded him; ‘You’ll still be in quarantine, won’t you?’

‘I hadn’t thought about that, but the Doc says my temperature’s normal and my spots are nearly gone. Ooh, Gabs, you should see my tongue, It’s like a red strawberry.’

“Eeewwww! That’s sooooo gross!’

‘You really sound like a girl too, sis; you never used to speak like that before.’

‘That’s coz I had to pretend to be a boy. I’ve always had a girl brain.’

‘Yeah, I suppose you did now I think about it. With our model railway layout, you were never much interested in the trains, but you made fantastic scenery and the most beautiful houses which you even furnished and had people inside them.’

‘Well I never was allowed to have Barbies, so the houses on the layout were my dolls houses and it was such fun making all that tiny furniture.’

‘That’s kewl,’ he said. ‘Your efforts certainly made the layout special. Now that you’ll be allowed to have Barbies ’n stuff I s’pose you won’t want to do things on the railway any more.’

‘Don’t be silly, Timmy. I really enjoy it, and certainly don’t want to give it up.’

‘I’m glad. We’ve had a lot of fun together up in the attic. Mum said you didn’t feel too good today.’

‘Yeah, girl problem.’

‘You mean that girl problem–so soon?’

‘Yep. It’s sooooo BORing! Still Mummy’s taking me shopping this afters. I’ve gotta get a new school uniform.’

‘Poor you,’ Tim commiserated. ‘I hate shopping for clothes; it’s such a bore.’

‘No it’s not! Clothes shopping’s such fun.’

‘Ohmygod, Gabs, you really ARE a girl!’

‘Of course I am. I’ve always been one. Auntie G is making signals at me, so I think our lunch might be ready. She sends her love and hopes to see you soon. I hope I can see you soon too, I really miss my big bruv.’

‘I’m longing to meet my new li’l sis,’ he replied. ‘And I can hear Mrs Tate dishing up my lunch. ’Bye, Gabs, be good.’

I giggled. ‘Girls are always good, Timmy; you should know that. Take care and get well really-really soon. Love you. ’Bye now.’

‘You take care too, sis. ’Bye!’ and he was gone. I put the phone back on its rest with a happy feeling. My big brother didn’t mind that I was a girl, in fact he seemed quite pleased. I was, however, none too sure of the reception I might receive when I returned to school in a few days time.

V V V

I really enjoyed my lunch, the soup was excellent and Auntie’s freshly-knitted wholemeal loaf was gorgeous as always; I finished off with a banana, and then helped with the clearing and washing up in spite of the discomfort of my period pain. Actually the cramps had eased a lot and by now I was looking forward to my shopping expedition that afternoon with Mummy.

‘Do you want me to change, or will I be all right like this?’ I asked as I put the last two spoons in the cutlery drawer after I had dried them.

‘I think I’d like you to change your top, sweetheart. That tank top tends to show your bra straps more than I approve of for a girl of your age.’

‘Okay, Mummy. What d’you suggest?’

‘How about one of the tee-shirts with cap sleeves we bought the other day?’ she replied. ‘There’s a pale yellow, lilac or pink one you could choose; the lilac would look pretty. What do you think?’

‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘Anything else I should do?’

‘Yes. Change your pad, and put a spare one in your handbag in case of emergencies.’

‘I’ve already put two in,’ I replied.

‘Without my telling you? Clever girl.’

‘I remember what the nurse back in 1944 said about always being prepared. I’m just glad they aren’t as big as the sanitary towel she gave me.’

‘Things are a bit less conspicuous nowadays,’ Mummy said. ‘How are the cramps?’

‘So-so.’ I replied and pulled a face.

‘I’ll get you a paracetamol,’ Auntie Greta said, and disappeared upstairs, returning a couple of minutes. She part-filled a glass with water and gave it to me with a tablet from the packet of paracetamol she had fetched. I put the pill under my tongue and washed it down with a swig from the glass.

‘Thanks, Auntie,’ I said, giving her a hug.

‘You’re welcome, Gaby darling.’

Mummy came upstairs with me as my fashion consultant. As I stripped off my tank top, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror on the dressing table and was surprised at my image; I was still unused to seeing myself wearing a bra, although I had got used to the feel of it so was not really aware it was there when I couldn’t see it. Mummy got out the lilac tee-shirt and passed it to me. I put it on and released my pony tail where it was trapped in the neck band, shaking my head as I did so.

‘We’ll need to get you some school shoes, love,’ Mummy told me, looking in my chest of drawers, ‘so it might be an idea to wear some socks.’

‘Okay,’ I replied, taking the white socks she had extracted. I sat on my bed, took off my sandals put on the socks, and replaced the sandals. I stood up and looked at myself in the long mirror on the wardrobe door.

‘Let me tidy your ponytail,’ Mummy said. I could tell she was loving every minute of having the daughter she had reconciled herself never to have. She brushed it out and replaced the scrunchie. ‘There you are, darling; as pretty as a picture. Give us a twirl.’

I twirled.

‘Lovely,’ said Mummy, giving me another hug.

V V V

It was just the two of us going shopping this time. As it was likely that we would have a few parcels and bags to take home we took the car, hoping that we could find a parking space not too far from John Lewis*. We were lucky and found one without too much trouble. Mummy locked the car and we set off for the store. Once inside it was straight up the escalator to the girl’s schoolwear department. As it was close to the start of the autumn term a number of mothers and their daughters were there. I cast an eye round and did not see anyone from Tuckton–my school–and sighed a sigh of relief.

‘What’s the matter, darling?’ Mummy asked.

‘I’m just relieved that nobody from my school is here; I don’t know if I’m ready to meet any of them yet and how I explain that I’m a girl.’

I thought that we decided when we saw Miss Morgan, and she agreed that you had actually been a girl all along but were very tomboyish, so you pretended to be a boy.’

‘Oh, yes. I forgot,’ I replied.

A sales lady approached us looking expectant. ‘Can I help you, Madam?’ she asked Mummy.

‘Yes. My daughter, Gaby here, needs a new school uniform.’

‘Which school. Madam?’ I noticed the lady had a plastic badge on her blouse which informed us that her name was Hilda.

‘Tuckton,’ Mummy replied. ‘We have a list with the items we need marked on it.’ She handed the list to the lady.

‘How old are you, Gaby,’ Hilda asked me, glancing down the list.

‘Nearly twelve, Miss,’ I replied. ‘My birthday’s next month.’

‘If you come this way,’ Hilda said. She led us through a door into another room in which there were a number of curtained cubicles, and three full-length mirrors. ‘I’ll fetch some things for you to try on,’ Hilda added and with that she was gone.

Mummy looked at me and smiled. ‘This shouldn’t take long,’ she said. I grinned back and gave her a hug.

Hilda returned with an armful of navy-blue clothes which turned out to be a selection of skirts. ‘Pop into one of the cubies with Mummy, Gaby, and try these on.’ She held the curtain open for us and closed it behind us. I unbuttoned my denim skirt, and stepped out of it. Mummy passed me one of the skirts. It was just an ordinary school skirt with knife pleats all round. It fastened at the waist with a button on the left hand side and a zip. On the right, hidden by one of the pleats was a zipped pocket. When I had finished putting it on Mummy held open the curtain for me and I went to look in one of the long mirrors. The skirt reached to my knees and was very modest and school girlish.

‘What d’you think, Mummy?’

‘You look very nice, darling, but somehow the tee-shirt spoils the effect.’

‘I’ll go and get a blouse, Madam,’ Hilda said and left us to it.

‘It’s a bit long,’ I said. ‘The other girls all wear them shorter than this.’

‘You’ll soon grow into it, darling,’ Mummy replied. ‘And you can always do what we used to do when I was at school and had to wear a similar skirt.’

‘What was that?

‘We used to fold the waistband over to make our skirts shorter; with our blouses covering the waistband, it didn’t show. It used to make our headmistress go ape!’ This made me giggle, as I could not imagine Mummy as a rebellious teenager.

Hilda returned with a white blouse in a cellophane packet which she passed to Mummy.

‘Slip off your tee, poppet,’ Mummy said, taking the blouse from the packet.

‘Out here?’ I asked, somewhat taken aback.

‘Well there’s just us and we are all girls,’ Mummy replied.

‘I’ll turn my back if she’s shy,’ Hilda said.

I slipped off my tee while Mummy undid the buttons on the blouse, and then held it out so I could slip my arms in the sleeves. As I tried to find the left sleeve, a girl and a lady, followed by another sales lady, came into the fitting room. The girl was wearing a sky-blue minidress and her brown hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob. Seeing the girl made me blush furiously because I recognised her and I panicked because she could see my bra. Her name was Angela Williamson and she was in the same class as me at school; also, she only knew me as a boy! I struggled even more to find the wretched sleeve.

I managed to find it eventually and began to fasten the buttons up the front of the shirt to hide my bra. Angela looked at me briefly, turned to her mother and whispered something, before reverting her gaze to me, when her jaw dropped and she stared at me open mouthed.

‘Gabriel?’ she queried, using my boy-name. ‘It is you, isn’t it, why are you wearing a girl’s uniform?’

‘Because I’m a girl, and these’–I pointed to my developing breasts–‘mean I can’t pretend to be a boy any more. I’m Gabrielle really, but I prefer Gaby.’

At this Mrs Williamson’s jaw dropped.

‘You mean you’ve always been a girl?’ Angela asked, incredulously. ‘Why on earth would you want to be a boy?’

‘She was always a tomboy,’ Mummy answered for me, ‘and wanted to be a boy like her brother Tim.’

‘Oh, like George in the Famous Five?’ Angela said.

‘Yeah, sort of,’ I replied, managing a giggle. ‘I loved playing with Tim and we made models together.’

Angela looked perplexed for a few seconds. ‘Oh, I thought you meant Timmy the Dog for a moment,’ she replied and we both burst into a fit of the giggles. I felt much happier after that.

‘Now, Angela,’ said Mrs Williamson, ‘why don’t we do what we’re here for, and when we’re all done we can go and have a cuppa, or you girls could have an ice cream if you prefer; then Gaby and her mother can tell us all about it. Is that all right with you, Mrs Williamson?’

‘I’m sure we’ll need a cuppa after this,’ said Mummy, ‘so that would be lovely.’

‘Okay, Mam,’ Angela agreed, and she and her mum headed for one of the other cubicles.

I did a couple of twirls in front of the mirror. I rather liked the way the skirt flared out when I did it quickly. ‘What d’you think, poppet?’ Mummy asked. ‘Like it?’

‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘It’s nice to wear and I’m glad it’s got a pocket where I can keep a hanky.’

‘Most school skirts have pockets nowadays,’ Hilda remarked. ‘Would you like to try the other approved style? It is slightly straighter, with two box-pleats front and back.’

I returned to my cubicle and tried on one of the other skirts; it was the box-pleated one and it fastened like the other one and had a zipped pocket on the right hand side. It was shorter than the pleated skirt, coming to about six centimetres above my knees. When I left the cubicle, Angela was doing a twirl in front of one of the mirrors. She was wearing a skirt like mine, but no top save for her pale blue bra. She smiled at me unselfconsciously and I realised that I must try not to be shy in front of other girls.

‘What do you think, Mummy?’ I asked, striking a pose in front of one of the mirrors.

‘It’s very nice, but what do you think?’

‘I think I prefer it to the other one. It seems to fit better and it’s more the length I like,’ I replied.

‘I’d be happier if it was a bit longer,’ Mummy said, ‘then you won’t grow out of it so quickly.’

‘The skirt has a wide hem, Madam, so it can easily be lengthened as she grows,’ Hilda informed us.

‘So which do you prefer?’ Mummy asked.

‘I’m not sure, What do you think, Angela?’ I asked.

‘I think that suits you better, Gaby, and it doesn’t look like a PE skirt–unlike the other one you tried.’

‘Yeah, you’ve got a point. I’ll go for this one, Mummy.’

‘You sure, darling?’

I nodded.

‘Very well, we’ll have two like this one, please, and three of the blouses please, Hilda.’

‘Very good, Madam. What about white socks? Girls of Gaby’s age generally prefer knee-highs to ankle socks.’

‘We’ll take six pairs of knee highs and three of ankle socks,’ was Mummy’s reply.

‘Certainly, Madam,’ Hilda confirmed. ‘How about undies?’

‘We bought some new ones only last week,’ Mummy said. ‘What she needs now is PE kit.’

Hilda went out. She soon returned with a short pleated navy-blue skirt and the lighter blue tee shirt with the school badge printed on the chest that was the girls’ PE kit. ‘Do you wish to try them on?’

‘No,’ Mummy replied. ‘If they’re the same size as the other’s they’ll fit fine. We’ll have two skirts and three tees.’

‘Does she need gym knickers, Madam?’ Hilda asked.

‘Yes, she will. Do you have cotton ones?’

‘Yes, Madam, of course. How many pairs would you like?’

‘Three please. Now, Gaby, why don’t you go and change back into your own things, but I suggest you wear a pair of your new white knee-highs as we have to get you some new school shoes.’

‘Okay, Mummy,’ I replied cheerfully and disappeared into my cubicle. When I emerged, the two mums were paying for our various purchases, and Angela exited her cubicle at the same time as me.

‘I’ve got to get shoes too,’ she said, ‘so we can do it together.’

‘That’s good,’ I replied. ‘I like your dress.’

‘Good,’ she replied. ‘I like it too and you look so kewl in that skirt and top. Do you like wearing skirts?’

‘Yeah, I really-really do. I think I must have been feeble-starkers-bonkers, to think I wanted to be a boy.’

‘Well I always thought you were a boy–so did everybody else in our form. But you’re a really pretty girl.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, blushing again.

‘So what does your brother think about you deciding to be yourself?’ she asked.

‘He seemed very happy about it when I spoke to him on the ’phone this morning.’

‘Oh, is he away?’

‘No, he’s at home in his bed of sickness,’ I explained. ‘He’s got bubonic plague so I’m staying with my Auntie Greta until he is bug free.’

‘BUBONIC Plague!’ she squealed in horror.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘That’s just what I call it. Actually he’s got scarlet fever–he says his tongue looks like a bright pink strawberry.’

‘Eeewwww! Poor Tim,’ Angela sympathised, pulling a face. ‘Wasn’t it your Auntie who came and told us about being at our school during the Second World War? She came on her eNORmous motorbike.’

‘Yeah, that’s her,’ I answered. ‘She’s sooooo kewl.’ I grinned, and then felt a sudden pain down below; I pulled a face as and pressed my tummy with both hands in an attempt to relieve the pain.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Just a bit of a tummy ache,’ I replied.

‘Are you on?’ she whispered.

I nodded.

‘Poor you, I was on last week. I hate getting my period.’

‘It’s my first time–I started today.’

‘Horrible isn’t it. Mine started last term.’

‘I stayed in bed this morning with a hot-water bottle on my tummy. Look, our mums are waiting for us. They must want to leave.’

V V V

On our way out of John Lewis we passed the jewellery department and I noticed a sign saying FREE EAR PIERCING TODAY!. I really wanted my ears pierced.

‘Mummy, may I have my ears pierced, please? They’re doing it for free today.’

‘Would you like that?’ she asked.

I looked at Angela and saw she had studs in her ears. She gave me a nod. ‘Yes please, Mummy. Most of the girls at school have pierced ears.’

‘What do you think, Mary,’ Mummy asked Mrs Williamson.

‘I let Angela get hers done a year ago, Peggy,’ was the reply. So our mums were on first-name terms.

‘All right, sweetheart. You know you’ll have to take care of them and keep them clean so they don’t become infected.’

‘I will, Mummy,’ I assured her.

The lady who served us was called Megan. She showed me a selection of studs and a tray of really pretty earrings. I chose a pair of studs, each with a tiny pale pink stone, which Megan fitted to me using a sort of gun. She explained about rotating them regularly to help the holes heal up and supplied a bottle of cleaning stuff.

When we left John Lewis I was the proud owner of pierced ears and three sets of ear-rings including the pale pink studs. I was surprised that it didn’t hurt as much as I expected.

Our next stop was Stead and Simpson** for our school shoes. Once inside the shop, Angela dragged me over to a rack of shoes and started showing them to me.

‘Ooh, these are sooo kewl,’ she said, picking up a pair of pink strappy sandals with three-inch heels. What d’you think, Gabs?’

‘They’re nice, but I don’t think Miss Morgan would approve of them for school.’ We both giggled.

‘Come along, girls, or we won’t have time for those ice creams,’ Mrs Williamson called.

‘Aren’t these gorgeous, Mam,’ Angela said.

‘Yes, dear, very nice; but not today as we’re here for school shoes. And you have dozens of pairs of shoes.’

‘Oh, Ma-aaaaam!’ pleaded Angela. ‘A girl can never have too many shoes.’

‘Maybe, but it’s school shoes today, Angela,’ her mother said firmly.

‘Yes, Mam,’ Angela mumbled sulkily.

A sales assistant homed in on us. ‘Can I help you, ladies?’ she asked. I thought she looked quite young, probably in her first job after leaving school.

‘We are looking for school shoes for our daughters,’ Mrs Williamson replied.

The assistant took us to a different part of the shop, and another, older, shop assistant appeared from behind the scenes. We were asked to sit down while various styles of “sensible” shoes were shown to us.

I got a pair of Clarks black lace-up shoes with a chunky heel. They were very comfortable and looked smart. Angela got a very similar pair to mine, and I also got a pair of flat slip-ons that were “on special offer”. I also needed netball shoes and I should really have girls’ trainers now as well, but Mummy said we would go to our favourite sports shop for those tomorrow.

As we needed to take our packages and put them in the car, we agreed to meet Angela and Mrs Williamson at Polly Put The Kettle On, a tea room we liked where they made their own ice-cream which was absolutely GORgeous.

V V V

Polly Put The Kettle On is situated in the Market Square, where the town’s open-air market is held every Wednesday. It is easy to find Polly’s, as everyone calls it, because I has an enormous old-fashioned copper kettle hanging above the doorway. When I was younger I used to avoid walking directly underneath it in case it fell on me and squashed me. Mummy and I arrived first and asked for a table by the window. We told the waitress that we were being joined by friends and she showed us to a round table covered with a blue checked cloth. We only had to wait about three minutes for Mrs Williamson and Angela to arrive and I waved at them through the window.

Angela sat on my left so we could both watch what was happening outside. The centre of the square, where the market was set up every Wednesday, was used as a car park on other days, and there was a large statue of a Saxon king standing on a plinth right in the centre; I think he is King Ethelbert, or Ethelred–Ethel-something anyway, you know what peculiar names had back in those times. I remember seeing something about King Ethelred the Unready, and wondered at the time why he was so unprepared. Maybe it was like me when I took my Key Stage 2 SATs*** last term! Actually I didn’t do too badly, but I think we all felt unready at the time.

The waitress asked if we were having the full Afternoon Tea**** or if we had just come in for a pot of tea.

A typical afternoon tea spread

‘A pot of tea and a selection of cakes, I think,’ Mummy told her, ‘and I think the girls are longing for some of your wonderful ice-cream.’

She looked at us and I nodded and Angela went ‘Mmmm!’ which I fully agreed with.

‘Would you like a cake first, ladies?’ the waitress asked us, being called ladies making us giggle.

‘ ’Splease,’ I answered.

‘Yes please,’ replied Angela.

‘And what sort of ice-cream would you ladies like,’ the waitress asked, handing us a different menu. ‘I’ll leave you time to decide and get the tea and cakes first.’

The Ice-Cream menu at Polly’s was amazing. Apart from about a dozen different flavours of ice-cream there were specials like Neapolitan, chocolate sundae and knickerbocker glory, natch.

‘ What’re you going to have, Ange? I’m going to have a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of pistachio.’

‘I’m going to have a Nealopit–NeaPOLitan,’ she replied and giggled. ‘I always get tongue-tied with that word.’

Shortly afterwards our waitress brought a pot of tea and a large cake stand that was piled with the most scrummy looking cakes. ‘Have you decided which ices you would like, ladies?’ she asked us.

‘I’m going to have a Nealopit–NeaPOLitan,’ Angela answered, blushing.

‘I’d like a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of pistachio, please.’

‘I’ll bring them when you’ve eaten your cakes,’ the waitress said. ‘Make sure you leave room for your ices.’

‘We will,’ we chorused.

Mummy poured the tea and passed to cups to us and we then had to decide which cake we wanted–a very difficult decision. As I was trying to decide, Angela nudged me.

‘Look who’s looking in,’ she said.

I turned and saw Kristal Ball gazing at me with a very puzzled expression on her face. I grinned and gave her a wave. Then I realised that she had seen me for the first time in all my female glory.

I heard the bell that dinged every time the door was opened. I looked up to see Mrs Ball come in with her fourteen-year-old elder, the gruesome Kevin–a close mate of the oafish Quinn–followed by Kristal.

Kristal headed in our direction. ‘Hi, Angela,’ she said. ‘Hi, Gabriel! Seeing you both is soooo kewl. My horoscope said I was in for an eNORmous surprise today.’

‘Hi, Kristal,’ we replied together, just as the awful Kevin pointed at me and burst out laughing.

‘Hey, Chambers, you wally!’ he shouted–he was always a loud-mouth–‘Wot ya doin’ wearin’ a dress? Just you wait till Kenny Quinn hears about this, he’s gonna love it to bits!’ Then he cackled gleefully.

---

* John Lewis: A department store chain in England and Scotland.
** Stead and Simpson: A long-established chain of shoe shops in UK.
*** SATs: Standard Assessment Tests to assess a pupil’s educational progress in schools in England and Wales. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Curriculum_assessment
**** Afternoon Tea: A formal light meal originating un UK usually taken between 3 and 5pm. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Afternoon_tea#Afternoon_tea

To be continued…

Elegantly proofed by Bonzi

Comments gratefully received

At Aunt Greta’s–
Girls Have More Fun
by Gabi
Chapter 8 of a Continuing Saga…

I heard the bell that dinged every time the door was opened and looked up. Mrs Ball was coming in with her fourteen year-old elder child, the gruesome Kevin–a close mate of the oafish Quinn–followed by Kristal.

Kristal headed in our direction. ‘Hi, Angela,’ she said. ‘Hi, Gabriel! My horoscope said I was in for a big surprise today.’

‘Hi, Kristal,’ we replied together, just as the awful Kevin pointed at me and burst out laughing.

‘Hey, Chambers, you wally!’ he shouted–he was always a loud-mouth–‘Wot ya doin’ wearin’ a dress? Just you wait till Kenny Quinn hears about this, he’s gonna love it to bits!’ Then he cackled gleefully.

‘Kevin Ball!’ said his mother crossly. ‘Stop shouting this instant! I’m ashamed of you. Where are your manners? You really are the most uncouth little boy I’ve ever come across; I don’t know where you get it from. What made you verbally abuse that pretty little girl?’

‘IT is not a girl,’ retorted Kevin belligerently. ‘That freak is a boy who is in the same year as Kristal. Ask her.’

By now everyone in the tea room was staring at me, and my cheeks were burning hot. Angela reached out and took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘If I may say something, Mrs Ball?’ Mrs Williamson butted in. ‘Your son is wrong, Gabrielle is definitely female, both Angela and myself saw her in her undies when we were shopping for clothes in John Lewis and believe me, there’s nothing male about her.’

I smiled gratefully at my rescuer and noticed that Kevin’s face had taken on a very unattractive puce colour.

‘Mam’s right, Mrs Ball,’ said Angela, ‘Gaby and I were trying on clothes together and I’d never undress in front of a boy. And she’s on at the moment,’ she added quietly.

‘On what?’ asked Kevin rather too loudly.

‘Never you mind, young man, it does not concern the likes of you,’ replied his mother. ‘The less you say the better; I have never been so embarrassed in my life, and I am ashamed of having such a boorish oaf for a son. Not only that, you have embarrassed your sister and everybody else in here. Just you wait till I tell your father; I’ll ask him to forbid you from having anything to do with that Quinn boy and I reckon he’ll ground you for a minimum of two months. Now, apologise to Gabrielle, if you please.’

‘Sorry, Gabriel,’ mumbled Kevin.

‘I am sorry, Gabrielle.’ Mrs Ball corrected him. ‘Try to get her name right and don’t mumble; we all know–and are heartily fed up with–the way you normally shout.’

‘I am sorry, Gabrielle,’ he repeated sulkily.

‘That’s better. I suppose you realise that as we have to go straight home now, and that you have spoiled your sister’s treat?’

Kevin looked at the floor and rubbed the toe of his right shoe against the back of the left leg of his grey flannel trousers and said nothing.

‘Mrs Ball,’ Mummy said, ‘rather than Kristal losing her treat and spoiling her day, if you are willing to let her, she could join us and I will drop her at your house on our way back home.’

‘I couldn’t put you to all that trouble, Mrs err–Chambers, especially after the slobbish and embarrassing way my son has behaved towards your daughter.’

‘It’s no trouble and it would be a pity to spoil Kristal’s day, and your son’s not entirely to blame, because Gaby did present as a boy at school last year because she was such a tomboy.’

‘Yes, do let Kristal stay, Mrs Ball,’ I pleaded.

‘Well, Kristal?’ asked her mother. ‘Would you like to have tea with your friends?’

‘Yes pleeeease, Mum.’

‘Very well, you may. You’ll be a good girl, I know. Thank you so much, Mrs Chambers, and I apologise again for the son that I would like to disown. I’ll see you later, Kristal.’

‘I’ll see she gets home safely by six o’clock. Is that all right?’

‘That’ll be perfect,’ replied Mrs Ball. ‘Come on YOU!’ she added, prodding Kevin in the back and propelling him towards the door.

‘That dreadful boy! Somebody needs to take him in hand,’ said Mrs Williamson. ‘I’ve never seen such a disgusting display in my life.’

‘I agree,’ Mummy replied quietly. ‘If Tim ever behaved like that he’d never hear the end of it.’

Our waitress, whose name was Cherie, had been watching aghast as the scene had developed. She brought an extra chair and set it at the table next to me. Kristal was wearing a turquoise pinafore dress over a white blouse with a round collar and pale blue cardie.

‘You know, Gaby, you’re really pretty,’ Kristal said as she sat next to me. ‘I always had a feeling that you were really a girl, but I can’t understand why a girl would want to be a boy.

‘It was only because I admired my brother and wanted to be like him. We always played together so it was always boy games–boys don’t like playing with Barbies. We built a model railway together. He looked after the train side and I did the scenery and the houses. I even made tiny furniture for them and put tiny people inside.’

Cherie brought a place mat, cutlery and crockery and set them in front of Kristal.

‘Help yourself to a cake, Kristal,’ Mummy said, ‘and I’ll pour you a cup of tea. Will tea be all right for you or would you prefer something else?’

‘Tea would be lovely, thank you, Mrs Chambers,’ she replied, taking a gooey looking chocolate cake with cream oozing out of it.

‘She said it was like having loads of miniature dolls houses with tiny dolls in them, didn’t you, Gaby?’ Angela said.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Ooh, I wish I could see it,’ Kristal said.

‘I’d love you to see it, but I’ll have to ask Tim. It can’t be soon, because I’m staying with my Auntie Greta just now, until Tim’s free of bugs.’

Kristal frowned. ‘Has he got nits?’

‘No. He caught scarlet fever at Scout camp, dear,’ Mummy explained, ‘so Gaby’s got to stay away from home until her brother’s germ-free. He won’t be returning to school for at least two weeks, and only then if the doctor gives him the all clear. By the way, Kristal, the girls are having ice creams afterwards so would you like to order yours?’

‘Ooh, yes please.’

Mummy signalled Cherie who brought the list of ice creams. Kristal studied the card for a minute or two then asked. ‘Please may I have a chocolate sundae with butterscotch sauce?’

‘Certainly, dear.’

‘I’ll go and arrange it for you,’ said Cherie with a smile and disappeared behind the scenes.

We could not chatter nineteen to the dozen while we ate our cakes, but we didn’t stop talking completely.

‘Gabs got her ears pierced this afternoon,’ Angela said.

‘Ooh, let’s have a look,’ asked Kristal. I pulled my hair back so she could see my right ear. “Very nice; they’re really pretty and the school won’t object to those either.’

Between mouthfuls of cake or swigs of tea I was brought up to speed on the some of the latest gossip about school friends–and enemies! It seems that Kevin had been spending too much time with Quinn during the holidays for the peace of mind of the rest of the Ball family, a fact confirmed by snatches of the two mums’ conversation I caught in lulls in our own chatter.

I decided that I really liked my two new friends, who I had never got to know properly before and we decided we would hang together once term started. After all, in spite of my “cover story” I had been a boy last term and didn’t take much notice of the girls. I was a bit worried how my erstwhile best friend, Michael Heard, was going to take the news that I was a girl–and, supposedly, always had been. He had been a really good friend to me and I would hate him to get hurt. I decided to talk to Mummy about it.

However, before I could worry about Michael’s possible reaction to the new me, our ices arrived and were set in front of us. They were huge, each with a fan-shaped Pompadour wafer stuck in the top of them. They seemed to be much larger than the ones I had had here when I was a boy so I began to think that being a girl could have its advantages. Hmmm.

We ate them slowly, savouring every mouthful and talking hardly at all. Occasionally we would grin, almost conspiratorially, at one another as if reading the other’s minds. I decided it must be a girl thing, as is it was not something I had ever sensed as a boy.

‘So, Kristal,’ asked Angela’s mum. ‘Are you all ready to go back to school?’

‘Almost, Mrs Williamson. I still need some new shoes; my old ones are getting very tight.’

‘That’s not good; it could cause you to have problems with your feet when you’re older,’ Mummy told her. ‘I gather by the comparative silence from you three that the ices meet your approval.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Angela.

‘Amazing,’ added Kristal.

‘Absolutely top hole!’ was what came out of my mouth.

‘Top hole?’ exclaimed Angela’s mum. ‘Where on earth did you learn that old-fashioned expression, Gaby? My grandmother told me she used to say that when she was a schoolgirl.’

I blushed as I remembered that I had heard one of my 1944 school chums saying it. ‘Oh, I was told it by Auntie Greta, she was at Tuckton School during the war,’ I replied after some quick thinking.

‘She came and talked to us last term and told us all about being a schoolgirl then,’ Angela added.

‘And she came on her big motorbike, didn’t she?’ Said Kristal.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We were rummaging in the loft a few days ago and we discovered her old school uniform. I tried it on and it fits me perfectly. Then she found one of her mummy’s old dresses from then so we both dressed up and pretended it was wartime again. We even made a wartime dish called Woolton Pie which was made from vegetables and Marmite.’

‘Eeeewww!’ said Kristal. ‘I hate vegetables, except chips. If I’d been given that in the war I’d have refused to eat it and had eggs and chips instead.’

‘Food was rationed then,’ Mummy said. ‘Gaby’s auntie was telling me that they were only allowed one egg a week–if they were lucky. So if you refused to eat the pie you would have had to go hungry, Kristal.’

‘Wow, I’m glad I wasn’t alive then,’ Kristal said.

‘And having to go out to the air-raid shelter in the middle of the night was awful,’ I chipped in, then realised I might have said too much and added, ‘Auntie Greta was telling me about it yesterday. Her best friend was killed by a doodlebug that hit her house just after she got home from school one afternoon.’

‘How dreadful,’ Angela said. ‘How old was she?’

‘The same age as us, eleven,’ I answered. In the brief silence that followed, Mummy asked Cherie for the bill.

‘That’s sooooo horrible,’ said Kristal.

‘Yes, Auntie didn’t know about it until she went to school next day,’ I said. ‘She heard the bomb, though. She was in the middle of her homework when the air-raid siren went off.’

‘She must have been sooooo scared,’ Angela remarked, and I only just stopped myself from saying that I was.

‘Come along, girls,’ said Mrs Williamson. ‘We ought to go so someone else can have our table. Shall we split the bill, Peggy?’

‘It’s my treat, Mary,’ Mummy replied taking her purse from her handbag. She gave Cherie some money. ‘Thank you very much, Cherie. We really enjoyed it.’

‘Thank you, Madam,’ replied Cherie. ‘I hope we will see you again soon,’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Mummy replied. ‘Have you got your handbag, Gabs?’

‘Yes, Mummy.’

‘I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed an afternoon better,’ Mummy said as we left Polly Put The Kettle On.

‘Thank you very much for a lovely tea, Mrs Chambers,’ said Angela. ‘It was lovely meeting the real Gaby at last.’

‘Yes, it was, Mrs Chambers,’ Kristal agreed. ‘Thank you very much.’

‘You’re very welcome, girls,’ was Mummy’s reply. ‘Maybe we could do it again some time.’

‘It would be fun for them,’ said Mary Williamson. ‘They seem to get on so well together. I’m sure they’re going to be great friends. Well, say goodbye to your friends, Angela, and we’ll go and rescue our car.’

‘’Bye, Kristal. ’Bye, Gaby, I’m so glad you’ve decided to be yourself at last.’

‘’Bye, Angela, see you at school, if not before,’ Kristal replied.

‘Bye, Angela,’ I mimicked. ‘Don’t forget I’m at my auntie’s until Tim’s bug-free.’

We three girls hugged, and Angela and her mum went off to find their car.

It only took us a minute or two to get to our car.

‘What’s your star sign, Gaby?’ asked Kristal, as we settled next to each other the back seat of the car and fastened our seat belts.

‘My what?’

‘What sign were you born under–when’s your birthday?’

‘Oh, 10th October.’

‘That means you’re Libra. Hmmm–interesting,’ she told me.

‘How come?’

‘Your sign is the scales, it means you like things to be balanced and in harmony.’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘Not as much as Librans, they need things to be in harmony.’

‘What you mean like body and mind.’

‘Yeah, that’s a good example.’

‘Maybe it’s true then.’

‘What?’

‘The harmony thing.’

‘Of course it is. Librans sometimes have difficulty making decisions.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘So is that your decision then?’

‘It might be, why?’

‘Is it so difficult?’

‘What?’

‘Making a decision.’

‘Course not.’

‘So have you made one?’

‘About what?’

‘Astrology, is it real or is it all nonsense?’

‘I can’t say for sure…’

Kristal roared with laughter, ‘You are a typical Libran.’

I blushed and said, ‘I might be.’

Kristal laughed some more, ‘I’ll bet you’re artistic too, Librans often are.’

‘Sometimes, I like to paint and draw–and of course I love making model houses for our model railway layout.’

‘I think I’ve proved my point, Miss Libra.’

I sat there wondering if I’d just been had.

I heard a chuckle from Mummy and looked up to see her eyes smiling in the rear-view mirror. ‘That’s telling it to you straight, my girl,’ she chuckled. ‘That was fascinating, Kristal, you got her down to a tee. How long have you been into in astrology and how did you get interested in it?’

‘From my Gran really; she used to read her horoscope in the paper every day, and she always read mine to me from when I was little. I just wanted to know more about it.’

‘Well as I said, you got Gaby plumb to rights. I’m very impressed. Where do you live?’

‘Seafield Road, number 76; the house has a red tiled roof, a red gate and is called Bá¥llsholm. It was Daddy’s idea to call it that; he thought it sounded sort of Danish so the a has a little circle over it–he has a Danish grandma.’

Mummy turned the car into Seafield Road and I started looking for numbers. ‘It’s about fifty metres on the left,’ Kristal said. ‘A bit further…Here, this one!’

Mummy drew up by the curb and put on the handbrake. ‘Here you are, Miss Ball. Are you going to be an astrologer when you grow up? Your name is perfect for it.’

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘That was Daddy, too; he’s got this peculiar sense of humour. It can be aw’fly embarrassing sometimes, ’specially when I first went to Tuckton; I used to get teased quite a lot.’

I felt sympathy with her and gave her hand a squeeze; she smiled at me and squeezed back. Yes, I liked Kristal. ‘Let’s get together before school starts,’ I suggested. The phone number at Auntie G’s is 949763. It’s in the book–Miss G B Chambers.’

‘Okay, Gabs. I’ll ring tomorrow when I know what has been planned.’

‘Auntie G is taking me to buy some netball shoes and some girl trainers. My old ones are boy ones and rather worn and are sooooo pongy!’

‘Eeeewww! You were trying to be a boy, weren’t you?’ she giggled. My response was to stick out my tongue.

‘See ya tomorrow, then,’ I said. As she undid her seat belt and got out of the car.

‘’Kay, see ya, Gabs. ’Bye.’

‘’Bye, Kris.’

She slammed the door and Mummy drove off.

* * *

The drive to Aunt Greta’s only took four minutes. We unloaded all my new things from the boot and carried them up to my room where Mummy and Auntie G helped me put them away. There was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen and I guessed that Auntie had been baking again.

As soon as we had finished in my room, I kissed Mummy goodbye and she hot-footed it home to relieve Mrs Tate and see how Timmy was. Why did I suddenly think of him as Timmy?–I hadn’t called him that since I was about six. Strange! Auntie and I returned to the kitchen where she began to make preparations for our supper. On wire racks on one of the kitchen units there one of Auntie’s special choc-cakes and another fresh loaf just out of the bread maker. Oooooh! The smell of freshly baked bread is so gorgeous.

‘So, did you have an enjoyable and successful afternoon, Gaby?’

‘Yes, it went really well–apart from one horrid moment.’

‘Why don’t you tell me from the beginning.’

So I told her about being surprised by Angela in the fitting room wearing only my bra and a skirt, and then going to Polly Put The Kettle On and then the Kevin Incident–sounds a bit like a spy movie, doesn’t it?–and Kristal stopping to have tea, cakes and ice cream with us while her mother took Kevin home in disgrace.

‘That Kevin Ball is a pest,’ Auntie remarked. ‘He’d be quite a decent boy if only he wasn’t always getting into trouble–mainly through mixing with the wrong type of friends.’

‘Like Kenneth Quinn,’ I added ruefully.

‘That’s right. So, what else happened?’

‘Well afterwards we dropped Kristal at her house, and on the way she told me all about me being a Lesbi–’ I hesitated, suddenly realising it was the wrong word–‘no, a Librarian–born under the sign of Libra–’

‘–Almost right, dear. You mean Libran not someone who works in the library!’

“Well, I nearly got it right,’ I replied. ‘She’s very clever and really knows heaps about, you know, astronomy.’

‘You mean astrology, Gabs,’ giggled Auntie. ‘Astronomy is the study of the heavenly bodies and is usually done with a telescope–’

‘–you mean like Kevin Ball and Kenneth Quinn studying the page three girls in The Sun?’ I giggled, and Auntie burst out laughing.

‘No, you loony,’ she said, shaking her head as if in pity, ‘the stars–whereas astrology is the study of the movements and relative positions of the stars and how they affect us human beings.’

‘The Daily Star has page three girls too–’ and I laughed too loud and felt a sudden cramp in my tum again, making me wince.

‘You okay, sweetie?’ Auntie asked, concerned.

‘Just my period. I had a sudden bad pain; I think I laughed too much.’

‘Maybe an early night would be a good idea, after all you’ve had quite a day of it what with going to school for me, starting your period, and a shopping trip and other excitements this afternoon. How would you like a poached egg on toast for your supper?’

‘That would be lovely, but I did have a boiled egg for breakfast.’

‘My boiled egg, you wretched girl! It was one Mrs Rea sent specially for me which I never remembered having. I asked Mummy about it next morning and she said I’d eaten it the day before. I remember because I started my period that day. I was puzzled about it for ages afterwards, and now I learn it was guzzled by my greedy little great niece.’ She looked at me, stuck out her tongue and burst out laughing. ‘At least it explains another missing episode of my childhood.’

‘You mean you have blank bits of memory?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Like I told you, I remembered neither the air-raid that killed Wendy nor writing that essay with your nineties speak at the end.’

‘Yikes! Are there any other things you can’t remember?’

‘I can’t remember any, but then I wouldn’t, would I?’

‘Oh, I was hoping you could, so I could be prepared for things.’

‘Yes, dear. But this isn’t getting anywhere nearer deciding what you want for your supper. If you’d like a poached egg, I don’t think it would hurt you. I must say I quite fancy one myself.’

Okay, then.’

‘Orrrrrrr–’ her eyes widened and she drew the word out for about a second, ‘–we could have scrambled egg with some smoked salmon strips in it.’

‘Oh, wow! That would be sooooo kewl,’ was my reply.

‘Good. That’s settled then. And I’m sure you’d like a glass of milk.’

‘’Splease.’

* * *

After helping Auntie to clear up after supper I went straight up to bed. I went to the loo, changed my pad then washed, cleaned my teeth and brushed my hair, putting it back in a ponytail so it didn’t tangle so much during the night. Then I donned my nightie and went to bed with my book which, you might remember was The Picts and The Martyrs by Arthur Ransome. Auntie brought me another hot water bottle to put on my tummy to ease my cramps and I settled down to read. I had been reading for nearly three quarters of an hour when Auntie came back and suggested I should try to get to sleep.

I had just reached the end of a chapter, so put my bookmark in the page, closed the book and put it on my bedside table. Auntie had brought me a glass of water and a paracetamol. I took the pill, she kissed me goodnight, tucked me in and left, closing the door behind her. Being quite tired, I was soon asleep.

* * *
The next day I went to school again with Judy and Susan. Miss Sterne told us the latest news about our troops advancing forward and driving the Germans back towards Germany. We were all happy about that because it really meant that, at last, the war was going our way and should be over soon. We had arithmetic and English before our mid-morning break and then history and gym, after which I would be going home for lunch.

History was all about dates and the kings and queens of England. We had to write down a sort of poem in our exercise books to memorise to help us remember the order they came in. It went:

Willy, Willy, Harry, Steve,
Harry, Dick, John, Harry-three,
One, two, three Neds, Richard two,
Henries four, five, six, then who?
Edward four, five, Dick the Bad,
Harries twain and Ned the lad…

It continued as far as Queen Victoria, but I can’t remember the rest of it. Then it was gym.

The boys had the use of the gym that morning so we were outside playing netball outside. We all took off our gymmers and ties, leaving us in our blouses and navy knickers and marched out to the tarmac-surfaced netball court in the playground. To my dismay, it was right next to the road with only a high wire mesh fence between us and the inquisitive eyes of passers-by. During the game a number of ladies passed and never gave us a second look, but there were some boys and two men with creepy eyes who just stared at us. I could feel myself blushing.

‘Are you all right, Grete?’ Susan asked. ‘How’s your curse?’

‘Not too bad thanks, Susie,’ I replied. ‘It’s just those men staring at us; they give me the creeps.’

‘Me too, but it only happens sometimes.’

In spite of the prying eyes I enjoyed playing netball, although I found leaping up to catch the ball caused my boobs to rub on my woolly vest which was uncomfortable as I was not wearing a bra. Afterwards I had to rush to the loo for a wee. There were several of us with the same idea, all rushing to get a cubicle. I was lucky that I got the last one. I went in, closed the door, but found that the bolt was missing. ‘Oh well,’ I thought, ‘we’re all girls here,’ and with my thumbs eased my knickers down to my knees before sitting “on the throne”.

Suddenly the door burst open and there was Lucy Barker, who took one look at me and screamed.

I looked down at myself and discovered to my horror that once again I had a PENIS!

I screamed…

---

To be continued…

Thanks to Bonzi’s Mum for astrological help and advice,
and to Bonzi, once again for his splendid proofing.
Any mistakes left are the responsibility of the author.

Comments gratefully received

At Aunt Greta’s–
Encounters with Friends
by Gabi
Chapter 9 of a Continuing Saga…

I went into the last vacant cubicle, closed the door, but discovered that the bolt was missing. ‘Bum!’ I thought, ‘Oh well, we’re all girls here,’ and with my thumbs hooked in the waistband, eased my knickers down to my knees before sitting “on the throne”.

Suddenly, before I could sit down, the cubicle door burst open and there was Lucy Barker. She took one look at me and screamed.

I looked down at myself and discovered to my horror that, once again, I had a PENIS!

I screamed…

…and woke up in a cold sweat with my nightie clinging to my damp body, cramps in my tummy and urgently needing to go to the loo for a wee. Turning on my bedside light, my alarm clock told me it was twenty past three. I yawned, pushed back the duvet, swung my legs round and fumbled around with my feet for my bedroom slippers. I had found one when the door opened and an anxious-looking Auntie G came in.

‘Are you all right, Gabs?’ she asked. ‘I heard you scream twice.’

Twice? ‘I had a bad dream and I need a wee or I’ll wet my pants,’ I replied.

‘Off you go then,’ she said, ‘and don’t forget to change your pad if you need to.’

‘Okay, Auntie.’

Following my rather frightening dream, I was apprehensive about checking down below, but if I didn’t pull my knickers down–at least they weren’t the navy blue bloomers we had to wear to school in 1944–I would wet them. I hoisted up my nightie, eased them down and…my front bottom was intact and there was no sign of Percy the Penis! I breathed a sigh of relief, sat down and relieved the pressure in the boiler.

I pulled off some loo paper, cleaned myself, disposed of my soiled pad in the bin Auntie had put for me, put in a new pad, pulled up my panties again, and returned to my bedroom; Auntie was sitting on the edge of my bed.

‘Feeing better, honey?’ she asked.

‘A bit. My tummy hurts quite a lot.’

‘Would you like me to refill your hottie?’ she asked.

“It’s okay. I can manage.’

‘Fiddlesticks! A nice warm hottie will help you get back to sleep quickly. It’ll only take two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Would you like a bicky?’*

‘Mmmm, please. May I have a chocolate Hobnob?**

‘I’ll bring you two,’ she said, leaving my room with my, now cold, hot-water bottle.

‘Thanks, Auntie,’ I called after her. I got into bed again and pulled the duvet up over me again. I was still thinking about my awful dream and wondered why I had had it. Then I thought about my old best mate, Mike Heard; I was worried how he would take the change in me and even if he would accept me at all, especially as my cover story was that I had always been a girl but had been pretending to be a boy. I hoped he wouldn’t think I had set out to deceive him.

Auntie returned with a my hot-water bottle which she plonked on my tummy; the warmth was very comforting and it seemed as if the pain eased straight away. She put two chocky Hobnobs and a glass of milk on my bedside table.

‘Thanks, Auntie,’ I said. ‘Sorry I woke you up.’

‘That’s all right, sweetie,’ she said, sitting on the edge of my bed and squeezing my hand. ‘It’s what aunties are for. Would you like to tell me about your dream, or can’t you remember it?’

I gave her the short version rather than the blow-by-blow account, explaining about the loo cubicle without a bolt.

‘I remember that one,’ Auntie said. ‘We always tried to avoid it, unless we needed to go so badly we were crossing our legs.’

‘I was,’ I replied, nibbling at my Hobnob and sipping my milk. ‘You should be having a biscuit too,’ I told her, ‘then we could call it a midnight feast.’

‘Like in Enid Blyton’s school stories,’ she added. ‘I always loved reading about midnight feasts when I was your age, Gabs, they seemed so adventurous and just a bit naughty, and I was always scared the girls would get caught. Now finish up your bickies and milk and try to get to sleep again, or you will be tired in the morning.’

I finished my second Hobnob, drank the last of my milk and snuggled down. ‘Thanks for being so nice, Auntie. You’re so kind to me.’

‘Ssshhhh!’ she cooed. ‘Try to get to sleep now, poppet.’ She picked up my empty tumbler and put out my bedside light. ‘Sleep well.’ She went to the door turned out the ceiling light and pulled the door to behind her.

* * *

The next thing I remember is being wakened by Auntie in the morning. She had brought me a cup of tea which she set down on my bedside table.

‘It’s half past eight, Gabs. I thought you needed to lie in for a bit after last night’s shenanigans.’

I yawned, stretched like a cat and sat up. ‘Early morning tea; what luxuriousness,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Auntie.’

‘I thought I would spoil you while I could; after all school starts again the day after tomorrow, and you won’t be able to lie in then. How’s your tum this morning? I’ve brought you a paracetamol if you need one.’

‘Seems a bit better,’ I replied after taking a sip of tea. ‘I think a pill would help; it did yesterday, and please may I have a bath?’

‘Of course. D’you want me to come and wash your hair?’

‘Yes please. It’s so luxurious having someone else wash my hair.’

‘’Tis, isn’t it?’ She smiled at me. ‘Okay, I’ll go and run your bath for you, so drink up your tea and come through when you’ve finished.’

* * *

My bath was great, and I really enjoyed it. After Auntie had blow-dried my hair and given it a bit of what she called body, I finished dressing. I decided to wear one of my new skirts–I chose the lilac pleated one–and a tee-shirt, with ankle socks and a pair of my new sandals, then went downstairs to the kitchen where Auntie had set out my breakfast and was making another pot of tea. A glance at the kitchen clock told me it was nearly twenty past nine. I helped myself to Crunchy Nut cornflakes and poured on some milk. When I was about half-way through my cereal Auntie lowered a large brown egg into a pan of boiling water, looked at her watch–she wore a man’s sports watch–and put two slices of bread in the toaster. As I finished my cornflakes, Auntie was buttering a slice of toast, spreading Marmite on it and cutting it into soldiers. She checked her watch, lifted my egg out of the pan with a desert spoon, popped it into an egg-cup and put it in front of me. I was so glad that eggs weren’t rationed in my own time, as I loved eggs and often had one for breakfast.

Auntie sat down next to me and poured mugs of tea for each of us; then she buttered a piece of toast for herself and spread some Oxford Marmalade on it.

‘Don’t forget we have to go shopping for trainers and netball shoes,’ Auntie reminded me. ‘Would you like to do that this morning, then you could meet your new friends after lunch.’

‘All right,’ I replied. ‘When shall we go?’

‘As soon as we’ve cleared up brekky if you like. Look why don’t you ’phone Angela or Kristal and see if either or both of them would like to come round this afternoon, then we’ll know if we need to come back or if we can have lunch out.’

‘That would be kewl. Let’s do it.’

‘Go and give Angela a ring, and then we’ll go and get your shoes.’

I had looked up the Williamson’s number and was about to pick up the handset to tap out the number, when it rang. ‘Nine, four, nine, seven, six, three,’ I said, parrot fashion into the handset.

‘Is that you, Gaby?’ a voice said. ‘This is Angela.’

‘Hi, Angie. I was just going to ring you.’

‘Ah, great minds think alike. How’s your curse today?’

‘A bit better, I think. How are you?’

‘I’m good. Mummy wondered if you’d like to come round to tea this afternoon, I’m going to ask Kristal too.’

‘That would be brill,’ I replied. ‘Auntie’s taking me to get my new trainers this morning.’

‘Kewl. Wotcha gonna get?’

‘Dunno yet. I’ll have to see what they have at Sportive Emporium.’

‘They’ll probably have the new Nikes. They’re really really kewl.’

‘I don’t know if we can afford Nike, but it would be great to have some,’ I replied. ‘By the way. Where do you live?’

‘69 Letsbeigh Avenue. We’re on the left hand side a bit beyond the bend. Our gate is painted turquoise.’

‘Okay, see you this afters. What time?’

‘Mummy suggests you come about a quarter to three.

Okay. See ya then.’

‘Sure. Have fun shopping, Gabs, you lucky girl.’

‘I will. ’Bye, Angie.’

‘’Bye, Gabs.’ There was a click as she rang off and I went to find Auntie.

‘Did you speak to Angela?’ she asked.

‘Yes. She rang me and she’s asked me for tea, this afternoon,’ I replied. ‘She’s going to ask Kristal as well.’

‘That’ll be nice; you three girls got on so well yesterday. Now, as parking so often is a pain, I suggest we leave the car at home and take the bus into town; we won’t have much to carry back and if we went on the bike we’d both have to change; my leathers can be awfully hot in weather like this and your hair would get spoiled by your skidlid.’

‘It’ll be fun to go on a bus for a change,’ I replied, ‘I haven’t been on one for yoinks. We can go upstairs and watch the world around us.’

‘That’s settled then. We’ll leave in about fifteen minutes.’

* * *

The bus ride into town took about half an hour, but of course the bus kept stopping to let people on and off; in the car we usually took about twenty minutes and on Auntie’s BMW it rarely took us more than twelve minutes. We got off at the Market Square and walked back to King Street and Sportive Emporium. It was a large, double-fronted shop with the windows displaying a wide range of equipment and clothing for anything from football, hockey and lacrosse to skating and skiing, it being the end of the summer there was less emphasis on cricket, tennis and other summer activities,

We headed straight for the footwear department where we found a ginormous selection of shoes and boots for every sport imaginable.

A young lady assistant smiled at us; ‘Good morning, Madam, good morning, Miss,’ she said cheerfully. ‘How may I help you?’

‘My niece, Gaby, is looking for some netball shoes.’

‘What size are you, Gaby?’ asked the assistant, whose name badge told us she was called Ms Pond.

‘I think I’m a four, Ms Pond,’ I replied, glancing down at my feet.

‘I’d better measure your feet to make sure, and please call me Lily–Ms Pond sounds too formal,’ said Ms Lily Pond.

She knelt in front of me with a gadget for me to fit my foot on. I placed my heel against the end bit and Lily slid the bar at the other end down till it touched my toes. ‘Four and a half,’ she said, ‘so I reckon that if you try a five, you’ll have a bit of room to grow into.’ She stood up and disappeared into the back shop, returning with three boxes.

‘Try one of these, Gaby,’ she said, opening a box and taking out a smart-looking trainer. ‘This is the Asics Netburner Junior, a very popular make because the England netball team wear Asics.’ I slipped my right foot into the shoe and she tightened up the laces and tied them. ‘How does that feel?’

‘Good,’ I replied. ‘may I try the other one on, please?’

‘Here you go,’ she said, holding out the left shoe. As soon as it was on I stood up and walked up and down the shoe department. ‘How do they feel?’

‘Very comfy, and quite springy,’ was my reply.

‘Do you like them, poppet?’ Auntie G asked. ‘I must say they are much smarter than we wore when I was your age. We only had our black plimsolls. Try the others before you decide.’

The next ones were called Adidas Netrunner. They were super comfy too, but cost more than the others, so I decided to buy the Asics. I tried them on again and had another walk round. I was looking at them in a mirror when I heard a voice; ‘Gab? Is that you?’

I looked up and saw Mrs Berry and her eldest daughter–she was in my class at school–Juniper, looking wide-eyed at me; ’Not another one!’ I thought and then said, ‘Oh hi, Juniper.’ She was wearing a blue miniskirt and a cerise tee.

‘Why are you wearing a skirt?’ she asked.

‘Why are you,’ I retorted.

‘’Coz I’m a girl,’ came the reply.

‘So’m I,’ I told her.

‘WHAT?’ she exclaimed. ‘You can’t be. You’re a boy–you’ve always been a boy as long as I’ve known you.’

‘What do you think these are, then?’ I asked, thrusting my mini-boobs forward so they showed through my top. Her jaw dropped as she goldfished for a few moments, so I added, ‘I decided I couldn’t hide these any longer and I’d been a tomboy long enough. So you’re now seeing me as I was meant to be.’

‘But why did you pretend to be a boy?’

‘’Coz I wanted to be like my big brother,’ I explained, ‘and I liked playing with boys’ toys.’

‘Not toy boys?’ she returned and dissolved into a giggle fit. I wasn’t sure what she meant and I was about to say something when I noticed Mrs Berry turning rather pink.

‘So I suppose your name has been Gabrielle all along?’ Mrs Berry asked, emphasising the “elle”.

‘Yes, Mrs Berry, but most people call me Gaby or Gabs.’

‘So, Gabs,’ said Juniper. ‘How many of the others at school know about the new you?’

‘Miss Morgan,’ I replied, ‘and Nurse Parry; and then there’s Angela Williamson and her mum, and Kristal and Mrs Ball–oh, and Kristal’s awful brother.’

‘The Kevin Monster?’ queried Juniper. ‘I bet he was horrible to you, more than he usually is.’

‘Yeah. We were in Polly’s and he shouted out that I was a boy in a skirt and that Quinn would laugh his oafish head off. I wanted to hide under the table.’

‘I bet you did,’ said Juniper. ‘What happened then?’

‘Mrs Ball tore a strip off him and took him home–poking him in the back with her umbrella. Kristal stayed and had tea and ice creams with Angela, her mum and my mum. She–Angela, I mean–Kristal and I have become good friends. I’m starting to realise what I’ve missed out on by trying to be a boy. It’s much nicer being a girl.’

‘Girls always stick together and support each other,’ Mrs Berry said. ‘Boys can be so stupid and uncivilised.’

‘My brother, Tim, isn’t stupid or uncivilised,’ I retorted defensively.

‘No, he’s a nice boy,’ agreed Mrs Berry. ‘What does he think about your being a girl now?’

‘He thinks it’s great,’ I replied, ‘but he hasn’t seen the new me yet as he has bubonic plague and I’m staying with Auntie Greta till he’s bug-free.’

‘Bubonic plague!’ exclaimed Mrs Berry, looking extremely alarmed.

‘No, Mrs Berry,’ Auntie chimed in. ‘That’s what Gaby calls it, the naughty girl, because she likes to spread alarm and despondency. Poor Tim caught scarlet fever at Scout camp, but antibiotics are doing the trick and he’s much better. Gaby’s staying with me until he’s well clear of all infection.’

‘I spoke to him on the ’phone yesterday,’ I said, ‘and he told me his tongue looked like a pink strawberry.’

‘Eeewwww! That sounds sooooo yukky,’ Juniper squealed, pulling a face.

‘Gabs, don’t you think we should buy those shoes so Ms Pond can serve someone else,’ Auntie said.

Juniper looked at my feet. ‘Are those Netburners?’

‘Yep.’ I grinned. ‘They’re sooooo comfortable.’

‘They look it. Please may I have a pair, Mummy?’

‘I thought you wanted some pink Nike trainers, darling,’ Mrs Berry said. ‘You can have one or the other, but not both; we’re not made of money, whatever you might think.’

‘I do, but could I just try a pair of the Asics,’ Juniper pleaded making big eyes at her mother. ‘They’re the ones worn by the England Netball Team. Pleeease, Mummy.’

‘Very well, but I’m only buying you ONE pair of trainers. We still have to get other things for school.’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ replied Juniper. ‘Things like BORING navy PE knickers. My old ones are perfectly all right.’

‘They are not perfectly all right,’ Mrs Berry informed her daughter. ‘They’re too small, too tight and they are so immodest that they show everything you’ve got! I’d be ashamed to have you or any daughter of mine flaunting herself during PE wearing such knickers.’

‘But, Mum-meee, it’s not as if any boys see us–they do PE in a different building–and anyway it’s kewl to wear tight panties for PE these days, and we do wear skirts over them,’ whinged Juniper.

‘I should think they are Cool as you call it,’ retorted her mum, ‘so cool you’re likely to catch your death of cold.’

‘Mum-mee,’ said Juniper. ‘Not cool, KEWL, meaning like, fashionable. It’s not like it was in your day when you wore those hideous baggy bloomers with a vest and no skirt for PE. Don’t you remember, you showed me pictures of you and Auntie Vi at your school sports day. If we had to dress like that for sports day I’d be sooooo embarrassed I'd die!’

‘I really don’t know what’s become of you lately, Juniper. You have become so argumentative of late. I wish you wouldn’t argue with me in public.’

The banter of their conversation made me think about yesterday morning when I had to do gym in 1944 dressed in my vest and knickers and had ended up in the sick bay having fainted.

I took off my new Netburners so they could be put back in their box for us to take home. Juniper was trying on a pair that Lily had brought out for her.

Juniper decided to go for the Netburners too. ‘See you back at school then, Gabs,’ she called, as Mrs Berry paid for the shoes.

‘Okay, Juniper. See you there,’ I called back as they left the shop.

‘Gabs, you need some other trainers, don’t you?’ Auntie reminded me, ‘for when you’re not at school.’

So we looked at more trainers, and I decided on a very girlie-looking pair of Nikes and we left the Sportive Emporium with two additions to my female wardrobe. I decided that as soon as we got home I should ’phone my best mate and warn him about my changed circumstances, so he wouldn’t get so much of a shock when we met at school.

We walked to the end of King Street and as we turned into the Market Square I bumped into a boy whom I had not noticed.

I was about to say ‘Sorry’ when he exclaimed, ‘Why can’t girls look where they’re going?’

I recognised the voice and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mike, I didn’t see you.’

As my best mate looked me up and down his jaw dropped; if it had hit the ground it would have made a resounding clang. He shut his eyes, shook his head and opened them again and looked me up and down again, his eyes lingering momentarily on my budding booblets. ‘Omygod, Gab man, is that you? Why the hell are you dressed like that? Have you had a sex change or something?’

‘Or something would be the closest,’ I replied with a giggle. ‘This is the real me–Miss Gabrielle Chambers, at your service.’

He goldfished again. ‘But you’re a boy–aren’t you? We’re best mates. I’m sure I’d have twigged long ago if you were a girl.’

‘She is, Michael,’ Auntie Greta told him, ‘I can guarantee that she is one hundred percent girl. Are you on your own or is your mum with you?’

‘On my own. I’ve been buying a book.’ He showed us a W H Smith carrier bag.

‘Why don’t you join us for a coffee, and Gaby can explain. Will you come to Starbucks with us? My treat.’

‘Yes, do come, Mike,’ I urged.

‘Yes, I’d love to but I can’t be very long as I have to get home for lunch.’

‘So so we, young man,’ said Auntie Greta. ‘So what do you think of your best mate?’

‘I’m a bit surprised to be honest, but I can’t deny you look like a girl, Gab. A pretty one, too.’

‘Thank you, kind sir,’ I replied, bobbing a curtsy and giving him a hug. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I added when I noticed him blushing.

‘No, It’s just that I wasn’t expecting it,’ was his reply. ‘So you were just pretending to be a boy? Why, for goodness sake?’

‘Because I wanted to be like Tim and I loved playing with boy toys. But now my body’s started to change in a way that I can’t hide it any longer.’

‘So what does Tim think of his little sister?’

‘He was kind of expecting it,’ I answered, ‘We’ve only spoken about it on the phone coz he picked up a bug at Scout Camp, so I’m staying with Auntie G until he’s free of infection.’

‘Oh, was he one of the ones that caught scarlet fever?’ Michael asked. ‘I heard that three of them got it, but apart from Tommy Davies I didn’t know who else was plague-ridden. The rest of those at camp are in quarantine so they won’t be back at school either.’

We sat at a table and Auntie asked what we wanted and went to get them.

‘Are those you?’ Mike asked, glancing at my chest.

‘My boobs? Yes, all mine! They are the main reason I couldn’t go on pretending to be a boy.’

‘So are you happy being a girl? I mean if you wanted to be a boy all that time, isn’t it a bit of a disappointment?’

‘No, I knew I’d have to change eventually. I hope you don’t think I’ve been deceiving you all this time?’ I asked.

‘No, not now I’ve got over the shock.’ He grinned at me, the same old friendly Mike. I gave a sigh of relief. ‘Don’t you feel peculiar wearing skirts and stuff?’

‘Not really. Actually, girls’ clothes fit much better and are much more comfortable than boys’. You really ought to try them sometime,’ I added with a giggle.

‘I DON’T think so,’ he said very firmly as Auntie returned with our lattes.

‘I didn’t bring anything to eat as you won’t want to spoil your appetites for lunch,’ she said.

‘That’s fine, Auntie, isn’t it Mike?’

‘Yeah, fine, thank you Miss Chambers. And what about the model railway you and Tim built, Gab?’ Mike said.

‘Well that was mainly Tim,’ I replied. ‘I only really did the scenery and things.’

We chatted on for about half an hour telling Mike about the confrontation with the Kevin the Dreadful the day before, and how Angela, Kristal and Juniper had accepted me. Needless to say, nothing was said by either Auntie or I about my time-slip adventures or the real story of my transformation. That would be too much for anyone to accept.

We finished out lattes, Mike thanked Auntie G, and said goodbye and Auntie and I went to catch our bus. ‘Would you fancy a Chinese take-away for lunch?’ Auntie asked on the bus when we were nearly home.

‘That would be kewl,’ I replied. So when we got off the bus we called in at the Foo Kin Chinese Restaurant on the corner of our road and ordered our take-away lunch.

* * *

We got a selection of dishes so we could “mix and match” as Auntie called it then dashed home, put the foil containers the oven to keep everything warm and then laid the kitchen table–we usually ate our take-aways in the kitchen. I went upstairs for a wee and changed my pad. My tummy was feeling a bit easier, so I hoped that my period might be over soon.

At about half past two I was ready to go round to Angela’s. Letsbeigh Avenue is only about seven minutes walk from Auntie’s, so it was no great distance. I had decided to wear my new pink and white Nikes and as the weather was set fair I didn’t need a coat; so I just slung my bag over my shoulder and set off, enjoying the free and easy way I could move wearing a skirt; I was really relishing the feeling the warm late summer air on my bare legs.

As I turned left into Letsbeigh Avenue, was thinking about how nice it was going to be having a girlie afternoon with Angela and Kristal. I followed the road round the bend in the road that Angie had told me about; after a short distance I passed an alleyway on my left and checked the number of the nearest house. It was number 39, so I still had a bit to go before 69. Suddenly I sensed I was not alone and speeded up my steps. I didn’t want to turn round so I pressed on a little quicker. The road was empty ahead and I was still some way from the Williamson’s house.

Then I was grabbed from behind, a hand being clapped over my mouth before I could even scream. I struggled to get free but it was no use.

‘Well, Chambers, I see it’s true that you’ve gone all potty. My mate, Kev Ball, ’phoned and told me you were pretending to be a girl and had got him grounded for a month, and he also told me you were going to meet his stupid sister at Angela Williamson’s house this afternoon.’ I recognised the voice instantly as belonging to the bullying oaf, Quinn, and I was suddenly very aware that somebody else had put their hand up my skirt––!

* Bicky: Contraction of biscuit–a cookie in the U.S.
** Hobnob: A popular crunchy biscuit manufactured in U.K. by McVities made mainly from oats and available either plain or with one side chocolate-coated. (Very more-ish!)

---

To be continued…

Thanks are due to Bonzi and his Mum once again for their splendid proofing.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

Comments gratefully received

At Aunt Greta’s–
Ordeal by Plonker
by Gabi
Chapter 10 of a Continuing Saga…

I was grabbed from behind, a hand being clapped over my mouth before I could even scream. I struggled to get free but it was no use.

‘Well, Chambers, I see it’s true that you’ve gone all potty. Hey, that’s funny–potty Chambers, or p’raps it should be Chamber potty!’ He gave out a guffaw of mocking laughter. I recognised the voice instantly as belonging to the bullying oaf, Quinn, and I burst into tears. ‘My mate, Kev Ball, ’phoned and told me you were pretending to be a girlie an’ ’ad got him grounded f’ra month, an’ ’e also said you were gonna to meet his stoopid sister at Angela Williamson’s house s’afternoon.’ Suddenly I became very aware that some other person–I presumed a boy–had put a hand up my skirt and his fingers were exploring my body through the thin cotton material of my knickers. Thank goodness I was wearing a sanitary pad––!

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I struggled to get free, lashing out with my feet, but making no contact. Quinn’s grip over my mouth was very tight and his hand could not have been very clean as it had a funny smell which made me feel slightly sick and wonder what he had been doing with it. With my free hand I tried to pull his hand away from my mouth. I was straining so hard that I felt a warm dampness between my legs so I knew I’d wet myself; I just hoped my pad would absorb most of it.

By turning my head I just managed to drag his hand down far enough be able to scream as loudly as I could and then sink my teeth into the fleshy bit by his thumb–it tasted yukky. He let out an unrepeatable oath and turned me round to face him. I thought he was going to hit me but I was now in a better position to retaliate and brought my knee up sharply into his groin. I must have scored a bull’s eye because he let out a cry of pain, another stream of unrepeatable curses and let go of me. Then I saw whose hands were groping under my skirt–Raymond Gunn, another of Quinn’s cronies–and there was another boy I didn’t know who now grabbed me in an arm lock. I tried to kick out at Ray, but the way the other boy was holding me prevented me from making contact in any useful way.

‘Just hold it tightly, Dick, and I’ll just pull its knickers down then you’ll see what a pervy little fairy it is. Ew, GROSS, it feels a bit damp down here, it must have pissed itself.’ I could feel him pulling my panties down.

My sharp hearing detected the sound of an almost silent motor bike coasting to a stop. Recognising the sound, I managed to snatch a glance and saw a big silver BMW ridden by a shadowy figure in black leathers with a spangly blue Bellstar helmet with the dark visor down. Auntie G–my Lady knight in shining armour–riding to the rescue of a damsel in distress.

My panties were half-way down to my knees when Ray swore, ‘Oh shit, shit, SHIT!’ He had obviously discovered the truth. ‘Ohmygod, OHMYGOD!’ he wailed. ‘Jeeezus! We’re in deeeepest doo doo; they’re gonna have our guts for garters.’

‘What’s wrong, Ray?’ asked Dick.

‘She’s a girl–a REAL, proper actual female girl!’

Quinn, who was still doubled over clutching his groin, said, ‘Whatya mean a real girl? You’re talking bollocks!’

‘She doesn’t have any; I mean she’s got a–you know, a pus–’ Ray stopped in mid word– ‘Ew, yukk, there’s blood in her knickers and I’ve got some on my hand.’

‘She’s got blood in her knickers?’ queried Dick. ‘Eeww! gross!’

‘So, he’s cut his cock off! Typical!’ exclaimed Quinn. ‘Look, I KNOW he’s a boy. He’s ALWAYS been a boy.’

‘Doh–you plonker!–I’m telling you, Ken, she’s a GIRL,’ reposted Ray. ‘Don’t you think I know what a girl looks like? I’ve got three sisters, Man, remember? An’ I’m telling you she’s all girl and it’s her time of the month.’

‘What d’you mean?’ asked the none-too-bright Quinn, ‘Her time of the month?’

‘Don’t you know anything? She’s having her period, dumbo!’

Aunt Greta to the rescue!

‘But Kev told me––’ Quinn’s voice faded to nothing as he looked up and didn’t like what he saw–the black leather-clad figure looming over Raymond. Dick saw the figure too, yelped, let go of me and ran off down Letsbeigh Avenue past Angela’s house and out of sight.

Auntie grabbed Ray by the collar and hauled him to his feet. I was able to rescue my panties and pull them up again; they felt yucky and I felt sooo dirty. Auntie flipped up the visor of her helmet and, Ray’s jaw dropped, expecting to have been collared by a man. ‘Well, young man,’ said she, coldly. ‘Is this the way you usually behave towards young girls? You have assaulted and sexually molested my niece.’

‘K-K-K-Ken t-t-told me h-h-he was a b-b-b-boy,’ the unhappy Ray stammered.

‘Even if she was a boy that is no excuse for behaving the way you did. What’s your name?’ Auntie G demanded.

‘R-R-R-Raymond G-G-G-Gunn,’ he stammered.

‘And you, Kenneth Quinn, why are you doubled up down there clutching yourself as if you were in danger of wetting yourself?’

‘H-H-He–I mean SHE, that bitch kicked me in the bal––,’ he broke off in mid-word.

‘I’m not surprised; serves you right! I’d have kicked you in the balls too,’ my down-to-earth Auntie replied scathingly. ‘Three big, strong, brave boys against one poor defenceless little girl. What did you expect? That she’d lay down and submit to your every whim? I don't understand why some boys are so neanderthal! Girls are made of much sterner stuff these days, my lad. You deserved everything you got. By the way, Kenneth, your mother is on the way here; Kristal ’phoned me to say she had overheard her brother telephoning you and making plans to ambush my niece on the way to the Williamson’s. Kevin was prevented from joining you other big brave boys by Mrs Ball, who then ’phoned your mother to warn her of your disgusting plans. She should be here any moment to deal with you. Who was that boy who ran away?’

‘Dick–err, I mean Richard Head,’ replied Kenneth, meekly. ‘He lives next-door to me.’

In spite of my distress, I wanted to giggle and I could see Auntie’s eyebrows raise and the corners of her eyes crinkle through the opening of her crash helmet. She obviously thought that he had been well named, as did I.

‘Mrs Williamson’s coming up the road, Auntie,’ I said.

‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she had called the police,’ Auntie replied. ‘Although, I’m afraid it’s bound to be a rather horrid experience for you, Gabs, if you have to explain about what they did to you.’

‘Are you all right, Gaby?’ Mary Williamson asked. ‘What have these beasts done to you?’

‘This disgusting object,’ Auntie shook Raymond, ‘had his hand in her knickers when I pulled him away from her. I wanted to comfort her but I didn’t want this molester to get away.’

‘The police are on their way,’ Mrs Williamson informed us. ‘What’s the matter with the other one? Did Gaby kick him in a painful place?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I couldn’t think of anything else to do after I bit his hand.’

‘Well done, girl, I did the same to a boy called Tony when I was your age. He never touched me again, neither did any of Tony’s cronies,’ Mrs Williamson told me, taking a firm hold of the struggling Raymond so Auntie could help me. She took off her crash helmet, gave me a hug and I burst into tears again.

A panda car* drew up a couple of minutes later and a policeman and a police woman got out.

A Typical Present Day Panda Car

‘Which of you is Mrs Williamson?’ asked the policewoman.

‘I am,’ replied Angela’s mam. ‘And you are?’

‘WPC Kate O’Connell,’ came the reply. ‘And this is PC Dick Crane.’

‘I am Miss Chambers,’ Auntie said, ‘and this is my niece, Gabrielle, who has been molested by these two boys and one other–who ran away.’

“I recognise you, Miss Chambers,’ PC Crane said. ‘I can’t think of any other ladies who ride a BMW R1200R around here. It’s a nice bike. There’s another panda car on the way.’

WPC O’Connell crouched down beside me. ‘Are you okay, Gabrielle honey? Would you like to tell me what happened?’

‘Can I do it somewhere else? I was going to see my friends at number 69, where Mrs Williamson and my friend Angela lives. Could we go there?’

‘We’d need to ask Mrs Williamson,’ replied Kate O’Connell. ‘Would that be all right with you, Madam?’

‘You’d be most welcome, and the little girl who warned us of the intentions of these boys revolting is there too.’

‘That’s fine,’ said WPC O’Connell. ‘If you'd like to take Gabrielle with you, my colleague and I’–she nodded towards PC Crane–‘will wait for the other car to arrive to take care of these boys. Then I'll come you your house to talk to Gabrielle. Number sixty-nine, isn't it?’

* * *

Mrs Williamson held my hand as she walked me to her house while Auntie stayed with the police to give them an account of what she had seen; she said she would follow us very soon. We reached the house and Mrs Williamson was opening the front door when WPC O’Connell arrived.

As soon as we were inside the house, Angela and Kristal rushed to me and we all hugged. I burst into tears again and I realised how girls helped and supported each other so much more than boys did.

‘I must go to the loo, and change my knickers and my pad,’ I said, before they could ask me anything. I opened my shoulder bag and took out the spare pants Auntie said I should keep in it and a clean pad.

Kate O’Connell, looking concerned asked me, ‘Are you on, Gaby?’

‘Yes,’ I replied quietly and nodding. ‘It’s my first time.’

‘Go upstairs and do what you need, hon,’ she told me, giving me a hug.

‘Use the downstairs one, Gabs,’ said Angela. ‘There’s a shower in there if you’d like one. I’ll just check there’s a clean towel for you.’

‘Thanks, Angie,’ I replied. ‘I’d love a shower, I feel sooooo dirty. Would that be all right, Miss,’I added looking at the police woman

‘I’m sure you do, Gaby,’ said WPC Kate. ‘There’s no need to hurry, would you like one of your friends to help you?’

‘Could you help me, please, Angie?’

‘’Course I will,’ she replied. ‘I’ll just get a big towel for you.’ She ran upstairs and was back before I could count to ten. ‘I’ve brought you a shower cap so you don’t get your hair wet,’ she told me.

‘Thanks,’ I said and she led me to their smart downstairs shower room.

‘What happened?’ Angela asked as she closed the door behind us. ‘Are you okay, Gabs?’

N-n-n-not really,’ I sobbed. ‘He p-p-put his h-h-hand up my sk-sk-sk-skirt and p-p-p-pulled my p-p-p-pants down.’

‘Kenneth Quinn did that to you? And while you’re on too?’ said my friend, looking horrified. ‘What a total bum-hole!’

‘N-n-n-no, n-n-not Quinn, R-R-Ray G-G-G-Gunn! Look, I’d rather tell you and Kristal at the same time.’

‘Okay, Gabs, I can wait. If you want a wee, the loo’s through that door,’ she said, pointing.

‘Thanks, Angie.’ I replied.

* * *

Angela had brought a bottle of lavender-scented shower gel for me to use; it was sooo refreshing and I love the smell of lavender. I felt much better after my shower; while I was enjoying the relaxing spray of warm water on my body, Angela told me that she had heard Auntie Greta arrive.

I felt so much better when we exited the shower-room. Angela had been so kind and I was surprised that I wasn’t at all shy of being naked in front of her. We found everyone was in the sitting room drinking tea and nibbling Chocolate HobNobs.

‘There you are, girls,’ said Mrs Williamson. ‘Do you feel better, Gaby pet?’

‘Much better, thank you, Mrs Williamson,’ I replied.

‘There’s a cup of tea for you both, and I’m told that Chocolate HobNobs are your favourite biscuits, Gaby.’

‘Mmmmmm,’ I replied. ‘My absolute faves.’

‘Well sit you down with Kristal, as she’s dying to hear all about what those boys did to you. and I’ll pour your teas.’

‘When you’ve finished your tea, Gaby,’ said WPC O’Connell, ‘I’ll have to ask you some questions about what happened to you this afternoon. I hope it won’t upset you too much.’

‘That’ll be all right, Miss. I think I’ll manage.’

‘Good girl.’ She smiled at me. ‘And please call me Kate if you’d like to.’

‘Thank you, Kate,’ I replied. ‘Where’s PC Crane?’

‘He went back to the station with the two boys and the other panda car.’

‘I hope they don’t get into too much trouble,’ I said. ‘Apart from scaring me, they didn’t really do anything to me–’

‘–Isn’t that bad enough? And they pulled your panties down, didn’t they?’ Kate O’Connell said.

‘Yes, but apart from that they didn’t touch anything down there.’

‘I believe that still counts as an indecent assault,’ said Mrs Williamson. ‘That’s a serious matter. I’ve ’phoned your mummy and she will be here soon. She’s just waiting for someone to baby-sit Tim.’

‘But Timmy’s not a baby! He’s my big brother.’

‘I know, darling, but he’s ill and needs someone there.’

‘Yeah, I s’pose.’ I admitted.

Angie and I went and sat with Kristal, who hugged me and asked, ‘How are you feeling now, Gaby?’

‘Much better, thanks.’

‘Is it okay to tell us what happened, now?’ Angela asked.

‘Yeah, okay. There I was walking along the road, minding my own business, when after passing the alleyway on the left I was grabbed from behind…’

‘I’m glad Mummy made Kevin stay in the house,’ Kristal said. ‘She locked him in his room, and he can’t escape through the window.’

‘Was there anyone else?’ Angela asked.

‘R-Richard H-Head,’ I replied. ‘He ran away when Auntie Greta arrived on her motorbike.’

Oh, Dickhead!’ exclaimed Kristal, scornfully. ‘Typical. What about Quinn, did he run away too?’

‘Nah, he couldn’t. He was too busy clutching himself where I kneed him in the you-know-whats. He didn’t even notice Auntie arriving on her BMW.’

‘Oh WOW, Gabs!’ squealed Angela giving me an extra tight hug, ‘You mean you got ’im in the family jewels did you? Well done, girl. Serve ’im right.’

‘What, in the goolies?’ whispered Kristal looking startled. ‘How did you know to do that?’

‘Timmy told me it was the best way to counter-attack a boy.’

‘Timmy? Your big brother?’

‘Yep,’ I replied. ‘He was right, too. I didn’t want to do it, but he was hurting me and I didn’t know what else to do. Can we talk about something else?

‘Sure,’ said Kristal. ‘I’ve been longing to tell you this; I saw Emma Wood this morning and she’s got herself a B.F.’

‘A BOYfriend?’ exclaimed Angela. ‘Who?’

‘Andy Royde.’

‘The Android?’ I squealed.

‘Yep,’ replied Kristal. ‘The Android, our tame geek.’

‘Ohmygod,’ Angela exclaimed, ‘if she married him she’d be Emma Royde; eeww, Gross!’

‘So?’ I asked.

‘You know, Gabs,’ hissed Angela.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Oh, Gabs!’ She put her mouth by my ear and whispered.

‘Really?’ I said and exploded into giggles, which set off Kristal and Angela which made the three adults break off their conversation and look at us just as the front door bell rang.

‘That’ll be your mummy,’ Mrs Williamson said and went to let her in.

‘What’s the joke?’ asked Auntie G and we just giggled all the more.

‘Oh, err–nothing,’ I said, feeling myself blush. ‘Just a silly joke.’

The door opened and Mummy came in. She came straight to me and gave me a bear hug. I hugged her back and started to cry again. ‘Are you all right, Gaby darling? They didn’t hurt you did they?’

‘Only a little,’ I admitted. ‘I think I hurt Kenneth Quinn more than he hurt me when I kneed him in the err–goolies to make him let go of me. The other two boys held me too tight after that.’

‘My poor darling,’ Mummy said, hugging me again. ‘Come and sit by me while I have a cuppa and then we’ll talk to the constable here.’

‘If we’ve finished tea,’ Auntie told me, ‘WPC O’Connell will need to get back to the station, but before she does she has to ask you some questions about what happened earlier.’

‘Why don’t you go into the dining room,’ suggested Mrs Williamson. ‘It will be easier to write things down if you are sitting at a table.’

In the dining room I sat on a chair next to Mummy with Auntie G and Kate O’Connell sat opposite us. WPC Kate said that just after I had left the scene with Angela’s mum, a very angry Mrs Quinn had arrived in her car, only seconds before the second panda car came to take the two boys to the Police Station. She was very concerned that I was on my period and hoped I was feeling able to answer her questions. I said that I was okay and told them what had happened when I was ambushed by the three boys.

She asked me to tell the whole story from the beginning, taking it down as a statement from me which both Mummy and Auntie checked over.

‘Thank you, Gaby,’ Constable Kate said. ‘You’ve been a very brave girl. I know you think it was partly your fault for pretending to be a boy until recently, but they had no excuse to molest you the way they did.’

‘They must be taught that such behaviour is totally unacceptable,’ Auntie said.

‘I totally agree,’ Mummy said.

‘It’s not the first time those boys have been in trouble with us,’ WPC Kate said. ‘You have been very helpful, Gaby; I hope it hasn’t been too hard for you to talk about it. Thank you again.’

‘ ’T’s’okay,’ I replied.

‘Good girl,’ she said, giving me a hug and then she left.

‘Are you all right, sweetie,’ Mummy asked when Kate had gone.

‘Yeah,’ I replied and gave her a hug.

‘Good girl.’

After the nice policewoman had gone, Angela suggested we go up to her room, but only if I felt like it.

‘I’d love to,’ I replied. ‘It’ll help take my mind off horrid things.’

‘Poor Gabs,’ Kristal said. ‘Boys can be soooo beastly.’

‘Come on, you two,’ Angela told us. ‘Follow me.’

* * *

I thought Angela’s room was really nice. It was quite big, a bit bigger than my room at Auntie G’s, and about twice the size of the room that I would have to move into at home following my sex change–I had shared a room with Timmy up to now.

Angela’s room was light and airy with a large window overlooking the back garden. The walls were painted a very pale pink (I think it’s called Magnolia or something and she had a fine selection of posters ranging from the England netball team at the recent Commonwealth Games to the Spice Girls and various other pop stars. Her bed had a pink counterpane and a huge teddy bear reclined with his head on the pillow. The top of her chest of drawers was crowded with dozens of Barbies.

‘Ooh, Barbies!’ I squealed.

‘Yeah, I’ve been collecting them for yoinks,’ she said. I s’pose I’m really a bit old for them–some of my friends reckon it’s unkewl–but I really do like them.’

‘So do I,’ agreed Kristal, ‘but I haven’t got as many as you. Do you have any, Gabs?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been pretending to be a boy all my life, and now I don’t really know why, ’cept that I musta been feeble starkers bonkers.’

‘Well, you said it,’ giggled Angela. ‘If we’d known about you we’d have told you being a girl is so much better, wouldn’t we, Kristal.’

‘I only did it coz I wanted to be like by big brother,’ I said.

‘Yeah, Tim’s nice; sensible too,’ remarked Kristal. ‘Sooo different from that great ugly plonker of a big brother I have.’

‘ ’T’s a pity more boys aren’t like Tim,’ said Angela. ‘Now, Gabs, no girl should be without a few Barbies, even if you’re a bit old to start playing with them. I’ve several spare ones that Mummy has been pestering me to get rid of for absolute ages, so I’ll donate them to the new Gaby-Barbie Fund!’

‘I’ve got spares too,’ admitted Kristal, ‘so I can contribute as well.’

‘I dunno what to say,’ was all I could think of at the time. I gazed at the Barbie-crowd on top of her chest of drawers. ‘Is one of them pregnant?’ I asked, seeing one with a large bump in front.

‘Yeah,’ said Kristal, ‘it is. I heard it caused a bit of a stink in America when she first came out and they stopped making her. I’m glad Mummy was able to get me one before they stopped.’

‘There’s a tiny wee baby in her tummy,’ explained Angela, ‘which you can take out and then she doesn’t look preggy any more. Look!’ She reached for the doll and showed her to me. She raised the fashionable denim dress to show the plastic pregnancy. ‘The bump’s held on with magnets and the baby’s inside.’ She detached the bump and Barbie looked normal. Then she took the tiny baby from the bump and passed it to me.

‘Oh, isn’t it sweeeeet,’ I squeaked.

* * *

We played with Angela’s Barbies until Mummy called upstairs to say it was time to go home. Carrying a plastic carrier bag containing my new Barbie collection (there were nine of them–including a preggy one–sooooo kewl) and some spare clothes for them. I thanked Angela and her mam for having me, and went out to Mummy’s car where I discovered we were giving Kristal a lift home.

‘What’s in the carrier, sweetheart?’ Mummy asked.

‘Angela’s given me some of her spare Barbies.’

‘Should you have accepted them, hon?’ Mummy queried.

‘They are duplicates that Angie’s mam said she should get rid of, Mrs Chambers,’ Kristal replied for me. ‘I’ve got some for Gabs too. We both told her that she should have a few Barbies to decorate her bedroom–like most girls do. We also thought that after her horrid ordeal by plonker’ she needed something to take her mind off it and cheer her up.’

‘Well, I think that’s really thoughtful of you both, Kristal.’

‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed.

‘Can you wait for five minutes while I pop in and find the Barbies I have for Gabs, Mrs Chambers?’ Kristal asked.

‘Yes, dear, of course I will. Why don’t you go in with her, sweetie?’

‘Will Kevin be there?’ I asked Kristal.

‘Oh, yeah, but he won’t dare say anything to you after what Dad said to him.’

‘I think I’d rather wait in the car after what happened this afternoon,’ I replied. ‘I don’t think I could face a boy at the moment.’

Kristal hurried into the house and returned about four minutes later with another carrier. ‘Here y’are, Gabs. A small donation to your c’lection.’

‘Thanks, Kris,’ I replied. ‘See ya soon–at school if not before.’

‘’Kay!’ she replied and we drove off to Auntie Greta’s.

* * *

As soon as I was in the house, Auntie G called, ‘Is that you, Gaby?’

‘Yes, Auntie,’ I replied.

‘Well there’s a surprise for you tomorrow. Miss Morgan phoned and she wants you to be a friend to a new girl who’s starting school the day after tomorrow. She’s the same age as you, an American and she’s over here for a few years as her parents are working here now. She sounds really nice.

‘D’you know her name?’ I asked.

‘Yes. She’s called Farah Way and she comes from Boston.’

* Panda Car: A small or medium-sized police car operated by British police forces. They are used for ordinary patrol work, often replacing the “Bobby on the beat”, and thought by many in Britain to have contributed to the increase in street crime in the UK. The friendly Bobby on the beat, was a great visible deterrent to opportunist criminals.

---

To be continued…

Thanks are due to Bonzi’s Mum who kindly found time to proof read this while on holiday in the North.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

All Slings and Arrows (comments) gratefully suffered

(With apologies to W Shakespeare Esquire.)

At Aunt Greta’s–
Farah Way From The U.S.A.
by Gabi
Chapter 11 of a Continuing Saga…

‘There’s a surprise for you tomorrow,’ Auntie Greta told me as soon as I was in the house. ‘Miss Morgan phoned and she wants you to be a friend to a new girl who’s starting school the day after tomorrow. She’s the same age as you, an American and she’s over here for a few years because her parents are working here now. She sounds really nice.’

‘D’you know her name?’ I asked.

‘Yes. She’s called Farah Way and she’s from Boston.’

‘That’s in Lincolnshire, isn’t it?’ I queried.

‘Well, the English Boston is,’ replied Auntie G. ‘But Farah comes from America and her Boston is in Massachusetts. Her parents are bringing her round tomorrow morning and have offered to take you out to lunch so you can get to know each other a bit before school starts. We must make sure you wear something pretty. How are you feeling now after your horrid experience this afternoon?’

‘Not too bad, Auntie; a bit shaky still. The worst bit was being unable to defend myself properly against three of them; at least I was able to knee Quinn in the goolies. WPC Kate was very understanding and her letting me have a shower so that I could wash the horribleness away helped trimmensely. Angela was sooo helpful and I wasn’t at all shy being naked in front of her.’

‘That’s because you’re both girls, honey. How’s your tummy now? Still got cramps?’

‘Not just now. It’s much better than it was this morning.’

‘I’m glad, sweetheart.’

‘It was sooooo kewl the way you came to the rescue on your bike,’ I said. ‘I think you gave those beasts the shock of their lives.’

‘That was the idea, Gabs. The look on Quinn’s face when he saw me was an absolute picture. It was even more of one when his mother turned up and started tearing a strip off him. I almost felt sorry for him.’

‘But you didn’t?’

‘You bet I didn’t,’ Auntie replied. ‘That young man has had it coming to him for a long time.’

‘What d’you think will happen to him and the other two?’

‘Not enough, I’m afraid. When I was your age, if boys had done to me what those three did to you today, they would have been sent to an approved school § or even borstal. ¶ As it is now, the worst that’s likely to happen to them is to be told by social workers that they’re naughty boys and not to do it again.’

‘Borstal? Auntie,’ I asked.

‘Youth prisons,’ Auntie explained. ‘They abolished them in 1982.’

’Pity,’ I thought to myself, adding out loud, ‘A spell behind bars would serve Quinn right.’

‘Yes, it would probably do him a lot of good,’ Auntie agreed. ‘If the threat of Borstal was there, it might make some of these hooligans and yobs think twice.’

‘It’s hard enough for them to think once,’ I countered with a giggle, adding, ‘Why can’t all boys be like Timmy?’ just as the ’phone started ringing.

‘Nine, four, nine, seven, six, three,’ said Auntie after picking up the handset. ‘Talk of the devil. How are you Tim?…good, I’m glad. I’ll pass you over to her–’

I took the ’phone from Auntie; ‘Hi, Timmy, are you any better or have you still got a gross-looking strawberry tongue?…it’s getting better, good. Oh, you’ve heard, I s’pose mummy told you…yeah, they were being really gross, but luckily Auntie G came riding to the rescue on her BMW–it was sooooo kew-ell! Dickhead ran away, Quinn looked gobsmacked, and Ray Gunn was caught in the act of pulling my knickers down; he got two–no three–shocks; first that I’m a proper girl, second I’m on my period and third, when Auntie grabbed him by the collar…’

‘Oh, Gab, that’s sooo gross! I’ll kill that Ray Gunn when I see him. I’m not gonna have him mucking about with my little sister. So what was Quinn doing?…’

‘Oh, Quinn? Yeah, I kneed him in the goolies so he had other thoughts on his mind; he was clutching himself like he was desperate for a wee. I’d have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t done the same thing to me about six months ago–when I was a boy!’

I could hear Tim giggling while I told him about what I did to Quinn. ‘So what about you, brother dear, when will you be bug-free?…’bout ten days? that’s kewl…’ He wanted to know what else happened so I told him about how nice WPC Kate had been and how the other Angela and Kristal had comforted me. We must have been chatting for about fifteen minutes when Auntie said I should come and have some supper. Before he rang off, Tim said that if nothing happened to Quinn he would deal with him himself, so I told him to be careful. He told me I sounded just like a girl so I replied, ‘Doh! ’course I do, you loony, coz I am a girl,’ and I could hear him giggling.

I was glad to get to bed that night. Auntie gave me a paracetamol for my tummy and a mug or gorgeous hot chocolate to help me sleep. When she kissed me goodnight she said she would leave my door open so she could hear if I had a bad dream and she left the landing light on so my room was not totally dark. Actually I was so tired I went straight to sleep and never stirred until she wakened me in the morning by drawing my curtains and letting the sunshine in; I felt much better for a full night’s sleep.

After a shower and the other morning procedures I dressed in a pink tank top with spaghetti straps that–rather daringly, I thought–left my bra-straps showing and a denim miniskirt, white ankle socks and my new girlie pink Nike trainers. I put my hair in a ponytail with a pink scrunchie. Auntie said I looked very pretty and most suitably dressed for welcoming my American guest.

Brekky consisted of freshly squeezed orange juice, a soft-boiled egg with Marmite on my soldiers, one other piece of toast with marmalade and a mug of tea. Auntie had almost the same, with an extra mug of tea. We cleared the table, rinsed off the crocks and put them in the dishwasher. We went upstairs to make our beds and I tidied my room in case Farah wanted to see it. Then I went downstairs again and did a bit of housework so we were respectable to receive our visitors.

It was eleven o’clock when I heard the front door bell ring. ‘Will you answer it please, Gabs,’ I heard Auntie call from upstairs; ‘It’ll probably be the Ways. I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘’Kay, Auntie,’ I called back, and went to open the front door. A girl of my own age, wearing camo Bermuda shorts and an olive green tank top was standing on the step; behind her stood a tall man with a bushy red beard wearing a light green polo shirt and grey trousers and an attractive lady wearing a sky blue dress. ‘Hi,’ I said to the girl; ‘you must be Farah. Please come in. My Aunt will be down in a minute.’

‘Hi! I guess you’re Gabrielle,’ the girl said with an American accent and a friendly smile.

‘That’s me, but most people call me Gaby or Gabs. I guess you’re Farah. Please come in.’

‘Thanks. May I introduce my Dad and Mom, Dr Miles A. Way and Mrs Clara Way.’

I had to bite my tongue to stop me guffawing. It was bad enough her being Far away, without her ’rents being called Miles away and Clear away–it was obviously a hazard in the Way family–‘Kinda way out!’ I thought. ‘How d’you do, Dr Way,’ I said, holding out my right hand to be shaken and wondering what sort of doctor he was. ‘How d’you do, Mrs Way.’ I held out my hand again, but Clara bent down and air-kissed me on each cheek making a ‘Mwah, mwah,’ sound as she did so. So I went ‘Mwah, mwah,’ too.

‘Please come in,’ I told them. ‘My aunt will be down in a few minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ said Dr Way, following Mrs Way in. ‘Glad to meet you, Gaby. Say, whose is that cool looking BMW motorcycle outside?’

‘Oh, it belongs to my Aunt Greta. It’s her pride and joy. It’ll do well over a hundred miles an hour.’

‘I’ll bet,’ he replied and I couldn’t help wondering what sort of picture was forming in their minds of my ton-up Auntie, and what their reactions would be when she finally came downstairs to join us.

‘Would anyone like a coffee?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps you’d like a soft drink, Farah?’

‘A soft drink?’ queried my new American friend, and I realised that while we both spoke English, they were like two different languages.

‘You know, a Coke or a Fanta, something like that.’

‘Oh! You mean a soda,’ she said as Auntie G came into the room.

Dr Way stood up. I don’t think he was expecting Auntie like this. She was wearing a royal blue dress, a pearl necklace and her grey hair was immaculate. She certainly did not fit in with the image of a ton-up auntie with a BMW R1200R! His jaw dropped, as he clearly thought she was old enough to be his mother! Which, of course, she was.

‘This is Dr Miles A. Way,’ I said, introducing him and suddenly realising that perhaps I should have introduced Mrs Way first. ‘My aunt, Miss Greta Chambers.’

‘Glad to know you,’ said Dr Way, holding out his hand. This is my wife, Clara.’

‘How d’you do?’ said Auntie, shaking hands and then air kissing. ‘Please call me Greta. May I call you Clara?’ Mrs Way was clearly as gobsmacked as her husband and I could imagine her thinking, ’surely this fragile-looking old lady doesn’t ride that monster bike outside.’

‘Please do, Gredda,’ replied Clara. ‘I can’t believe what Gaby was saying about you riding that ee-normous motor bike.’

‘Oh, it’s true enough. It’s much better than a car and I can weave through the traffic on it so easily it takes me less than half the time compared to when I take the car.’

‘I sure am envious of it,’ said Dad Way. ‘I used to have a Harley some years ago, but I always thought the BMW was a classy machine.

‘I must say I always fancied trying a Harley,’ mused Auntie G, ‘but I never got the opportunity. But I love my BMW. She’s so responsive.’

‘I bet she is and I’ll bet you don’t ride her dressed like that.’

‘No way, José,’ laughed Auntie. ‘I have a full set of racing leathers and lots of people have got the shock of their lives when I’ve taken my helmet off. Nobody expects a little old lady to ride such a machine. I adore surprising people.’

‘I don’t know how you dare, Gredda,’ added Clara. ‘I couldn’t ride a thing like that to save my life–and you drive on the wrong side of the road too! What do you think of your auntie’s bike, Gaby?’

‘I think it’s sooooo kew-el. I love it when she takes me for a ride on it. The feeling I get from speed is awesome.’

‘What do you wear?’ asked Farah.

‘I’ve got my own Bellstar helmet and I usually wear jeans and a windproof jacket. I wish I had a set of leathers like Auntie’s.’

‘Would you like a ride on it, Farah?’ Auntie asked. ‘I’m sure Gabs would lend you her helmet.’

‘Oh WOW! I don’t think I’d dare, Ms Chambers.’

‘You don’t need to worry, Auntie would go slowly to start with,’ I assured her.

‘Would you like to have a ride, hon?’ Dr Way asked. ‘Your Mom and I wouldn’t stop you, because we’re sure Ms Chambers would take good care of you.’

‘How about sometime next weekend, pet,’ Auntie said. ‘And please, Miss Chambers makes me sound like a schoolmarm, so why don’t you call me Auntie Greta like Gabs does.’

‘Gosh, may I? You’re sooooo kewl, Ms Ch–I mean, Auntie Greta.’

‘Thank you, Farah. I reckon that’s a really nice compliment.’

‘No problem.’

‘So, are you all set for school tomorrow?’ I asked Farah.

‘I guess,’ came the reply.

‘Got your uniform?’

‘Yeah. Oh my God, it’s AWful–sooooo LAME. I don’t know why you guys put up with it. And being made to wear a skirt to school is sooo gross. Don’t you ever wish you could wear pants?’

‘We always wear pants–under our skirts, don’t you?’ I replied, being a bit naughty and she did a double take.

‘Those are panties!’ she giggled. ‘I mean long pants, like jeans.’

‘We call long pants trousers over here, and we often call panties knickers.’

‘Dad wears knickers when he plays golf,’ Farah replied, giggling again and a strange picture came into my mind; were they like the chicken bum knickers some of my friends wore for tennis or badminton? My mind boggled.

‘So what’s school like?’ Farah asked.

‘It’s kewl,’ I replied. ‘Ask Auntie, she was a student there during World War 2.’

‘Wow, that’s way kewl,’ gushed Farah.

‘Yeah, she came and gave a talk to us about it last term, and upstairs she’s still got her old uniform. It fits me perfectly.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘No she’s not, sweetie,’ Auntie said. ‘You can try it on sometime if you like. Then we’ll take some digital photos of you and you can email them to your friends in the States.’

‘Oh Wow! That sounds like really fun; I could kid the guys back home it’s the uniform we have to wear now,’ she laughed. ‘Gaby, I’ve been told I’ll be in the same form as you. Is that something like our Homeroom back home?’

‘Homeroom?’ I queried. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Homeroom is where we go as soon as we arrive at school so our homeroom teacher can register that we are there and give out any notices.’

‘We go straight to our form room which is where we also do our lessons. We have a form teacher who does registration and she also takes us for English and history.’

‘So what’s our form teacher like? What’s she called?’ Farah asked eagerly.

‘Well, I was in year 6 last year and we had Miss Watson,’ I explained. ‘But in year 7 our teacher will be Miss Tickell.’

‘Mystical?’ squealed Farah. ‘Oh my God, why will she be mystical? Does she hold séances or something?’

‘No, no,’ I giggled. ‘She’s not mystical, her name’s Miss Tickell, T-I-C-K-E-L-L. Her first name is Theresa, but last term I heard one of the other teachers call her Tess.’

‘Tess Tickell?’ said Dr Way, chuckling. ‘The mystical testic–’

–‘Miles A Way!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘Not in front of the children, if you please. Whatever will Gredda think us Americans are like?’

But she spoke too late because Farah, being bright, was already in a giggle fit. ‘Oh my God, the poor lady; I’d die if I was called that.’

‘Now you just forget your father ever said that, young lady,’ Clara Way said firmly. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Mom,’ replied the still-giggling Farah, who was trying to look serious and chastened, but of course she just set me off too and Auntie was grinning like a Cheshire cat, so we all ended up in a giggle fit.

‘When I was in that form, our form mistress was a Miss De’Ath,’ Auntie told our guests when we had calmed down a little. ‘We gave her the nickname The Grim Reaper which was very unfair of us, but little girls can be very horrible sometimes.’

‘So can little boys,’ said Dr Way with a chuckle. He looked at his wristwatch. ‘We have a reservation at Rollers, the restaurant you recommended, Greta, for half after twelve so it might be a good idea to head in that direction in half an hour or so. There’s plenty of room for all of us in our SUV.’

‘Would anyone like to freshen up first?’ Auntie asked. ‘Gabs, why don’t you take Farah up to your room then you can brush your hair and go to the loo. Miles, I’ll show you where the downstairs loo is and if you, Clara, come with me we can titivate ourselves in my room.’

I led Farah upstairs to my room. ‘This used to be Auntie’s room when she was a little girl,’ I explained. ‘I don’t normally live here, but I have to stay away from home at the moment ’coz my big brother has scarlet fever; he caught it at Scout camp. Do you want to go to the loo?’

‘The loo?’ she queried.

‘You know, where you have a wee,’ I said.

‘Oh, you mean do I wanna use the bathroom?’ she said.

‘Yeah, except there’s no loo in our bathroom. The loo’s in a wee room on its own.’

‘It must be a wee room then,’ she countered with a giggle. ‘I guess I’m okay.’

‘I’ll go as I probably need to change my pad,’ I said.

‘Are you on?’ she asked.

‘Yeah–it’s my first time.’

‘Poor you. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, but I had bad tummy cramps yesterday.’

‘That’s the part I don’t like,’ she sympathised. ‘Sometimes I get them real bad.’

I went to the loo and did the needful. When I got back Farah was sitting at my dressing table fixing her lip gloss. ‘Don’t you use makeup?’ she asked. ‘You don’t seem to have any here.’

‘It’s a long story,’ I replied. ‘You see, I’ve only recently started wearing girls’ clothes.’

‘Why, for Pete’s sake? You’re so cute. Do you mean you used to be a boy? No, you can’t have been ’cause you’re having your period.’

I felt myself blushing regarding my dichotomy. ‘Up to now I’ve been a tomboy,’ I began; ‘So much of a tomboy that I dressed and lived and went to school as a boy. But things have started happening–like my boobs starting to show–that makes it impossible now ’cause I’d hardly be able to go to school wearing a bra with boys’ clothes; so I’m now being my real self for the first time in my life.’

‘You mean you wanted to be a boy?’ she asked, wide eyed. ‘But why would anyone want to be a boy forchrisake?’

‘I just wanted to be like my big brother who is very special,’ I replied. ‘I know you must think I’m feeble-starkers-bonkers, but that’s how it was. If other boys had thought he was playing with his little sister they would have teased him and made things difficult for him, so it was easier for me to pretend to be his little brother. The thing is that it caused a problem for me yesterday; a bully from school and two of his mates attacked me yesterday ’cause they thought I was a boy wearing a skirt.’

‘Oh my God, what happened?’ She drew in a sudden breath and her eyes widened again.

‘I managed to knee Quinn–the biggest one–in a painful place, so he had his own problem to think about.’

‘Kewl. Serves the monster right. Did that stop the others?’

‘Nah. One of the others held me while the third pulled my knickers–I mean, panties–down; there was a bit of blood there and one of them thought I’d cut my non-existent willie off.’

‘Oh my God, girl! Eeewwww, that’s sooooo gross!’ Farah exclaimed. ‘What happened after that?’

‘They got quite a shock when they saw I really was a girl, and even more of one when Auntie Greta zoomed up on her motorbike and caught them in the act. She was in her black leathers and helmet, so they didn’t realise she was a lady at first. The one that was holding me legged it when Auntie collared my attacker. Quinn–the bully– was so busy nursing his goolies that he didn’t even see Auntie arrive. Then the police turned up and I was allowed to go to my friend Angela’s house nearby. There’s not time to tell you all about it now, but I will later if you like.’

‘’Kay. Say, would you like to try some of my makeup? I’ve got some in my pocketbook,’ she said, holding up her handbag.

‘I’ve never tried any yet, so I’m not sure what to do,’ I confessed.

‘No problem. I’ll fix you up.’

‘Okay, but only a little.’

‘Mom would kill me if I put too much on,’ she replied.

I sat on my dressing table chair, turned to face her while she applied a little eye shadow, mascara and lipgloss. She was very competent and obviously knew what she was doing. When she had finished I turned to look at myself in the dressing-table mirror. I was amazed at the difference she had made.

‘Wow, Farah, that’s amazing. Thanks so much.’

‘You like?’

‘I like. Let’s go downstairs so I can show Auntie G.’

I took a new pad and a clean pair of panties, put them both in my handbag and we went downstairs.

‘Hi, girls,’ said Dr Way. ‘Say, you both look real cute. I guess the ladies will be down soon.’

He had barely finished speaking when we heard footsteps descending the stairs and Mrs Way and Auntie joined us.

‘All ready, girls?’ Auntie asked. She looked us over and then looked at me again. ‘I like your makeup, Gabs. I bet Farah did that for you, didn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ I answered, blushing.

‘Don’t you normally use makeup, Hon,’ Mrs Way asked.

Not knowing what to say, I shook my head.

‘Until recently, she’s been such a tomboy she wouldn’t even wear girls’ clothes,’ Auntie said, coming to my rescue; ‘so we’ve never persuaded her to try makeup yet.’

‘I just can’t see her as a tomboy,’ remarked Mrs Way, ‘she’s such a cutie patootie.’ This made me blush even more in spite of not knowing what a cutie patootie might be.

‘Mo-om! You’re embarrassing her?’ Farah said, and turning to me added; ‘She does it to me all the time, Gaby.’

‘Right, folks,’ said Dr Way. ‘I guess it’s time we hit the trail. Got everything?’

‘Come on, Gaby,’ Farah said grabbing my hand and leading me out of the house. We waited for Auntie to lock the door and then went out to the car–a red Jeep Cherokee.

* * *

Rollers, is a sea food restaurant situated overlooking the harbour. As Dr Way swung the Jeep Cherokee into the car park I saw Mummy’s Volvo V70 was there too so it was going to be a slightly bigger party than I had expected. We disembarked and headed into the restaurant. I had just expected to find Mummy waiting inside for us, but there was a surprise awaiting me.

Once inside, Farah tugged my arm; ‘Gaby, this is kewl. It’s like a place we go to back home in Boston called Legal Seafood. They have great clam chowder.’

‘Really? I don’t think you’ll find clam chowder here, but they have the best fish and chips I’ve ever eaten. Mummy sometimes brings Timmy and me here as a special treat.’

Dr Way identified himself to the head waiter. and we were escorted through the main restaurant to a separate room with two tables laid with dazzling white cloths. Waiting for us was Mummy, Angela and her Mam, Kristal and Mrs Ball and Kristal’s best friend Lacey Nickerson and her mother.

I introduced Mummy to the Ways, and then she introduced them to the others. Lacey came straight to me and hugged me.

‘Gaby,’ she gushed, ‘Kristal explained to me about your transformation and it’s great to meet the real you. I can’t understand why you wanted to pretend to be a boy all that time; you’re such a pretty girl. She is, isn’t she, Mum?’

‘Very pretty,’ replied Mrs Nickerson, looking at me. ‘You’ll have to look to your laurels, darling, or she’ll be stealing all the most handsome boys.’ I realised I was blushing again. ‘So, it seems that Gabriel has been Gabrielle all along. I must say you’ve turned out to be a very beautiful swan.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Nickerson,’ I mumbled felling my cheeks get even hotter. ‘May I introduce Farah Way; she’s from Boston in America and she’s going to be at school with us now she’s living in England. Farah, this is Mrs Nickerson and her daughter, Lacey.’

‘Glad to meet you, Ms Nickerson, and you, Lacey.’

‘You girls go and get to know each other,’ said Mrs Nickerson, ‘because that’s the main reason for this little get-together.’

‘I guess I’m outnumbered,’ joked Dr Way. ‘I am such a lucky guy to be surrounded by so many beautiful girls. Why don’t we sit down, the smaller table is for the young guys, and the bigger one for us old guys.’

‘Farah, these two are Angela Williamson and Kristal Ball. Angela and Kristal, may I present Miss Farah Way from Boston, Massachusetts.’

‘Hi, guys,’ Farah said, going to each one and hugging them in turn. ‘I sure am glad to meet you. It’s kewl, ’cause it means there will be at least four friendly faces I know when I get to school tomorrow.’

‘Hi, Farah,’ Angela replied. ‘I think your Bermudas are sooooo kewl. I have some camo jeans that I really like.’

‘I love the embroidery on your jeans, Angela,’ Farah told her. ‘I’m glad I’m not the only one wearing pants, or trousers as I must learn to call them, or y’all will think I’m talking about panties!’

‘Gaby’s got some jeans like these, haven’t you, Gabs?’ Angela said. ‘You should have worn them today.’

‘I decided I have to get used to wearing a skirt because of school tomorrow,’ I admitted.

‘Oh my God,’ said Farah. ‘I’m sure not looking forward to wearing that dorky school uniform.’

‘You’re not alone there,’ Lacey said. ‘My last school let us wear trousers if we wanted to.’

‘And skirts are really cold in winter, even with thick tights,’ added Kristal. ‘It’s not fair that the boys wear trousers and we can’t.’ She giggled. ‘I say, my brother, Kevin might not be so awful if he had to wear a skirt. By the way, Gabs, Dad’s grounded him till Christmas for what he caused to happen to you yesterday.’

‘Right, ladies,’ said a new voice behind us. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll take your orders.’

We looked round and saw our waitress, holding several menu cards, so we sat down and tried to decide what we’d like to eat.

‘While you’re deciding, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’d like to drink,’ said our waitress who’s name badge said she was Cleo Waters.

 § Approved Schools: UK equivalent of reform school in the U.S. Approved Schools were fairly “open” establishments, so it was comparatively easy for inmates to abscond, unlike the fully enclosed youth prisons known as Borstal . See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Approved_School

 ¶ Borstal: : A special prison for young offenders run by HM Prison Service so that youths could be kept out of adult prisons where their criminal careers might blossom. The court sentence was officially called "borstal training". Borstals were originally for offenders under 21, however in the 1930's the age was increased to under 23. The Criminal Justice Act 1982 abolished the borstal system in the UK, introducing youth custody centres instead. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borstal

---

To be continued…

Thanks are due to Bonzi’s Mum once again for her splendid proofing,
(evidently Bonzi was tired and fell asleep–probably from boredom…Gabi).
Thanks are also due to Kaleigh for advice on Farah and Boston
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

Comments gratefully received

At Aunt Greta’s–
A Rose By Any Other Name
by Gabi
Chapter 12 of a Continuing Saga…

‘Right, ladies,’ said a new voice behind us. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll take your orders.’

We looked round and saw our waitress, holding several menu cards, so we sat down and tried to decide what we’d like to eat.

‘While you’re deciding, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’d like to drink,’ said our waitress who’s name badge said she was Cleo Waters.

‘Farah, you’re a guest in our country so you choose first,’ I said.

‘Eek!’ came the response. ‘A soda, I guess. What do you have, please?’

‘Coke, Irn Bru” , Seven-Up, Fanta, Dr Peppers, Pepsi, Tango, Sprite, Diet Coke, Diet Irn Bru, Diet Pep–’

–‘Ummm, what’s Iron Brew?’ Farah asked. ‘I’ve never heard of that one.’

‘It comes from Scotland,’ Cleo told her. ‘It’s very popular, we sell lots of it.’

‘’Kay, I’ll try one,’ Farah replied and Cleo made a note on her pad.

‘Diet Coke, please,’ said Kristal.

‘Ordinary Coke, please,’ Lacey asked.

‘Fanta, please,’ Angela said.

‘And I’ll have Irn Bru, please,’ I added. Cleo went to get out drinks and we studied the menu. I had been to Rollers several times so I knew what to expect and had already decided to have my favourite.

‘Wow, this looks amazing,’ Farah said. ‘I lurve seafood. Whacha gonna have, Gabs?’

‘Cod and chips,’ I told her. ‘The fish is battered and deep-fried, and chips are what you call French fries, I think.’

‘I hope they don’t batter the heck outa the fish,’ Farah replied with a twinkle. ‘Actually we call it fish and chips in the States too, and I love it–, just not so much when the batter is so thick you can’t find the fish. I really like the cod, which is my favourite,’ she replied. ‘So, I’ll have that too.’

‘Good choice,’ said Lacey. ‘I will too.’

‘So that’s three cod an’ chips,’ I said. ‘What about you, Kristal?’

‘I’d like plaice, please, an’ chips, natch!’

‘And I,’ announced Angela, ‘will have a tuna salad.’

As Angela made her pronouncement, Cleo arrived with our drinks on a tray and handed them round to us. ‘Well, ladies, have you decided what you’re having to eat?’

‘I’d like cod and chips, please,’ Farah told her.

‘One cod and chips,’ repeated Cleo jotting it on her pad. ‘Anyone else for cod and chips?’

‘Me, please,’ I said.

‘And me,’ piped Lacey.

‘I’d like plaice and chips, please.’ That was Kristal.

‘And you, Miss?’ asked Cleo.

‘I’d like a tuna salad, please,’ said Angela, ‘and can I have some chips with it, please?’

‘Of course you may. So that’s three cod, one plaice and a tuna salad, all with chips. It’ll take a few minutes as we always cook the fish to order.’

‘So you’re coming to school with us, Farah?’ Lacey asked when Cleo had returned to the kitchen.

‘Yep.’ She took a sip of Irn Bru. ‘Say, this stuff’s neat, I could get used to it; makes a change from Coke. Mom, Dad and I visited Tuckton School and met Miss Morgan yesterday and she’s asked Gaby to sheepdog me, which is why we’re all meeting up today so at least I will know some of you guys when I arrive in the morning.’ She paused for a moment to take a breath, and giggled; ‘Gabs has also warned me about our teacher, Ms Tess Tickell.’

‘Sshh!’ hissed Kristal. ‘Forchristsake don’t call her that. Nobody’s s’posed to know she’s called Tess; only a few of us know and we have to keep it from the boys or the staff would go bananas. You know what boys are like.’

‘Apes,’ said Farah. ‘Nothing different here, then? What’s our math teacher like?

‘Mist’r’ogg?’ replied Lacey.

‘Our math teacher is called Miss Trogg? Like a troglodyte–a cave dweller? Ohmygod, what’s she like?’ The rest of us all started giggling.

‘Actually,’ I said, trying to control my giggles. ‘She is a he, and it’s not Miss Trogg, but Mister Ogg, but everyone runs it together so it comes out as Miss Trogg. We used to call him Oggy behind his back but he overheard a couple of boys calling him that one time and told us he was not a Cornish Pasty”¡, and announced that anyone calling him anything other than Mister Ogg would be reported to the Head teacher. So we all call him Miss Trogg and she never seems to notice the difference.’

Farah grinned. ‘I guess I’m gunna enjoy my time at Tuckton School,’ she said and joined in our giggling.

Dr Way’s voice broke into our mirth; ‘So, Honey, do you think you’re gonna fit in at Tuckton? You guys certainly seem to be hitting it off okay.’

‘Sure, Dad. Meet the coolest and craziest bunch of guys I’ve, like, met in a long time; you know Gaby already, sitting on the other side of her is Angela Williamson, then Lacey Nickerson, and Kristal Ball. They’ve been like bringing me up to speed on school and have just told me about the math teacher, Miss Trogg, who is really Mister Ogg but his name gets like, run together, so he sounds like a lady. I think it’s sooo cool.’

‘That’s great, honey. Hey, it looks like your food’s here, kids. Enjoy.’

‘We will, Dr Way, thanks,’ I answered for all of us.

Our chatter reduced as we tucked in, all being intent on enjoying our meal while it was hot (except Angela, who was having a salad). I was interested that Farah, instead of using a knife and fork together, like we did, cut up some of the fish, laid down her knife and took her fork in her right hand to spear a piece of fish and a chip or two. Stealing a quick glance over to the grown-up’s table I noticed that Dr and Mrs Way did the same thing.

‘So,’ Farah asked, while she cut up more fish. ‘Are there any cute boys at Tuckton?’

‘A few,’ Lacey replied. ‘Nearly all of them like fancy themselves as babe magnets, but most are so dorky I wouldn’t like touch them with a barge pole.’

‘Nor me,’ added Angela.

‘Mike Heard’s okay,’ I said in defence of my old best friend.

‘Maybe,’ said Kristal. ‘But that was when he thought you were a boy. He might change his mind when he finds out you were female all along.’

‘I bumped into him the other day’ I replied, ‘and when I explained about being a tomboy he was fine with it.’

‘I reckon he’s gay,’ Lacey surmised. ‘In fact, Gaby, I thought you were too, the way the two of you hung together and once I saw you holding hands. But now I know better.’

‘What about Bryan Rose?’ I asked. ‘He’s good looking and he’s always hanging with the girls. And he’s gentle and has really nice manners, too.’

‘I reckon he could be gay,’ Kristal surmised. ‘He always seems very girlie to me, and from year two he’s always liked playing and gabbing with us girls.’

‘Hey, he sounds like a kid at my school back in Boston,’ Farah chipped in. ‘He was really girlie, and he was discovered to be transgendered.’

‘He was what?’ asked Lacey, wide-eyed.

‘Transgendered,’ Farah continued, ‘means that a person is born with the wrong body. Nora, as she now is, was born Aron, but always knew she was a girl inside her boy’s body. Now she lives as a girl and will have an operation when she gets to 18.’

‘Poor kid,’ said Kristal. ‘It must have been horrible to be like that and know you have the wrong body.’

‘It must be really really hard for her at school,’ I added, thinking about what happened to me at the hands of Quinn and company yesterday.

‘We girls all help her,’ Farah said, ‘but she still gets picked on by the jocks.’

‘What! You mean Scottish kids pick on her?’ Lacey asked. ‘Why should they do that?’

‘No, no, not that sort of jock. I was talking about the boys who play a lot of sports like baseball and football.’

I thought about Bryan Rose and about the way I felt about myself before my extraordinary transformation; yes, he could easily be a girl in the wrong body. If he was he should get help–

I returned to the conversation while Kristal was saying, ‘Roger Mee’s good looking, and doesn’t he know it. So’s Walter Pratt, but he’s a total doofus and completely bonkers.’ She paused to take a bite of fish. ‘But I’ll tell you who’s a real good looker, and that’s Logan Berry, Juniper’s elder brother; the prob is that he’s three years older than us.’

‘I quite fancy Willy Bedwell,’ confessed Lacey.

‘Willy Bedwell?’ exclaimed Kristal. ‘Eeewwww, how could you. He hangs with my gross brother. I’d rather date Sandy Beach.’

‘I saw him at a bus-stop yesterday holding hands with Tanya Hyde,’ Lacey remarked.

‘I can’t think what Tanya sees in him,’ I said.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ replied Kristal. ‘Sandy’s quite buff really, but he’s hardly the brightest of guys.’

‘You mean he’s, like, kind of a doofus?’ Farah asked.

‘Yeah, That’s Sandy–a bit of a doofus.’ I confirmed.

‘Andy Royde is a kewl looker,’ Angela remarked, ‘if only he wasn’t such a nerd!’

‘And Emma’s B.F.’ I added with a giggle, dipping one of my chips into tomato ketchup.

Farah’s bewildered gaze flitted between us. ‘Well,’ she laughed, ‘I guess there should be a few guys for me to choose from, then.’

‘Well, there are one or two who aren’t spoken for and who aren’t total nut cases, so you’ll probably find someone kewl.’ I said, taking a swig of Irn Bru. ‘Is anyone going to have a pudding after this?’

‘Pudding?’ Farah queried.

‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘You know, afters, a sweet–something like ice cream.’

‘Oh, you mean dessert,’ Farah exclaimed. ‘We don’t call it pudding in the States.’

‘Oh, some people call it dessert here too,’ said Lacey, who considered herself a cut above the herd; ‘but Mummy says it’s dead common–like saying toilet instead of loo.’

Angela and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. ‘So, Farah, d’you play any sport?’ I asked after a slightly embarrassed silence.

‘You bet I do; I play soccer, basketball, tennis, gymnastics and I’m a cheerleader.’

‘A cheerleader!’ squealed Angela. ‘Oh WOW I’d adorrrrre to be a cheerleader.’

‘Me too,’ added Kristal. ‘What about you Lacey?’

‘Oh I couldn’t,’ came the reply. ‘I couldn’t bear to cavort like that in a micro-skirt and showing my knickers in public, especially if there were men present. Anyway Mummy wouldn’t let me because she’d think it was terribly infra dig.’

‘Infra what?’ asked a puzzled looking Angela.

‘You must know infra dig,’ Lacey replied, looking surprised. ‘If something’s infra dig it’s beneath one’s dignity.’

‘It’s a new one on me,’ I chipped in. ‘I guess I’d like being a cheerleader like, it looks fun.’

‘Sure is,’ replied Farah. ‘It’s really boss.’

“It would be sooo kewl if we could start a cheerleader team at school?’ Angela mused. ‘Would you like to help us, Farah?’

‘Sure, but if we do, we will need somebody like a teacher to like coach us. What’s our gym teacher like?’

‘Springy’s good and she’s a kewl dancer too,’ Kristal said.

‘The gym teacher’s called Springy?” asked Farah, wide-eyed.

‘Actually she’s Miss Springer,’ I explained. ‘Springy is her nickname, but we never call her it to her face.’

‘Ida Drake did once, remember?’ Angela said. ‘But she’s a complete nutter anyway, and always opening her mouth and putting her foot in it.’

‘Yeah, she’s quackers!’ I giggled. ‘And it’s her beak she opens to puts her foot in!’

‘What we call a goober back home,’ Farah added. ‘Mostly goobers are boys, but there are a few girl-goobers. So what sport do we play at Tuckton?’

‘Our main sport this term is netball,’ Lacey replied, ‘and there’s also hockey if you can bear the wind whistling across the hockey field and blowing up your skirt. At least we have indoor courts for netball. The boys play football–what you call soccer, I think, Farah–but there’s a rumour of a girls’ football team starting; not that I’d want to play, but you might, mightn’t you, Gaby? After all you played it when you were pretending to be a boy last autumn term.’

‘If there’s a girls’ team I might,’ I replied, ‘but you won’t catch me joining in one of the boys’ teams and risking the likes of Pratt, Quinn, Head and co kicking the living daylights out of my shins.’

‘And the rest of you, I should think, after yesterday,’ added Angela. ‘You’ll have to try netball, Farah.’

‘I’ve never heard of netball. I don’t think we play it in the States. Is it anything like basketball?’

‘Only in the way you score goals–by throwing a ball through a hoop with a net on it,’ Kristal replied. ‘But it’s quite different in other ways. In netball we’re not allowed to run with the ball, you have to pass within a few seconds and you must stay within your particular area of the court.’

‘There are seven players in each team and only the Goal Attack and Goal Shooter are allowed to score goals,’ Angela explained. ‘Also you’re not allowed to touch an opponent, but you can block their passes by dodging or jumping up to intercept the ball with your hands.’

‘Sounds complicated,’ Farah admitted with a puzzled frown.

‘It’s hard to describe but easy once you see it and play it,’ I added.

Our discussion was interrupted by Cleo who came to collect our now-empty plates.

‘That was really good,’ Farah told her. ‘My first genuine English fish and chips.’

‘I glad you enjoyed it, dearie,’ replied Cleo. ‘You sound like you come from the States.’

‘Yes, Ma’am, from Boston, Massachusetts.’

‘Would you ladies like anything else?’ Cleo asked. ‘We have home-made gateaux and cheesecake and there’s also ice cream. Would you like to see the dessert trolley?’

‘Yes please,’ came the unanimous reply.

Lacey chose Black Forest gateau, Kristal, death by chocolate, Angela went for fresh fruit salad–without cream, was she worried about her figure?–and Farah and I both decided to have Blackcurrant cheesecake–my fave!

The Balls, Nickersons and Williamsons went straight home after we had finished our meal at Rollers but before he left, Dr Way said he would call round just after half past eight in the morning and collect me so Farah and I would arrive at school together. Angela, Kristal and Lacey said they would wait by the school gates for us so we could all go in together. Normally I would have walked from Auntie’s as it was but a stone’s throw away. The Ways drove off, and Auntie and I got into Mummy’s Volvo.

* * *

When we were back at home, Mummy came in too; she didn’t have to rush back to Timmy as he had Mrs Tate looking after him until half past six.

‘So, sweetheart,’ she said, ‘are you looking forward to your first day as a schoolgirl tomorrow?’

‘Err, sort of.’

‘Only sort of?’

‘Yeah, I’m sort of a bit scared too, in case some of the others start teasing me.’

‘You mean the boys?’

‘S’pose so–and some of the girls too. I’m not sure they are going to buy the story of my always having been a girl and I was pretending to be a boy. I’m worried some of the rougher boys might try something on–like Quinn and his mates did.’

‘Well, I’ve heard he and his merry men won’t be there for at least two weeks, because as soon as Miss Morgan heard how they had assaulted you she told their parents to keep them at home until she had spoken with the governors as to whether they should be excluded or not. She doesn’t want the school to be associated with boys like that. Mrs Ball said that the headmistress was even uncertain as to whether Kevin should be allowed to return to school, seeing that he had told Quinn about you. So you see, you don’t need to be a worry-guts over it; look how accepting Michael was when he saw you, and you’ve got Angela, Kristal, Juniper, Lacey and now Farah as friends so I can’t think you’ll get any trouble from other girls.’

‘Maybe not,’ I concurred, ‘but I can think of one or two of them objecting to having me use the same changing room.’

‘I can understand your being worried, poppet,’ she said, pulling me into a hug, ‘but there’s no point in crossing your bridges until you come to them. In the unlikelihood of anyone trying anything on, you must let Miss Morgan know straight away.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’

‘So, what do you think of Farah? D’you like her?’

‘Yeah. She’s really really nice, and those camo Bermudas she was wearing are sooooo kewl!’

‘Am I right in gathering from that that you want some the same?’

‘Yes, pleeease, Mummy. Kew-elle!’

‘If you say so, sweetheart,’ she chuckled. ‘Tell me are you all ready for the morning, as regards uniform and everything?’

‘I think so,’ I replied uncertainly, and she must have heard the slight doubt in my voice.

‘Let’s go up to your room and sort everything out, shall we?’

* * *

I had set my alarm for a quarter to seven so I had plenty of time to get ready for school. I had showered, washed and conditioned my hair, and was just starting to dry my hair, dressed as far as my bra and knickers, when Auntie came to see how I was getting on.

‘I thought you might like me to dry your hair,’ she said.

‘’Splease, Auntie. I’m not used to doing it myself yet.’

‘You soon will be,’ she said, taking the hairdryer and my hair brush from me. ‘While I’m here, I’ll just trim your fringe a bit. It’s still a bit like the old you!’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It was getting a bit like an Old English Sheepdog the way I was having to peer through it.’

‘Rather appropriate though, seeing as you’ll be sheepdogging Farah until she’s settled in.’

‘I never thought of it that way,’ I replied, and giggling, added, ‘Hey, maybe I could get a part in a Dulux § advert!’

‘I don’t think you’re hairy enough!’ Auntie laughed. ‘Now hold still while I just trim it straight.’ That done, she continued drying my hair.

It didn’t take long and soon she was brushing my hair back into a high ponytail. ‘Will you pass me that dark blue scrunchie, hon? I thought you’d like bacon and egg for brekky today.’

‘Yes, please,’ I replied, passing her the scrunchie.

‘There you are, Miss Chambers, all done.’

‘Thanks, Auntie. I’ll finish dressing and be down in about five minutes.’

* * *

Promptly at half past eight Dr Way’s Cherokee drew up outside the gate and Farah jumped out. She looked very smart in her uniform–just like any English schoolgirl.

‘I’m off, Auntie,’ I called, opening the front door. ‘Farah’s here.’

‘Hang on a moment, I’m just coming,’ she called. ‘I just wanted a word with her father before you go.’

‘Hi, Farah,’ I said. ‘You look great in your uniform. Give us a twirl.’

‘Thanks,’ she said and twirled. ‘Now you.’ So I twirled, like I had a few minutes before for Auntie in the kitchen. ‘You look great too,’ she said and we hugged.

‘Don’t you both look smart,’ Auntie said, emerging from the kitchen.

‘Thank you, Ms Chamb–I mean, Auntie Greta,’ Farah said. ‘I guess we’d better get going.’

‘I’d just like a very quick word with your dad before you disappear,’ she said.

‘Have you gotten everything you need, Gabs?’ Farah asked as I picked up my backpack.

‘Yeah, everything,’ I replied, thinking of the clean knickers and pads I had put in for emergencies. We followed Auntie out and got in the back of the car while she spoke quietly to Dr Way. We put on our seat belts, looked at each other, grinned and she squeezed my hand; I squeezed back and thought, ‘I like this girl,’ as Dr Way said ‘goodbye,’ to Auntie, engaged drive and we set off for Tuckton School.

* * *

As Dr Way drew up by the school gate, I could see “the gang” waiting for us. Angela came over as I opened the door and jumped down–Cherokees are a lot higher off the ground than Volvo V70s–grabbed my backpack and offered a hand to Farah to help her down, but she jumped just as I had.

‘Farah, honey,’ her father called. ‘After school’s out, you go home with Gaby and Mom and I will pick you up a bit later. Ms Chambers is gonna give you tea, afternoon tea. Now you have a nice day, honey, and you, Gaby.’

‘Okay, Daddy, thanks,’ Farah replied.

‘Thanks for the lift, Dr Way.’ I called.

You’re welcome, Gaby. You have a good day, now. ’Bye, kids.’ With that he drove away leaving us to be greeted by “the gang”.

‘Hi, Angie,’ I said, and we hugged.

‘Hi, Farah,’ Angela said and she and Farah hugged too.

‘Hi, guys,’ Farah called, waving her free hand–the other was holding her backpack–as we moved towards the gate, where Juniper, Kristal and Lacey were standing.

‘Hi, guys,’ the others called back.

‘Welcome to Tuckton, Farah,’ I said.

‘Yeah, welcome,’ the others chorused.

‘Thank you,’ Farah replied. ‘It feels kinda strange coming to a new school.’

‘Gabs! Gabeee!’ I heard from behind me. I turned round and there was Michael Heard. ‘Wow! You look really good,’ he added.

‘Thank you, kind sir,’ I replied, bobbing a clumsy curtsy.

‘So how does it feel coming to school in a skirt instead of trousers?’ he asked.

‘Kewl,’ I replied.

‘And draughty!’ added Farah with a giggle. ‘I’m not used to wearing a skirt to school. Back home in the States I nearly always wore jeans or Bermudas.

‘What, no uniform? Wow, kew-elle,’ said Juniper.

‘Unh, unh,’ Farah shook her head, no.

‘Farah, this is Michael Heard, who was my best friend when I was pretending to be a boy. Mike, this is Miss Farah Way who comes from Boston in the USA.

‘And before you say it,’ interjected Farah, ‘yes, it IS far away. Hi, Mike, glad to know you.’

‘Hi, Farah. So are you in our form?’

‘I guess.’

‘Great.’

By now we had joined the others and were walking through the gate into the school grounds. I could see a number of people were staring at me, which made me feel ever so slightly uncomfortable. I wonder how many–if any–of them had twigged who I was, or rather who I had been last term.

‘Is Kevin here,’ I asked Kristal, nervously.

‘Yeah, but don’t worry,’ she replied, ‘Daddy put the fear of God up him after he heard how he’d set you up for Quinn’s gang the other day. I think he realised he’d made a big mistake when Dickhead emailed him saying that he’d seen with his own eyes that you really are a girl, and said he was gonna DO Kevin for giving them crap info–Dickhead’s word, not mine,’ she added hastily.

‘I tell you, Bedwell, that it’s Chambers wearing a skirt, a proper angel GAYbriel, and he looks a right woofter, if you ask me,’ said a loud voice from behind me that I recognised as belonging to Andrew Royde–the Android.

‘Be quiet, Royde! We didn’t ask you,’ came the stentorian voice of Mr Ogg, our maths teacher. ‘Come here this instant, boy!’

‘’Yes, Miss Trogg,’ Android replied meekly. ‘Sorry, Miss Trogg.’ Even though he was behind us and I couldn’t see him, I could almost feel the heat radiating from his cheeks from where I was standing.

We stood around chatting for a minute or two and then headed inside. We took Farah to our changing room where we would leave our blazers. She found her locker and hung up her blazer inside. From there we hurried to our Year 7 form room–showing her where the loo was on the way–so we could get desks next to each other.

We were lucky, there were six in two rows of three together in the first two rows. Angela and Farah sat in front with me between them, while Juniper, Kristal and Lacey bagged the three behind us. Five boys came in, talking noisily, and headed for the back row, earning a disapproving stare from Lacey.

‘Ooh, look,’ said Walter Pratt. ‘There’s Lacey Nickerson or should that be Knickersoff, looking down ’er nose at us as usual.’ His mates, the Android, Wayne Bates and Ivan Arden–whose mother was Russian–all sniggered. Upon hearing Lacey's nickname, Farah's mouth dropped open and she looked at me wide-eyed and then grinned.

‘Wally Pratt by name and wally prat by nature,’ retorted Juniper. ‘Why are boys so stupid?’

‘They can’t help it, poor babies,’ added Kristal, as there was a rush to take the remaining desks.

I noticed that Bryan Rose had taken the desk the other side of Angela, and Mike Heard sat at the desk just behind him. Tanya Hyde, Emma Wood and Talia Fortune took the three desks next to Bryan, and Phil Atlee headed for the one next to Mike, just as the bell rang to herald the start of the first day of term and the rest of the class came in to take their places.

They were still sorting themselves out when Miss Tickell entered the room and the hubbub of voices stopped almost instantly as everybody stood up. ‘Good morning, Year 7,’ she said brightly.

‘Good Morning, Miss Tickell,’ we chanted in unison, running it together so it sounded like Mystical.

‘Sit down, please,’ she told us. ‘First of all, welcome back everybody and I’d like to welcome a new pupil to our midst; Farah Way comes to us from the United States and will be with us for the next few years as her parents have moved here. Would you please stand up, Farah so the rest of the class can see what you look like.’

Farah stood up and smiled. ‘Hi, guys,’ she said. ‘I hope I’ll get to know y’all real soon.’

‘Thank you, Farah. You may sit down again. You all know Gabrielle Chambers; well she has agreed to be Farah’s sheepdog until she knows her way around. Yes, James?’

‘Please, Miss, you just called Chambers “she”, Miss,’ said Luke Wright. ‘Isn’t Chambers a boy?’

‘No, I don’t think so, Luke. Please would you stand up, Gaby, so James can see for himself.’ Blushing, I stood up and turned round to face Master Wright.

‘OhmyGod, he’s had a sex change!’ he exclaimed, causing loud guffaws from the other back-row boys.

‘Silence! That’s enough. Andrew Royde, SIT down this instant!’

Farah looked at me and raising her eyebrows, mouthed, ‘Boys!’

I shrugged.

‘When you’ve settled down, I’ll take the register,’ Miss Tickell announced, opening the register book and looking round the class. ‘Ivan Arden?’

‘Here, Miss.’

‘Philip Atlee?’

‘Present, Miss Tickell.’

‘Kristal Ball?’

‘Present, Miss Tickell.’

‘Wayne Bates?’

‘Here, Miss.’

‘Juniper Berry?’

‘Present, Miss Tickell.’

‘Nora Bone?’

‘Present, Miss Tickell.’

Miss Tickell carried on alphabetically until, finally she came to, ‘Luke Wright?’

‘Present, Miss Tickell.’

Our teacher ticked off the last name and snapped the book shut before putting it in the drawer of her desk just before the bell rang. ‘Okay, people, that’s the bell for assembly; line up by the door with the girls in front behind Lorna Mower. Quietly PLEASE, boys! Walter PRATT! Stop pushing; you won’t get there any quicker.’

As soon as we were lined up and quiet Miss Tickell opened the door and said, ‘Right you are, Lorna, lead on. Walter PRATT! leave Bryan alone!’

‘Yeah, put ’im down. Ya dunno where ’e’s been,’ said Joe King, a bit of a comedian who resided in the back row.

‘And you be quiet too, Joseph King!’ Miss Tickell said.

We trooped into the assembly hall and, after receiving a hymn sheet, stood in rows. Farah nudged me; ‘What goes now?’ she mouthed.

‘We’re waiting for the headmistress,’ I whispered, and Farah nodded.

Seconds after the last of the classes had arrived and found their places, Miss Morgan swept in, her academic gown flowing behind her, and took her place behind the lectern in front of the other teachers on the platform.

‘First of all, welcome to all our new students, we hope you will have a beneficial and enjoyable time while you are here. Welcome also to all of you who have been with us before; I wish you all a successful term. Now, we will sing the traditional start of term hymn, Lord, behold us with Thy blessing which you will find on the sheet you have been given.’ She looked towards Mademoiselle Blanc who was seated at the piano. ‘Thank you, Mam’zelle Blanc.’

That lady, who was actually our French teacher, started thumping out the tune and we all joined in. Then the Head said a few simple prayers and told us to sit, so, there not being any chairs, as always we sat cross-legged on the floor.

As soon as we were settled Miss Morgan gave a short speech about things concerning the school and told us that three Year 9 boys were on temporary exclusion for molesting a 12-year-old girl during the holidays. This brought some muted mumbling among the older students. Angela nudged me in the ribs and Farah gave my left hand a squeeze. Shortly afterwards we were dismissed back to our form rooms.

The time up to the mid-morning break, which on a normal Thursday would be occupied by an English and a maths lesson was taken up with issuing us with the books and such that we would need for the term’s work. Half-way through the second period Farah put her hand up.

‘Yes, Farah.’

‘Please, Ms Tickell, may I go to the bathroom?’

‘Yes, Farah. D’you know where it is?’

‘I think so,’ she replied.

‘Gaby, will you take her as you’re sheepdogging her.’

‘Yes, Miss,’ I replied.

‘You gonna have a bath too, Chambers?’ Wayne Bates shouted. ‘I knew girls were fussy about keeping clean, but–’

‘–That was uncalled for, Master Bates!’ our teacher interrupted him. ‘Miss Way is a guest in our country and they have different ways of asking for things in America. Off you go, girls; don’t be too long.’

‘Thank you, Ms Tickell,’ Farah said as we left the room.

‘You okay?’ I asked. ‘Sorry about Bates, he’s even more of a prat than Pratt.’

‘No problem, Gabs, he's just a goober. I was just a bit shy of asking for the “loo” so I just said what we always say in the States.’

We both did our business and returned to our form. Soon afterwards the bell rang for break and we trooped out into the playground where the boys tried to take over the whole space for a game of football, and we girls were squeezed to the outside. We were chatting away, when I sensed someone was pulling at the sleeve of my cardie. I looked round and there was Bryan Rose, the quiet boy, who kept himself to himself and who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.

‘G-G-G-Gabriel,’ he stammered, ‘c-c-c-can I ask you s-s-s-something?’

‘’Course,’ I said, and sensing that he was feeling very shy, suggested, ‘shall we move away from the crowd? By the way, I’m GabriELLE, but please call me Gaby.’ I had always liked Bryan and had felt for a time that he might have problems.

‘Th-Thanks, G-G-Gaby.’

We moved away out of earshot of the others. ‘So, Bryan, what’s the problem,’ I asked gently.

‘Well, you used to pretend to be a boy until this term, and now you have decided to be yourself.’

‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t have much choice, coz these funny lumps started growing on my chest. So is there something you are unhappy about?’

‘Yeah. You see I gotta pretend to be a boy too, coz I’ve always known I’m a girl trapped in a boy’s body!’

”  Irn Bru: (pronounced Iron Brew) A soft drink (soda) manufactured in Glasgow, Scotland since 1901 by Barrs. It has long been the most popular soft drink in Scotland, outselling Coca-Cola, but recently Coke has crept up to reach parity. In the UK as a whole, Irn Bru is the third highest selling brand after Coke and Pepsi.
see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irn_Bru

”¡ Cornish Pasty: (or Tiddy Oggy, as it is called in Cornwall) is a traditional type of meat pie from that farthest west county of England. It was baked originally as the mid-day meal taken to work by the Cornish tin miners. see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornish_pasty

 § Dulux: A brand of household paint in the UK which uses an Old English Sheepdog in its advertising.

---

To be continued…

Thanks are due to Bonzi’s Mum once again for her splendid proofing and Bonzi for giving it a cat scan
also Kaleigh and Annette, my trans-pond teen-girl-speak consultants.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

All comments gratefully received

At Aunt Greta’s–
Meeting Bryony
by Gabi
Chapter 13 of a Continuing Saga…

‘So, Bryan, what’s the problem?’ I asked gently.

‘Well, you used to pretend to be a boy until this term, and now you have decided to be yourself.’

‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t have much choice, coz these funny lumps started growing on my chest. So is there something you're unhappy about?’

‘Yeah. You see I gotta pretend to be a boy too, coz I’ve always known I’m a girl trapped in a boy’s body!’

I was somewhat flabbergasted that he–or should I say she?–should confide in me this way, and yet I also felt honoured that she felt she could trust me with such a secret. I looked at her: she had an oval face with delicate features and was dressed in Tuckton School’s regulation boy’s uniform–grey trousers, light blue shirt, school tie and a navy, V-necked woolly jumper with the school badge on the left breast–like ours. Her hair was long for a boy and was drawn back in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, secured with a navy-blue elastic loop. Yes, she could easily pass for a girl in the right clothes and with her hair in a high ponytail.

We had walked away from the other kids and were on our own.

‘Are you asking me to help you?’ I enquired.

‘I dunno, it’s just that I’m so unhappy as a boy I don’t know what to do. And also I’m g-g-g-growing lumps on my ch-chest l-l-l-like b-b-b-bosoms.’

‘Like me,’ I added, sticking out my chest and smiling to give her some confidence. ‘You said you’re a girl inside a boy’s body?’ I was thinking about how I felt before my strange transformation as I slipped back in time to temporally occupy Auntie G’s girl body, that I had been a girl in a boy’s body.

‘Y-Yes, I’ve known for a l-l-long time.’

‘Have you ever told your mum about how you feel?’ I asked.

‘About f-f-f-four years ago, but she laughed and told me n-n-not to be s-s-silly.’

‘And you haven’t said anything to her since?’

‘N-no–I d-d-didn’t want her to l-l-laugh at m-m-me ag-g-gain,’ he replied sadly.

‘I think you should try to tell her again, because you are obviously unhappy as a boy and no proper mum wants her kid to be unhappy. Have you ever told anyone else–apart from me?’

‘I’ve got a girl cousin–Penny–’ she explained, ‘who lives in the country; her mum is Mummy’s twin sister, and I’ve often been to stay with her in the hols. Penny and I were born on the same day so we think of ourselves as twins, like our mums. When I was about seven, I was staying with her and there was a fancy dress party; we decided to go as twins–we look almost identical–so I wore one of her dresses with all the right undies and things, and she wore some of my stuff. Oh, Gaby, it felt sooo right wearing girls’ clothes; I knew they were what I should always wear. Since then we’ve often been sisters together. She’s never worn my clothes again–she says they’re too rough and uncomfortable, particularly the undies. That party was the first time I was Bryony.’

‘Is Bryony your girl-name?’

She blushed and nodded.

‘It’s a pretty name, and it suits you, Bryony,’ I said. ‘Would you like me to call you Bryony when nobody else is around.’

Bryony’s face lit up; she flung her arms around me and then, suddenly burst into tears. I wasn’t sure what to do so I patted her on the back and made there, there-noises like Mummy does to me when I’m upset. I dug a tissue out of my skirt pocket and gave it to her so she could mop up.

‘Now, Bryony, I want to help you, and I have an idea. You know Farah?’

‘The new Am-mmmm-erican girl?’

‘Yep. She told me that at her old school back in the States there was a kid like you who was originally a boy called Aron, and now she lives as and goes to school as a girl called Nora. She also said there’s a special name for people like Nora–and you–err, transgendered.’

‘Wow!’ exclaimed Bryony. ‘Nora’s sooooo lucky. I wish I could do something like that.’

‘Well, how about I get Farah to tell you about her? I know Nora’s in America and they’ll have different laws an’ stuff there, but my Mum’s a nurse an’ she might know someone who might be able to help you. But the first thing you must do is to tell your Mummy. If you’re nervous, I’ll come and help you. Does she know about your dressing as a girl sometimes when you’re at Penny’s?

‘I think so, coz Auntie Brenda–Penny’s mum–caught us a couple of times; we said we were playing dress-up. It didn’t seem to worry her.’

‘So if your mum were to ask you about it you could tell her that you feel right wearing girls’ clothes, couldn’t you?’ I suggested.

‘I s’pose so,’ he answered hesitantly, as the bell summoning us back to our lessons began to ring.

‘I’ll ask Farah to meet us together before we go home,’ I told him. ‘You’ll really like her and I’m sure she’ll try to help.’

* * *

As it was the first day of term we had the afternoon off as lessons really did not start until the next day, Friday, and even then they were a bit disorganised, serious work really starting after the weekend.

When we had finished getting ourselves organised for the term, we did some reading. If the choice of book had been left to us, we would have taken a month of Sundays arguing over which one it should be. But our teacher was well used to the ways of Year Seven students, and so we had the choice of either, Treasure Island, Treasure Island, or Treasure Island. So we read Treasure Island–in turn round the class–with occasional asides from Joe King and Angus Bull of, ‘Oh arr, Jim, Lad!’ and ’Pieces of eight!’ While Bryan was reading, the Android was heard to screech, ’Who’s a pretty boy, then?’ in a high-pitched parrot voice and Willie Philpot mumbled something about ‘Fairy Rose’, a nickname one of the boys had concocted for Bryan on a school trip to see King Henry VIII’s ship, Mary Rose, raised from the mud at the bottom of the Solent in 1982. She is now on display in her own museum Portsmouth. § Both remarks were rather cruel, particularly as Bryan tends to stammer when nervous.

H.M.S. Mary Rose

When the bell rang for the end of school that morning I introduced Bryan to Farah. We would be passing Brian’s house on our walk back to Auntie Greta’s so Bryan was happy to walk with us. We went to get our blazers from the changing rooms–Bryan, of course used the boys’ changing room–and agreed to meet outside in the playground.

We decided to go to the loo before leaving and while we were washing our hands and checking our hair in the mirror when two of the senior Year Ten girls, Juno Watt and Isla Mann came in.

‘Ohmygod,’ said Juno, giving me a “daggers” look, ‘We have a freak in our toilet. Surely it should be made to go somewhere else if it wants to pretend to be a girl.’

I could feel myself blushing, and Farah looked furious. “Excuse me,” she said, but you are sooo wrong. Gaby is a girl like any other, and she happens to be on at the moment.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, whoever you are,’ retorted Juno. ‘Gabriel Chambers has always been a boy since he first started here in Reception. Who are you, anyway?’

‘I’m Farah Way from the States.’

‘You sure are,’ laughed Isla Mann and Juno giggled.

‘Very funny–NOT,’ I snapped back as Angela emerged from one of the cubicles.

‘I can confirm that Gaby is a girl,’ she told the two seniors.

‘So how come you know so much about her, Angela Williamson? I doubt very much that you’ve ever seen her naked,’ Juno responded.

‘Actually, I have,’ Angela replied, angrily; ‘after she was molested by three older boys from this school two days ago on the way to my house. She needed to take a shower coz she felt so dirty after what they tried to do to her. She’s got a slit and boobs just like me and you, unless you, Juno Watt, have got something different!’

Juno blushed deep puce as Farah sniggered, licked her forefinger and marked one up to Angela on an imaginary scoreboard, and my thoughts went along the lines of ‘Mie-ow!’

For a moment, Juno stood open-mouthed. ‘But…but…’ she stammered completely fazed by Angela’s outburst. ‘But G-Gabriel has always been a boy.’

‘Actually, I’ve always been a girl. I know it must sound really weird to you, but I admired my big brother, Tim, so much that I wanted to be just like him, so I pretended I was a boy.’

‘So what made you change your mind?’ Isla asked.

‘My body; my boobs started to show too much and I started my periods. D’you want me to prove it to you?’ I asked, reaching for the hem of my skirt.

‘OhmyGod, no!’ exclaimed Juno, looking alarmed. ‘Please don’t! I accept I was wrong. I hope you’ll forgive me, Gaby, I’m sooo sorry.’

‘And, Farah,’ Isla added, ‘I’m sorry I made fun of your name. You’re a visitor here and it was uncalled for and very rude of me.’

‘’Sokay,’ came the chirpy reply, ‘it’s been happening for as long as I can remember and normally I can get in my retaliation first. Say, Gabs, shouldn’t we be outta here, we’ve got someone waiting for us, remember?’

‘Oh bum! Yeah, okay. ’Bye, girls.’

‘’Bye,’ called Juno and Isla, disappearing into adjacent cubicles.

‘’By-eee,’ called Angela. ‘See, you guys, tomorrow.’

Bryan was waiting for us. ‘Sorry if we kept you waiting, Bryan,’ I said. ‘We had to go to the loo and got waylaid.’

‘D-d-don’t worry,’ he replied. ‘I only j-j-j-just g-g-got here m-m-myself. H-h-hi Farah. Has G-Gaby told you anything ab-b-b-bout me?’

‘Hi, Bryan, No, she hasn’t told me a thing.’

‘Let’s get outside the gate before you start, Bryan,’ I said, and we headed out of the gate and turned right.

‘O-k-k-kay,’ Bryan stuttered nervously. ‘A-actually, G-G-Gaby, I’d rather you t-t-told F-F-Farah f-f-for m-m-me.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I t-t-trust you.’

‘Okay.’ I took a look round to check nobody was in earshot. ‘Farah, you know you told me about that kid Nora at your school back in the States?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, Bryony has told me she’s a girl in a boy’s body.’

‘Who’s Bryony?’ queried Farah, looking puzzled for a moment before her face lit up. ‘You’re Bryony? Wow, that’s such a cute name.’ She gave Bryony a big friendly hug. ‘Let me guess, now that Gaby’s told you about Nora, you want to know more.’ At Bryony’s nod, “I’m not sure I can tell you much, but I’ll try. You’re gunna be real cute!’

‘Thanks,’ Bryony replied, lowering her eyes and blushing. ‘Anything you can tell me would be a help, you see, I don’t know where to start.’

‘Well, have you told your mom or dad? ’Cause that’s the first thing you need to do. My friend back in the States told her mom when she was about eight and they went to see the doc. straight away.’

‘I haven’t actually told Mummy that I’m a g-girl in a b-b-b-boy’s b-body, yet, but she knows I’m not h-h-happy ab-b-bout something. My dad ran off with his Personal Assistant nearly two years ago and we don’t even know where he is.’

‘Oh, Bryony, I’m so sorry to hear about your dad,’ I told her, ‘but you must tell your mum straight away, coz she can’t help you if she doesn’t know the problem. You said you think she might know about your dressing up with your cousin sometimes, so have you ever told her about how you feel right in girls’ clothes?’

‘Not yet,’ Bryony replied. ‘I’ve wanted to tell her for ages, but I’m scared in case she would be cross.’

‘If she loves you,’ I assured her, ‘she wouldn’t be cross–she’d want to know coz she’d not want you to be unhappy and does she know about you being Bryony?’

Bryony shook her head. ‘I haven’t dared tell her that either.’

‘Do you know who your doctor is?’ I asked.

‘Doctor MacNeish,’ Bryony replied. ‘She’s nice, I like her a lot.’

‘Oh, she’s our doctor, too,’ I said, ‘and yes, she’s really really kewl. I’m sure she’ll know exactly what you and your mum need to do.’

‘Ask your mom to look on the internet,’ Farah suggested. ‘Nora’s mom has gotten plenty of great advice just by Googling “transgendered children”. Get your mom to have a go, she’ll surely find something that could help.’

‘I’ll ask my Mum about it too,’ I said. ‘She knows about a doctor who understands your sort of problem from the time when she wondered if I might be a boy in a girl’s bod.’ I added, with bit of a white porky.’”¡ ‘Tell you what, Bryony, get your mum to ring mine, she knows quite a lot about it, so she’ll probably be able to help.’

‘You know, Gaby, I can’t understand why you ever thought you’d like to be a boy,’ Bryony observed.

‘Me neither,’ added Farah. ‘Seems real crazy to me, Gabs.’

‘Ermmm, yeah,’ I said, embarrassed. Not being able to think of a sensible answer I changed the subject. ‘So, Bryony, if the doctors decide you really are a girl in a boy’s bod, will you come to school as Bryony?’

‘Oh, wow, Gaby, that would be sooooo kewl,’ replied Bryony, sounding more girlie than ever. ‘That’s my fave dream; I wish it could come true.’

‘Well, it might,’ Farah chipped in. ‘I know that was Aron’s dream before she became Nora, and now she’s gotten what she wanted.’

‘How is it for her at school?’ Bryony asked. ‘I mean, does she get bullied a lot? That’s what I’m afraid of coz I get bullied and called names as a boy.’

‘She was bullied and called names quite a bit at first, but the bullies got tired of doing it when the teachers saw what was going on and sent them to the Principal.’

‘I reckon Miss Morgan will be okay with it,’ I added. ‘When we went to her to tell her that I was having to return as a girl this term she was fine about it.’

‘Y-Yes, b-but you are a g-g-girl,’ said Bryony. ‘S-She might say it was d-different f-f-for me.’

‘So what, you’re a girl too,’ said Farah. ‘You’re like my buddy in the States; okay, so you gotta boy’s body. So what, you like, gotta girl’s brain that makes you a girl, same as me ’n Gabs.’

Bryony smiled happily at Farah’s reply. She pulled her woolly jumper and shirt away from her chest and winced. “Is something wrong, Bryony?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ came the reply. ‘Remember I said I’ve got a couple of small lumps growing on my chest and they’re itchy.’

‘Uh huh. Have you told your mom?’

‘I didn’t want to worry her. Why?’

‘How long has this been going on,’ I asked.

‘Just over six weeks.’

‘And you’ve not said ANYthing to your Mom?’ Farah asked, clearly amazed.

I looked at her, and she looked at me and nodded. It was plain that we both thought the same, having experienced something very similar.

‘Bryony, will you promise me something?’ I asked.

‘Depends what it is,’ came the cautious reply.

‘Tell your mum about your itchy chest. It could be important.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ Farah said. ‘and it would be a good time to tell your mom about your girl-brain-boy-body situation. The two things could be connected.’

Bryony stopped walking and looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds. ‘It must mean that I really am growing’–she stopped in mid-flow before finishing with a single word–‘BOOBS?’ before starting to walk again.

‘Yep. Like you said to me during break.’ We walked on in silence and past the house I thought the Roses lived.

‘Err, Bryony? Haven’t we just passed your house?’

‘Have we?’ she said, suddenly paying attention. ‘Sorry I was thinking about something, I never noticed where we were. Look, I’d like you to come in and meet Mummy.’

‘Okay,’ I agreed as we turned and retraced our steps, ‘but we can’t be long coz my Auntie is expecting us for lunch.’

‘Only for a minute or two, I promise,’ Bryony said, leading us through the gate, down the side of the house to the back door, which he opened. As we entered the neat kitchen our noses were greeted by a delicious smell of lunch cooking.

‘I’m home, Mummy.’

‘Just coming, darling,’ called a voice from beyond the kitchen door.

I could hear Mrs Rose’s footsteps approaching. She was not as tall as my mum; her brunette hair was shoulder-length and she had hazel eyes, was slightly plump and was wearing a denim skirt which reached just below her knees with a beige top. Seeing Farah and me she stopped in her tracks.

‘Really, Bryan, when you have guests, you should bring them in through the front door. I’m sure these pretty girls don’t want to see our tatty, untidy kitchen. Come through, girls, and Bryan can introduce you properly.’

* * *

She led us through to the front of the house. ‘Come into the lounge girls,’ she said. She turned and looked at Farah, and then at me. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen you before, my dear, but I can’t put a name to your face.’

‘She’s Gaby Chambers, Mummy,’ Bryony said, ‘and this,’ she held out her hand towards Farah, ‘is Farah Way from America.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Farah,’ she said shaking Farah’s hand.

‘’I’m glad to know you, too, Ms Rose,’ Farah replied.

‘Gaby Chambers, you have a brother called Tim? I always thought you were a boy.’

‘I wanted to be like Timmy,’ I admitted, ‘so I pretended to be a boy, but I can’t do that any more coz my shape is changing in rather obvious ways.’

‘Ah, the dreaded puberty,’ said Mrs Rose with a wry smile. ‘It seems to start younger and younger. So, Bryan, tell me why you brought your friends with you?’

‘Ermm, well, Gaby is staying with her auntie at the moment and she has to pass our house, so we walked back together and had a chat.’

‘And Farah is staying to have lunch an’ things at Auntie’s as her mum and dad are away till this evening,’ I added.

‘That’s nice for you, dears,’ said Mrs R. ‘And how long have you been in England, Farah?’

‘About a week, Mrs Rose.’

‘So this must be your first day as an English schoolgirl? I must say you look very smart in your uniform.’

‘Thank you Ma’am,’ replied a smiling Farah, bobbing a neat curtsy. ‘Actually, I don’t have a school uniform back home, most of us girls wear jeans like the guys and I thought having to wear one with a skirt here would suck, but when you’re the same as all the other girls it’s okay.’

‘If it’s any consolation, my dear, your uniform is a lot more attractive and feminine-looking than what I had to wear as a schoolgirl. You probably haven’t had time to decide whether you like your new school or not,

‘Seems okay, and the guys have been really cool, so far.’

‘Just the guys, but not the girls, eh?’ queried Mrs Rose.

‘Oh, sorry, Mrs Rose, when we say guys back home, that includes the girls.’

‘It’s all right, dear, it’s just that I’m not very au fait with today’s teenage language,’ Mrs Rose replied.

Farah looked a bit non-plussed at au fait and said. ‘Well, I find the kids over here have plenty strange words I don’t understand, and I guess I’m gunna have real trouble with your English spelling.’

‘You’ll soon get used to it,’ I told her. ‘I’ve almost gotten used to the way you speak already.’

Farah grinned and Mrs Rose looked quizzically at me. ‘Well, girls, would you like to stay for a bite of lunch?’ she asked.

‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Rose, but my Aunt’s expecting us back for just that, but thank you very much for the invitation,’ I replied. ‘Actually we only came in because Bryan wanted us to meet you.’

‘Well I enjoyed meeting you very much, my dears. I’m sorry you can’t stay and eat with us; another time perhaps?’ She gave each of us a hug, and then Bryony escorted us to the door.

‘Thanks for coming in,’ she said. “I’m going to tell her while we have lunch.’

‘Good luck, Bry,’ I said.

‘Yeah, good luck,’ added Farah.

‘Give us a ring at my aunt’s if you like; her number’s 949763. She’s in the book if you forget, Miss G Chambers–same as me!’

‘Okay,’ Bryony replied. ‘And thanks for listening and not laughing at me.’

‘We wouldn’t do that, girlfriend,’ Farah assured her.

We each gave her a hug, then she opened the door and we headed for Auntie G’s.

* * *

It only took five minutes to walk back to Auntie’s. She must have been watching for us, because as we turned into the gate, the front door opened and there she was, waiting to welcome us.

‘There you are, girls, I expected you about ten minutes ago,’ she said as we entered the house. Our noses were greeted by the most delicious smell coming from the kitchen.

‘Sorry, Auntie, we walked back with Bryan Rose, and he asked us in to meet his mum,’ I explained, ‘and it’d have been rude to rush off.’

‘That’s all right, pet, I’m not cross. Bryan Rose, you said?’

‘Yes, Ms Ch–I mean, Auntie Greta. Sh–HE’s a nice kid,’ said Farah, blushing.

‘That slip of the tongue was interesting, Farah,’ Auntie replied, ‘because I’ve always thought Bryan was more like a girl than a boy.’

‘He told me he’s a girl in a boy’s body, ’ I explained. ‘and asked for help. Farah told me that she knows a kid like that back home in the States, so I suggested to Bryony that she asked about her.’

‘Bryony?’ queried Auntie.

‘That’s her girl name,’ Farah explained. ‘She told us how she’s always been a girl inside for as long as she can remember. I told her it was the same with my transgendered friend, Nora, back home.’

‘Has he–she told her mother about her feelings?’

‘She’s telling her now, so she can talk to Dr MacNeish about it,’ I answered.

‘That’s sensible. I’m sure Jean MacNeish will know exactly what to do, and Helen Rose would do well to talk to your, Mum, too, Gaby.’

‘Bryony’s gunna phone us later, and tell us how she got on telling her mom.’ Farah said. ‘Wow! That’s a great smell; is it our lunch?’

‘Yes, dear,’ chuckled Auntie G. ‘I’ve made a chicken casserole.’

‘Ooh, yummy, my fave. Auntie makes the best chick caserole I’ve ever tasted,’ I told Farah.

‘Well, it sure smells good. C’mon, Gabs, let’s go wash and tidy ourselves before it spoils.’

While we washed our hands together in the bathroom, I thought about Bryony telling her mum about being a girl trapped in a boy’s body and said, ‘I wish I could be a fly on the wall as as Bryony tells her mum about herself.’

‘Me too,’ added Farah.

* * *

Bryony closed the front door after waving goodbye to Gaby and Farah, and sighed because she was not looking forward to confessing all to her mum.

‘They’re nice girls, Bryan,’ Mrs Rose said, cheerfully. ‘ I can’t get over Gabriel being a girl all this time; I suppose she was just a tomboy. But I must admit that seeing her just now, I was struck by how pretty and feminine she was.’

‘She is pretty, isn’t she, Mummy?’

‘I’ve often think it’s a pity you aren’t a girl. I always wanted a daughter, and when you were in my tummy you were so quiet and placid that I was sure you were a girl baby. Your Auntie Brenda thought so too, because when we compared notes about you and Penny, we discovered that you both behaved exactly the same, whereas a friend of ours who had a boy at about the same time, told us she was sure she was having a boy as he seemed to be playing football in her tummy all the time. His elder sister had been very a placid baby while she was carrying her.’

Bryony smiled. Her mum had just given her the perfect opportunity to broach the subject foremost in her mind, so she took her courage in both hands and said, ‘Mummy, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, like forever.’

‘Very well, darling. Let’s go and sit down in the lounge, shall we?’ In the lounge, they sat together on the sofa and Mrs Rose put an arm round Bryony. ‘So what’s this big confession?’

‘Well, actually, Mummy, it’s very hard for me to tell you this and I hope you’re not gonna be cross.’ She screwed up all her courage and it came out in a rush; ‘You see, Mummy, I am a girl. I’ve always known I’m a girl trapped in a boy’s body. Does that sound weird to you?’

Mrs Rose pondered for a moment or two and then said, ‘No. sweetheart, it doesn’t sound weird; you see, I’ve known for some time that you were different from other boys, and I did wonder, Bryony, after what you said a few years ago, if you might indeed be transgendered.’

Bryony’s jaw dropped and she looked wide-eyed at her mum.

‘There’s no need to look like a surprised codfish, darling. If you had been born a girl we were going to call you Bryony. I’m your Mummy, so I know you tend to prefer girlie things, and how you like dressing up when you go to stay with the Farthings. It was Auntie Brenda who told me you had a girl-name when you played dress-up with Penelope. After all, her mummy’s my own identical twin, and both of us have thought of late that there was more girl in you than boy. We actually wondered at one time if you might be gay.’

‘Farah has a friend in America who is trans-wotsit–’

‘–Transgendered, darling–’

‘Transgendered,’ Bryony repeated. ‘She used to be Aron, and now she lives and goes to school as a girl called Nora.’

‘Would you like to go to school as a girl, darling?’

Bryony nodded and whispered, ‘Yes,’ and added louder after a second or two, ‘But not just yet. Maybe I could be a girl at home to start with?’

‘Would you like that, sweetheart?’

Bryony nodded vigorously.

‘We’ll have to see what we can do, then,’ Mrs Rose replied, giving her daughter a hug. ‘Now, shall we go and have our lunch?’

‘Okay, but there’s one more thing I have to tell you.’

‘What’s that, Bryony?’

‘I’ve got, like, two small lumps on my chest that seem to be getting bigger.’

* * *

Our chicken casserole was soooo good. Farah and I really enjoyed it. Auntie had done carrots, peas and mashed potato to go with it. And for pudding Auntie made another of my faves.

‘Oh wow, spotted dick, kew-elle!’”  I squealed as she carried it through from the kitchen.

Spotted Dick

‘Spotted what?’ Farah exclaimed, wide-eyed.

‘Spotted dick,’ I repeated. ‘I lurve it, but some don’t. Netta Salmon in our class calls it potted sick.’

‘Eeeeewwwww,’ said Farah, pulling a face. ‘But I still don’t know what it IS.

‘It’s a traditional British pudding, Farah, and it really IS called spotted dick,’ Auntie explained. ‘I know it sounds a bit strange, and knowing modern slang a bit rude as well. Gaby, would you go and fetch the custard from the kitchen, please. It’s in the willow pattern jug on the counter by the stove. Be careful, poppet, it’ll be hot.’

‘Okay, Auntie.’

‘That smells soooo good,’ Farah was saying as I returned with the custard in its pretty jug.

‘I’ve always liked it, even when they gave it to us for lunch when I was at Tuckton School during the war.’

‘Yeah, Gabs and the guys told me how you came and gave them a talk about it last semester. I guess it was pretty scary with air-raids an’ stuff.’

‘They were terrifying at first, but strange as it may seem, after a month or so of getting them every night, I suppose we became a bit blasé about them. But it was the shortage of food that hurt us most. For us children the worst part of it was that sweets–I think you call it candy–was rationed. We were allowed just a quarter of a pound of sweets per week.’

‘OhmyGod, I’d have hated that,’ Farah said. ‘I’d have died without candy.’

‘Me too,’ I agreed. ‘But what about the doodlebugs, Auntie? They must’ve been really really scary?’

‘Wow, Auntie G, this desert is really great,’ Farah said. ‘What were doodlebugs?’

‘Flying bombs,’ I replied.

‘I suppose they were almost the forerunners of today’s guided missiles,’ Auntie said. ‘They were very scary as we could hear them coming and all we could do was to sit in the shelter waiting for the moment when the fuel ran out and the engine stopped and the bomb crashed on some poor family’s house or a factory or a school.’

‘I sure am glad I wasn’t alive then,’ Farah said. ‘I this dessert is one of the best I’ve ever tasted; the cake bit is soooo light. You’ll have to tell Mom how to cook it.’

We finished our pud and were clearing the dirty crocks to the kitchen when the ’phone rang. ‘I’ll get it, Auntie,’ I said, putting the pudding bowls on the counter above the dishwasher. I hurried to the ’phone and lifted the handset.

‘Hello, nine-four-nine-seven-six-three.’

‘Gaby? This is Bryony. I’ve told Mummy and we’re going to see Dr MacNeish after tea.’

---

 § Mary Rose King Henry VIII’s famous warship–the first ever to be able to fire a full broadside–was finally raised from the mud of the Solent after a long underwater excavation over several years on 11th October 1982. See: http://www.maryrose.org or http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Rose

”¡ Porky: Cockney rhyming slang for a lie.–now used virtually all over England, if not the UK–Porky is a contraction of Porky Pie.
see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhyming_slang

”  Spotted Dick: A traditional English steamed suet pudding containing dried fruit–usually currants and raisins–and normally served with custard.

To be continued…

Thanks are due to Bonzi’s Mum once again for her splendid proofing
and Kaleigh and Annette, my trans-pond teen-girl consultants.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

All comments gratefully received and eagerly perused.

At Aunt Greta’s–
Booby Trap!
by Gabi
Chapter 14 of a Continuing Saga…

We finished our pud and were clearing the dirty crocks to the kitchen when the ’phone rang. ‘I’ll get it, Auntie,’ I said, putting the pudding bowls on the counter above the dishwasher. I hurried to the ’phone and lifted the handset.

‘Hello, nine-four-nine-seven-six-three.’

‘Gaby? This is B-Bryony. I’ve t-told Mummy and we’re g-going to see D-Dr MacNeish after tea.’

‘Oh, Bryony, I’m sooo happy for you. So your mum was okay?’

‘Yes, she was s-s-sooooo k-k-kewl, Gaby. She’s actually s-suspected I might be trans-g-g-gendered for a while.’

‘So you didn’t need to worry about telling her then,’ I replied.

‘N-No, b-b-but I’d never have b-b-been able t-to d-do it without help from you and F-F-F-Farah.’

‘I don’t think we did much, girl. It was you who decided that you had to speak out. All we did was to listen to you and make a suggestion or two.’

‘Mummy th-thinks it would be nice for me to wear g-girls’ clothes when we v-visit the d-d-doctor, so we were wondering if I could b-borrow a sk-skirt and top from you?’

‘No, prob. We’re about the same size and I’m sure there’s something that would suit you.’

‘Thanks, Gaby, you’re a real friend. Mummy’d like to speak to your auntie. Here she is.’

‘Hello, Gaby, it would be so kind if Bryony could borrow something nice to wear when we visit the doctor’s after tea. I’m going to take her shopping, but I can hardly take her to buy clothes wearing her boys’ things.’

‘That would be sooo embarrassing for her, Mrs Rose, so I’d love to lend her something. I’ll just get Auntie for you. Hold on a mo.’ I put the handset down on the table and went to find Auntie. She was loading the dishwasher with Farah handing the crocks to her.

‘Auntie, Mrs Rose is on the ’phone and would like to speak to you. Bryony has told her about herself and they’re going to see Dr MacNeish after tea.’

‘Excellent. Will you finish loading the dishwasher and set it going for me?’ she asked, wiping her wet hands on a piece of kitchen roll.

‘’course,’ I replied as Auntie went to speak to Bryony’s mum.

‘So Bryony told her mom?’ Farah asked.

‘Yeah, and she wasn’t at all surprised. She wants to borrow a skirt and top for their visit to the doctor.’

‘That’s great; Bryony’s gunna be sooo cute when she can be her real self. Maybe they’ll go to the mall to get her some cool gear of her own.’

We finished loading the dishwasher, set it going and then went through to the sitting room where Auntie was just replacing the ’phone handset on its rest.

‘Helen Rose is bringing Bryony round in about twenty minutes,’ she told us, ‘and your mum is coming round as well, Gabs. Now, girls, why don’t you go and change out of your school uniforms and put on something more informal. Your dad left a sports grip containing a change for you, Farah; it’s up in Gaby’s room.’

* * *

We scampered upstairs to my room to change. Farah’s grip was on my bed; she unzipped it and pulled out her camo Bermudas. ‘Those Bermudas are sooo kewl,’ I said, looking enviously at them.

‘You can borrow them if you like and I’ll wear something of yours,’ she offered.

‘Wow, could I? Are you sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure; I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.’

‘So what’d you like to wear of mine?’

‘Could I borrow your plaid skirt?’

‘Plaid?’

‘You know, Scotch check.’

‘Oh, tartan. Yeah, sure. Actually it belongs to my cousin Kate who lives in Scotland. She left it behind after she stayed last time.’

We had changed and were going back downstairs when the front door bell rang. ‘That’ll probably be Bryony and her mum,’ I said.

I opened the door to Bryony and Mrs Rose; Bryony was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a polo shirt which clearly showed her budding booblets. With her hair in a high ponytail she certainly looked more girl than boy. ‘Come in,’ I said. ‘Wow, you look really nice, Bryony.’

She smiled, gave me a hug and said, ‘Thanks, but I’d feel comfier if I was wearing a skirt rather than these boy jeans. Wow, your camo shorts are sooo kewl.’ This was a new, non-stammering, more confident Bryony, sounding like the girl she truly was inside.

‘They’re Farah’s,’ I replied. ‘She let me to try them to see if I like them. I’m hoping Mummy’ll buy me a pair.’

‘She looks real cute in them, doesn’t she, Bryony?’ Farah added as Mrs Rose followed her daughter into the hall.

‘Gaby dear, it’s so kind of you to agree to lend Bryony a skirt for our visit to the doctor,’ Mrs Rose said as I held the sitting room door open for her.

‘That’s all right, Mrs Rose. I’m glad I can help. I realise she won’t have anything of her own yet, so is there anything else she’d like to borrow, like undies? I’ve got several brand new pairs of knickers I haven’t worn yet if that’d help.’

‘I w-was w-wondering ab-bout that,’ Bryony answered, her nervous stammer returning. ‘It w-w-would b-b-be s-so emb-b-barrassing t-to und-dress in f-front of the d-d-doctor if I was wearing b-b-b-boys’ ones.’

‘I’m sure Dr MacNeish wouldn’t mind,’ Mrs Rose remarked. ‘She’s very understanding, you know.’

‘But I-I-I’d f-f-find it emb-b-barrassing, Mummy.’

‘They’re brand new, still in their John Lewis packet,’ I said.

‘In that case, Gaby, thank you; it really would help a lot,’ Mrs Rose admitted. ‘We’ve got to go to John Lewis anyway, so we’ll replace them as soon as we’ve been there.’

At that moment Auntie came in from the kitchen. ‘Hello, Helen,’ she said. ‘Is Gabs taking care of you?’

‘Yes, she’s being really helpful, Greta.’

‘And you must be Bryony,’ Auntie said, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘You’re a very pretty girl, my dear.’

‘Thank you, Miss Chambers,’ was the polite reply.

I glanced up as I heard the sound of a latch-key being fitted in the lock of the front door, so I went to investigate; the door opened to reveal my mum.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, opening her arms and offering me a hug. ‘What’s that you’re wearing?’

‘Hi, Mummy,’ I replied, throwing my arms round her and giving her a hug. ‘Farah’s Bermudas; she said I could borrow them coz I said how kewl they are. She’s wearing Kate’s tartan skirt. Mrs Rose and Bryony are in the sitting room with Auntie and Farah.’

‘Hi, Mrs Chambers,’ Farah chirped as we joined everyone in the sitting room. ‘Glad to see you again.’

‘It’s nice to see you again, too, Farah. My, that tartan skirt suits you. How was your first morning at an English school?’

‘It was real neat. I enjoyed it.’

‘Hello, Bryony,’ Mummy said. ‘Your mum said you’re going to see Dr MacNeish later and you’re going to borrow a skirt from Gaby.’

‘If I may, please, Mrs Chambers.’

‘Of course you may,’ Mummy replied, ‘and I think Gaby could spare you a pair of her knickers; we bought rather a lot at John Lewis recently, so I’m sure there are still some that she hasn’t worn yet.’

‘Gaby’s already offered us a pair, Peggy,’ Helen Rose replied. ‘I must say she’s a very thoughtful girl.’

‘She’s always been a good girl, even if she was rather too much of a tomboy,’ Mummy said, winking at me. ‘Take Mrs Rose and Bryony up to your room, poppet, so they can choose a nice skirt and top for Bryony to wear to the doctor’s.’

* * *

Up in my room I showed them what I had, and Mrs Rose held several things up against Bryony before anything was tried on.

‘So, which do you like, darling?’ Mrs Rose asked.

Bryony was standing in front of my long mirror holding my knee-length denim skirt to her waist. ‘I think I’ll go for this skirt–it’s nice and swirley–with a pink top,’ she replied.

‘Which pink top?’ I asked.

‘This one,’ she replied, picking up the pink short sleeved blouse that Auntie had bought for me at Next. ‘It’s pretty and I like the butterflies on it.’

‘Okay,’ I said. I’ll leave you with your mum and you can get changed.’

‘Oh, Gaby,’ Mrs Rose said. ‘What about panties?’

‘Oops sorry, Bryony,’ I said, and keeping a straight face added, ‘You must have wondered if I thought your name was Nicholas!’

Mrs Rose looked at me blankly; Bryony also, for about one second, then she exploded into a giggle fit which was so infectious I couldn’t help giggling too. Mrs Rose continued to look at both of us blankly.

‘Mum-meeee, honestly,’ Bryony exclaimed, ‘You are sooo thick sometimes. Nicholas–knicker-less, without any knickers on?’

At last Mrs Rose smiled. ‘Oh, yes, darling, I get it now. Very clever, Gaby, well done.’

I pulled open my knicker drawer and took out an unopened pack of panties. ‘Here you are, Bryony, choose whichever colour you fancy. Oh, and I’ve got a spare pink scrunchie that goes nicely with that blouse; you can have that as a prezzie if you like.’ I went to my dressing table and took the pink gingham scrunchie from one of the drawers and handed it to her.

‘Thanks, Gaby,’ Bryony replied. She had already opened the panty packet and taken out–you’ve guessed it–a pink pair.

‘How about socks?’ I asked seeing she had bare feet in her brown sandals. I fished out a pair of white knee-highs and passed them to Mrs Rose.

‘Thank you, Gaby,’ she said as I opened the door to return downstairs. ‘You have been such a help.’

‘No prob.,’ I replied. ‘I’m glad I could help.’

‘Did she find something she liked?’ Farah asked as I re-entered the sitting room.

‘Yes. A denim skirt, my nice swirley knee-length one, and the pink blouse Auntie bought me at Next.’

‘That sounds very suitable, and sensible,’ Mummy said. ‘She’ll find it easier with a slightly longer skirt until she’s used to wearing them.’

‘She’s worn girls’ clothes before,’ Farah said. ‘She told us that she often wore them when she stayed with her cousin in the country.’

Shortly afterwards we heard hurrying feet coming downstairs and Bryony entered, grinning broadly. She looked really good and there seemed to be nothing boyish about her. Budding booblets pushed out the pink cotton of the blouse and the denim skirt came to within an inch of her knees.

‘Oh wow,’ Farah exclaimed. ‘We meet the real Bryony at last. You are just sooooo cute, girlfriend. Give us a twirl.’

Bryony twirled, and I was sure it was not the first time; her skirt flared giving a glimpse of thigh and her ponytail swung out jauntily.

‘You look amazing, Bryony,’ I said, then added, ‘Doesn’t she, Mummy?’

‘Quite a transformation,’ Mummy remarked, just as Mrs Rose came in. ‘Helen, I must congratulate you on having such a beautiful daughter.’

‘I must say, I’m surprised because I’ve only seen one photo of her in girls’ clothes. She’s the spitting image of her cousin Penelope–my twin sister Brenda’s girl–they could easily be twins.’

‘Penny and I were born the very same day, so we’ve always thought of ourselves as twins,’ Bryony added.

‘I think your cousin Penney would be rather pleased if she could see you now,’ Helen Rose told her daughter. ‘The last time we visited the Farthings she whispered to me that she wished you had been born a girl.’

‘But I was born a girl, Mummy, except I got the wrong body. Penny always told me I’m more like a girl than a boy.’

‘Well, you sure don’t look like a boy,’ Farah said, ‘and you’re so much cuter than my friend Nora back home in the States.’

‘Really?’ asked a blushing, beaming Bryony.

‘Yeah, really. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. Everything about you screams G-I-R-L, Girl.’

‘Farah’s right,’ Auntie Greta added. ‘You are a very pretty girl, Bryony.’

‘Thank you,’ replied the brightly-blushing, beaming Bryony.

‘And now,’ Mrs Rose announced, ‘Before your head becomes so swollen due to all these compliments, I think we should be going, because I would like do some shopping for some more clothes for you before we go to see Dr MacNeish. Thank you, Gaby and you Peggy for helping us out; we appreciate it very much.’

‘That’s no problem, Helen,’ my mum replied. ‘We are only too pleased to have been able to help, haven’t we, Gabs?’

‘’Course,’ I said. ‘And good luck at the doctor’s, Bryony.’

‘Thanks, Gaby–for everything,’ Bryony replied, giving me a hug. ‘And you too, Farah.’

‘You’re welcome, girlfriend,’ Farah replied. ‘You take care, do you hear?’

We all went to the door to see them off and Farah and I escorted them out to their car. Bryony got in the front very elegantly, sitting down first, then swinging her knees round to preserve her modesty. We waved them goodbye as Mrs Rose drove off and then returned to the house where Farah and I went back up to my room. Everything had been left neat and tidy.

‘I hope everything goes okay for Bryony when they visit the doctor,’ I said. ‘It’s not going to be easy for her pretending to be a boy at school and only being a girl at home and the weekends.’

‘Nora stayed as a boy at school until the summer vacation and started at school as a girl in the fall, after spending the whole summer as a girl, full time. She had quite a lot of problems at the start of the semester with a lot of unkind remarks and teasing. She was tearing up all the time until the bullies got tired of it.’

‘Poor girl,’ I sympathised. ‘Bryony even gets teased as Bryan, just because he’s rather girlie, so when she eventually comes to school as Bryony it’s gonna be really hard for her to start with.’

‘Well, us girls'll just have to do all we can to help her,’ Farah replied.

* * *

‘Do your seat belt up, sweetie,’ Helen Rose said as Bryony slammed the car door shut.

‘Aren’t we too early to go to the doctor’s?’ Bryony asked.

‘Don’t you remember I said we were going shopping first. You can’t keep wearing Gaby’s things, so we have to get you some girl clothes of your own.’

‘But s’pose someone from school recognises me dressed like this? They’ll tell everyone that they’ve seen me out shopping wearing a skirt and top and I’ll be dead meat.’

‘Don’t worry, darling, I don’t think anyone would give you a second glance; you look just like any other eleven-year-old girl. Anyway, we’re not going to our normal shopping centre; I thought we’d go and see what the new Westlands Retail Park on the other side of town has to offer.’

‘Okay, then,’ Bryony agreed, feeling easier in her mind.

It only took fifteen minutes to drive there. Helen Rose parked the car and the two of them headed for the shops. ‘We can’t be too long, Bryony sweetheart, as we have to be at Dr MacNeish’s surgery at five fifteen, but we’ve time to get you your own undies and a few other things.’

‘Do you think I should have a bra?’ Bryony asked. ‘Both Gaby and Farah wear them.’

‘Yes, I think you should. I was surprised how much your breasts had developed. You should really wear one all the time; you’d find it much more comfortable.’

‘But, Mummy, I can’t wear one to school if I’m going on being a boy there for a while; everyone would notice it and laugh at me, ’specially boys like Wayne Bates.’

‘Maybe we could get you some sort of crop top to wear like a vest,’ Helen Rose replied, thinking out loud. ‘That probably wouldn’t show under your shirt. Come on, let’s go in here.’

Bryony looked at the shop name and knew her mum usually bought her own undies from a branch nearer to home. They headed for the girls’ department where they were greeted by a sales blonde assistant. She was, Bryony thought, about thirty and quite pretty for such an old lady.

‘Good morning, ladies, how may I help you,’ the assistant said, showing a friendly, if toothy smile; her name tag said she was called Pearl White.

‘We’re looking for my daughter, Bryony’s, first bra,’ Helen Rose stated.

‘You have such a pretty name, Bryony, and very suitable for so pretty a girl,’ Pearl White said, flashing her sparkling gnashers. ‘Your first bra, eh? A very important day for every girl, honey. I can remember when my mum took me to be measured for my first bra. If you and your mummy would like to follow me, we’ll see what we can do for you.’

Bryony felt herself blushing as she followed Ms White into the fitting room. She looked at her mum and smiled, earning a reassuring squeeze of the hand in response.

‘Would you like to measure her, madam?’ Ms White asked, offering the tape measure she had hanging round her neck, ‘or would Bryony be willing to let me do it?’

Bryony blushed and her mum said, ‘I think I’d better do it, Ms White. She’s a bit shy yet.’

‘Of course she is,’ replied the assistant, smiling sympathetically at Bryony. ‘Just call me back when you’re ready, and please call me Pearl.’

‘We will, Pearl. Right, darling, let’s see what size you need,’ Helen Rose said as soon as Pearl had closed the cubicle curtain. ‘Please unbutton your blouse.’

Bryony fumbled with the buttons, not being used to them fastening on the girls’ side. ‘Do you want me to take it right off, Mummy?’ she asked.

‘It would make it much easier to measure you, so yes please.’

Bryony complied and her mother was astonished yet again at how well developed her “son” was in the breast department. ‘Right darling let me check your bust size; below the bust first; now breathe right out,’ she said as she put the tape round Bryony. ‘This is surreal; I never thought I’d be measuring my son for a bra, she’s bigger than I was at her age,’ she thought as she checked the measurement. ‘She must have quite a high Oestrogen level. I’ll have to ask the doctor to give her a thorough check.’

‘Ooh!’ Bryony squeaked, ‘the tape’s cold.’

‘Now just hold still a minute, sweetie.’ Helen Rose tightened the tape round Bryony’s chest under her bust. ‘Can you remember twenty-seven inches, honey?’

’27. Okay. Is that it?

‘No I have to measure you around your bust now. Arms up so I can put the tape round you again.’

‘It’s still cold, and my–err…’ she dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘nipples are tingling.’

Helen Rose noticed that they had stood up. ‘Soon be done, lovey. Now let me see that’s twenty-eight inches. There, that was easy, wasn’t it? Put your blouse on again now.’

When Bryony was “decent” they called Pearl back.

‘Under her bust, 27 inches and round the bust, 28 inches,’ Mrs Rose reported.

‘That will be a 32A she needs,’ Pearl said. ‘I’ll go and get some for her to try.’

‘Nothing fancy,’ Bryony said, dreading what might appear.

‘Don’t worry, hon, first bras are usually quite plain, made of cotton–and usually white,’ Pearl told her. She heard Bryony let out a sigh of relief as she left to find what was wanted.

When Pearl returned she had an armful of bras. ‘This is the one most girls choose,’ she said, flashing her gnashers and showing Bryony something that, to her, looked rather like two triangular handkerchiefs joined together with bits of tape or ribbon. ‘They come in a pack of two; would you like to try one on?’

Bryony glanced at her mum and nodded shyly.

‘I think that looks very suitable so we’ll take that,’ Helen Rose said. ‘Do they only come in white?’

‘No, they also come in pink,’ replied Pearl. ‘If Bryony would like to put one of these on, I’ll fetch a pink pair for you to see.’

Helen Rose showed to Bryony how to put her bra on and, as soon as Bryony had managed to do it, had a look at her “daughter”. ‘Well that looks just right, sweetheart; you fill it better than I thought you would. Is it comfy?’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ she replied, looking at herself in the mirror. ‘They hold them up quite well and they won’t jiggle so much when I run.’

‘I wish you’d told me about that before, darling.’

‘Well it was a bit embarrassing,’ confessed Bryony. Then suddenly her face lit up; ‘I’ve just thought–’ she giggled– ‘a bra is a sort of booby trap!’

‘I never thought of them like that,’ chuckled her mum.

‘Can I come in?’ asked Pearl from outside the cubicle.

‘Okay,’ Bryony replied, surprising Helen.

‘That looks like a perfect fit; is it comfortable?’

‘Yes, very,’ was Bryony’s instant reply. ‘Please may I leave it on, Mummy?

‘Of course,’ replied Mum. ‘Put your blouse on again and we will see the new you. Are those the pink ones, Pearl?’

‘Yes, Madam.’

‘We’ll take those too, and do you do packs of knickers?’

‘Yes, Madam, six in a pack in white or assorted pastel colours.’

‘We’ll take a pack of each.’

‘Thank you, Madam.

Bryony had finished putting her blouse on and was gazing at her image in the mirror. ‘Let me look at you, Bryony,’ Helen said. ‘Good gracious me, sweetie, you really have a good shape now. Do you like it?’

‘Ooh, yes, Mummy. ‘I feel sooo much better now.’

‘You’ll have all the boys falling in love with you now, Bryony,’ Pearl told her.

’OhMyGod, I hope not!’ Bryony thought, thinking about Heal Letwind, Master Bates and their mates. ‘That’s the very last thing I want!’

Before going to see Dr MacNeish, they had time to visit New Look to buy a few tops and two skirts, a pair each of girlie jeans and shorts, two dresses, also some socks and tights and two pairs of shoes.

When they had put all their purchases in the boot of the car, Bryony gave her mum a hug. ‘Thank you, Mummy,’ she said, ‘for helping me to be me. Now I’ve got my own things I’ll be able to let Gaby have her skirt and blouse back.’

* * *

Helen Rose got in the driving seat, closed the door, fastened her seat belt and started the engine.

‘So, are you pleased with your new wardrobe, honey?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Mummy,’ came the reply. After a few seconds she asked, ‘Mummy? what d’you think the doctor will do to me?’

‘I don’t think she will do anything much. Mostly she’ll want to talk to you and ask why you think you’re a girl. The only thing she’ll do will be to give you an examination and take some blood so it can be sent to be tested.’

‘Where will she take it from? My botty?’

‘No, darling, she’ll take it from your arm.’

‘Does that mean she has to cut me to make me bleed?’ asked an anxious-sounding Bryony.

‘She will insert a special sort of hypodermic into the vein in your arm and take it that way.’

‘You mean like an injection thingy?’

‘Yes, darling.’

‘But I hate having injections–they hurt.’

‘When I was your age, I tried not to look and often found I had been injected without my realising it. Anyway, Dr MacNeish is a very skilful doctor and she has never hurt me when she has taken a blood sample. So just be a brave girl and it will soon be over.’

‘Okay, Mummy, I’ll try,’ came the almost-whispered reply.

‘Good girl,’ said Mummy, momentarily taking her left hand off the steering wheel and patting Bryony’s knee.

Twelve minutes later they arrived at the doctor’s surgery. Helen parked the car and they walked hand-in-hand to the surgery entrance. As soon as they were inside, the receptionist looked up.

‘Mrs Rose and Bryan–ee? she said, making a hasty correction. Bryony blushed.

‘Yes. We have an appointment with Dr MacNeish.’

‘If you’ll take a seat in the waiting room, you’ll be called when the doctor’s ready for you and your daughter.’ The receptionist smiled at Bryony and mouthed, ‘Soreee!’

Bryony smiled back.

‘Your daughter is very pretty, Mrs Rose.’

‘Thank you, she is, isn’t she,’ came the reply as they headed for the waiting room.

They didn’t have to wait long, and about five minutes later they heard, ‘Bryony Rose to go to Dr MacNeish in Room one,’ over the P.A. system. Bryony reached for her mum’s hand and received a squeeze.

‘Fingers crossed?’ Mummy asked.

Bryony nodded and held up her other hand and showed her as they knocked on the doctor’s door.

‘Come in,’ called a voice from inside.

* * *

Dr MacNeish pushed her computer keyboard towards the rear of her desk and stood up as her patient entered.

‘Come away in,’ she said. ‘So this is Br-r-ryony.’ In spite of the fact that had lived in England for many years, she still had a noticable Scots intonation and r-r-r-rolled her “Rs” like many Scots “exiles”. ‘Well if I didn’t know you had a hidden wee secret, I’d never-r have known you wer-ren’t bor-rn a wee gir-rul to look at you.’

Byrony beamed at her. ‘Th-thank you d-d-doctor,’ she replied hesitantly, showing she was somewhat nervous.

‘Now, then, Mum, I’d like to have a wee wur-rud with Br-ryony on her own for a wee minute or two, if that’s all right with yew?’

‘Of course, doctor. I’ll wait in the waiting room.’

‘So, Bryony,’ Dr MacNeish, said as Helen closed the door, ‘Come and sit down over here.’

Bryony sat down, smoothing her skirt under her as she did so and looked expectantly at the doctor.

‘Now, my dear, tell me all about yourself; how long have you felt you are a girl in a boy’s body?’

‘I’ve known I’m a girl for almost as long as I can remember. I have a cousin, Penny–she’s exactly the same age as me, almost to the hour–who I often stay with her in the hols, and we always played dress-up games. From the first time I wore girls’ things, I knew that was what I should always be wearing. They just felt so right.’

‘Let me see, Penelope is your mum’s twin sister–Mrs Farthing’s wee gir-rul?’

‘Yes, doctor,’ replied Bryony. ‘Poor Penny gets teased a lot coz of being called Penny Farthing, so at her school she insists that everyone calls her Penelope. She got sooo fed up with jokes about being a bike.’

‘I bet. So you discovered you were more comfortable wearing girls’ clothes. Was there anything else that made you think you were a girl?’

‘Well, at school I’ve always preferred chatting and playing with the girls; I seemed to fit in with them and think like they did. Boys seemed so rough in the games they played. I wished sooo much I was a girl like them. It was sooo unfair that I was born into the wrong body. I’ve always had to pretend to be a boy, even though I’ve known all along that I wasn’t one.’

‘I see. So tell me, have you ever told any of the girls at school about being born into the wrong body?’

‘I never dared say anything until I discovered that Gaby had been pretending to be a boy so she could be like her brother, Tim. Though why she should want to be a BOY I just don’t understand.’

‘So you told Gaby. Does anyone else at school know your wee secret?’

‘Yes, one other girl, Farah Way; she comes from America and has a transgendered friend at the school she used to go to over there. It was she and Gaby that said I should tell Mummy. I’d never said anytyhing to her coz I thought she’d be upset.’

‘Was your mum upset when you told her? Or surprised?’

‘No, she’s been sooo kewl about it; she said she had been sort of expecting it like, for a long time and I’d thought she was going to go ballistic.’

‘So you were surprised?’

‘Yes, coz I had never told her about dressing up at Penny’s, but she had a picture of me in a dress from last summer hols. I suppose that if Auntie Brenda’s her twin they share secrets.’

‘Twin sisters nearly always do.’

‘Actually, Penny and I think of ourselvces as twin sisters.’

‘So Penny knows about your being a girl too?’

‘’Course she does. She knew as soon as I did an’ I didn’t have to tell her; she just knew.’

There was a moment’s silence and then Bryony asked, pensively, ‘Doctor MacNeish, do you think I’m transgendered?’

‘I think you could be,’ came the reply, ‘but I still want to do some medical checks, because it could be something else.’

‘Does it have a name?’

‘It does, but we won’t know until we do those checks. You might be what is called intersexed, which means that you could be neither a boy nor a girl, but something in between.’

‘But wouldn’t I have a Priscilla as well as a Percy?’

‘Not necessarily. I’ve read of cases where someone had both sets of sex organs, both male and female, but the female ones were all sealed up inside.’

‘Wow! P’raps I’m like that.’

‘It’s possible but don’t put too much hope on it. Is there anything else, you want to ask?’

‘I don’t thiiiiiink so,’ Bryony replied hesitantly.

‘Okay, then shall we ask your mum back in so I can examine you?’

‘’Kay.’

Dr MacNeish pressed a button on a microphone on her desk and said, ‘Mrs Rose, would you please return to room one now.’

There was a knock and Helen came in. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ replied the doctor.

‘So is she transgendered?’

Highly probably, from the answers she gave me, but she’ll have to see Dr Sienna Knutter at the GID clinic before we can be certain.’

‘So what happens now?’ Helen asked.

‘I will examine her, take some blood for tests and a swab from the inside of her mouth for a chromasonal check. There is a strong possibility that she might, and I stress might be intersex. Bryony will you go inside the curtained-off cubicle and undress down to your undies? Call when you’re ready.’

‘Yes, doctor,’ replied Bryony, disappearing behind the curtains.

‘Ready now,’ came the call about twenty seconds later.

‘That was quick,’ Mummy said, accompanying the doctor into the cubicle.

‘Sit on the bed, dear,’ the doctor said, ‘and take off your bra.’

Bryony glanced at her mum who nodded. She fumbled behind her back for the hooks and eyes that fastened it, and took it off. The doctor’s eyebrows shot up.

‘I’m just going to check your breasts,’ she said, gently squeezing Bryony’s booblets.

‘Good gracious, they're more developed than I would expect with a case of gynaecomastia,’ she said. ‘How long have you been wearing a bra, Bryony?’

Bryony thought for a few seconds then replied, ‘About an hour and a half.’

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ replied Helen Rose. ‘We only bought it this afternoon.’

‘And not before time,’ said the doctor. ‘It must have been uncomfy for you, Bryony?’

‘They did jiggle about a bit.’

‘I’m sure they did,’ replied the doctor. ‘Okay, put your bra back on, dear, and drop your panties, please.’

‘Hmmm,’ said the doctor as she felt around Bryony’s crotch. ‘Okay, dear, pull them up again. All that remains is to to take a blood sample and a swab from inside your mouth. I’ll do the swab first. Open wide.’

‘You sound like the dentist,’ Bryony said.

Dr MacNeish took the swab. ‘Now I have to put on my Dracula hat,’ she said.

‘Can I shut my eyes,’ Bryony asked. ‘I hate needles.’

‘Of course you may,’ the doctor replied, tightening a strap round Bryony’s upper arm. ‘Hold still now. I’ll tell you when to open them again.’

Dr MacNeish pushed the cannula into Bryony’s arm, then took two samples in the plug-in vacuum phials.

‘All done,’ she said, removing the cannula and pressing a wad of cotton wool to the place it had been inserted. ‘Right then, get dressed again and wait outside while I have a word with your mum.’

* * *

‘What did she say?’ Bryony asked as they drove away from the surgery.

‘Well, she’s asked for an appointment for you with Dr Sienna Knutter, and she’ll let us know the results of your blood and saliva tests in a few days. Oh, and she said for your age your willie was about the smallest she'd ever seen.’

At this, Bryony blushed. ‘Oh! So, does she think I’m transgendered?’

‘She said you were either that, or you might possibly be intersexed.’

‘So that means I might really be a girl?’ said Bryony happily.

‘Possibly,’ Helen replied, ‘and she said you don’t appear to have any testicles, so she’s going to arrange a hospital appointment for you to have a catscan as soon as she's seen the results of your blood tests.’

At this latest news, Bryony’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

To be continued…

---

Thanks are due to Bonzi’s Mum once again for her splendid proofing
and Kaleigh and Annette, my trans-pond teen-girl consultants.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

If you have enjoyed this chapter I hope that you will vote for it
by clicking the Vote Box at the top of the page.
All comments will be gratefully received, eagerly perused
and stored away for future reference.

For a Very Special Girl on her birthday–I hope you’re having a wonderful day, poppet

At Aunt Greta’s–
Farah, Bryony & The B.B.C.
by Gabi
Chapter 15 of a Continuing Saga…

We waved them goodbye as Mrs Rose drove off and then returned to the house where Farah and I went back up to my room. Everything had been left neat and tidy.

‘I hope everything goes okay for Bryony at the doctor’s,’ I said. ‘It’s not going to be easy for her having to pretend to be a boy at school and only being a girl at home and the weekends.’

‘Nora stayed as a boy at school until the summer vacation started,’ Farah told me, ‘and started school as a girl in the fall after spending the whole summer vacation as a girl. She had plenty problems at the beginning of the semester with a lot of unkind remarks and teasing. She was tearing up all the time until the bullies got tired of it.’

‘Poor girl,’ I sympathised. ‘Bryony even gets teased as Bryan, just because he’s rather girlie, so when she eventually comes to school as Bryony it’s gonna be hard for her.’

‘Well then, us girls’ll just have to do all we can to help her,’ Farah replied. ‘I’m sure we could recruit some of the other girls

‘We’ll have to ask Bryony’s permission before we say anything to anyone else,’ I replied. ‘She might not want anyone else to know about her just yet. If she agrees, I think we could ask Angela, Kristal, Juniper and Lacey to come in on the Bryony Buddy Corps; they were the ones I told first when I decided to be myself. If they joined us, that would make six of us.’

‘The Bryony Buddy Corps,’ Farah repeated. ‘The B.B.C., that’s neat, kinda real cool sounding. I like it.’

‘We can’t do anything until we’ve spoken to Bryony. It will be very hard for her having to be Bryan at school and Bryony the rest of the time. The ones we’ll have to watch out for are John Thomas, Willy Philpot and the Android.’

‘Yeah, boys like that always have cooties, Eeewwww!’ Farah replied.

‘Cooties?’ I queried.

‘Yeah, you catch cooties from monkeys like those three.’

‘But what are cooties? Something like nits, you know, head-lice?’

‘Well sorta, but they’re a bit like germs. So, f’rinstance, if a boy we think is icky–the Android, say–touches a table, and I saw you about to touch the same table, I'd say, “Watch out, Gaby! That table’s gotten Android’s cooties on it!” and everyone will cross their fingers to ward off the cooties.’

‘So if boys have cooties, what do we have?’

‘They think we have cooties, but of course we don’t unless we’ve caught them from a boy.’

‘Do all boys have cooties?’

‘No, only the icky ones,’ was Farah’s answer.

‘I wonder how Bryony’s getting on at the doc’s?’ I remarked.

‘Maybe she’ll ’phone when she gets home,’ Farah replied. ‘Then we could ask her what she thinks about the B.B.C.’ She looked round the room. ‘This isn’t your regular bedroom, I guess.’

‘No, I’m only here while Tim is plagued; he’s got scarlet fever which is kinda catching. I’ve only got a few things here.’ I looked towards my small collection of Barbies on the chest of drawers.

‘Those Barbies are yours?’ Farah asked. ‘I’ve gotten a huge collection of them, but most of them are back home in the States coz there wasn’t room to pack them all.’ She stood up and went to look and picking one up exclaimed, ‘Oh wow, you’ve gotten a pregnant Midge. You’re sooooo lucky. Mom tried to get me one, but they were taken off sale coz some stupid old-fashioned nuts thought she would make all us girls want to get pregnant before getting married. Some people can be real dumb.’

‘I was lucky to get her; she was given to me by a friend who had two and let me have her spare one. Actually I don’t have many girlie toys; Tim and I have a model railway that we’ve built in the attic at home. He does all the train bits and I build the scenery and the houses; I love building them and fitting them out with furniture and people inside. They are the nearest thing to having a doll’s house I have.’

‘That is just sooo cute. It’s real cool to be creative.’

‘When Auntie G was a girl she had a fabulous doll’s house,’ I said, remembering playing with it on one of my trips back to 1944. ‘I wonder what had happened to it. It might be up in the loft, as she has lots of her past stored up there. Remember I said about finding her old Tuckton uniform up there?’

‘Wow, I’d love to have a look up there,’ Farah said.

‘We’ll ask her after tea,’ I replied.

At this point I heard Mum calling from downstairs so we went to find out what she wanted. ‘I’m going back home now as Mrs Tate will have to go home to cook her evening meal, and Tim will be wanting his tea. Enjoy school tomorrow, I’ll see you both again soon and as soon as Tim is bug-free we’ll have a party.’

‘That would be real cool, Ms Chambers,’ Farah said, ‘then I’ll be able to see the model railroad that Gabs has been telling me about.’

‘Yes, it’s rather special and I’m very pleased with what my clever children have created,’ Mum replied proudly. ‘Now, I must dash. ’Bye, Farah, ’bye, sweetheart.’

‘’Bye, Mum, give Timmy my love.’

‘Yeah, mine too, Ms Chambers. ’Bye,’ added Farah.

* * *

Auntie G provided us with a scrummy tea which we ate outside in the back garden. It was a lot different to how it was in 1944 when I was last in that year, and the mound that had been the Anderson shelter was much smaller and was now a rockery filled with Auntie’s special alpine plants. I wanted to tell Farah about it but was not sure how to bring it up without making her suspicious. Then I had a brain waggle.

‘Auntie, where used the air-raid shelter to be when you were a little girl?’

‘Over there, Gabs, where the rockery is, but it was a higher mound then because the shelter was underneath it. What made you think of that suddenly?’

‘Well, I was thinking of that day last week when we were up in the loft looking for a wedding prezzie for someone, and we found all your old school uniform and things and we dressed up in them on and pretended we were back in thee war, and had a wartime recipe from your mum’s old 1942 recipe book.’

‘That was fun, wasn’t it,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should do it again, and maybe you, Farah would like to try on the spiffing clothes we had to wear when I was your age.’

‘Oh wow, Auntie Greta, that would be sooooo neat,’ came the reply. ‘Gabs pointed out some of the school photos from your time that are hanging in Assembly. We found you in one of them but the bell rang and we had to go back into class. Gabs looks just like you did then.’

‘Perhaps it was Gaby standing in for me,’ Auntie said, giving me a wink.

‘You mean like she had travelled back in time like Dr Who?’ said Farah. ‘Wow, that would be sooooo cool to be able to do that.’

‘Wouldn’t it,’ I added. ‘Then I’d be able to play with that amazing doll’s house you had. Do you know what happened to it?’

I don’t think anything happened to it,’ replied Auntie G. ‘You know how I hate throwing things away, so I think it may still be around.’

‘You mean up in the loft?’ I asked.

‘Maybe, but it’s more likely to be in the storage space over the garage–there are a whole lot of my old treasures up there as well. It’s such a beautiful doll’s house that it seems a pity for it to be up there, when you could have it in your room, Gabs; we’ll have a look over the coming weekend.’

‘Could Farah come and help look for it too?’

‘Yes, could I,’ asked Farah. ‘Pleeease?’

‘Of course, my dear, I’d love you to, if you’ve nothing better to do,’ Auntie replied. She paused for a minute, thinking. ‘I know, I’ll ask your parents if you can come on Saturday at around mid-day, and you and Gabs can have a sleepover together.’

‘That would be absolutely ace, Auntie,’ I exclaimed. ‘What d’you think, Farah? Would your ’rents let you?’

‘That would be sooooo neat. I’m sure Mom and Daddy would let me, unless they have something else planned.’

‘Well, we can ask them when they come to pick you up,’ Auntie G said.

‘Where would Farah sleep?’ I asked. ‘There isn’t a spare room.’

‘I don’t mind sharing with you, Gabs. I’ve shared a bed with other girls back in the States and that bed in your room is big enough for at least three.’

‘I don’t mind sharing with you either, Farah. You’re right about the bed being big, I often wonder if I’m going to get lost in it over night,’ I replied with a giggle.

‘It is big, isn’t it?’ Auntie G added. ‘I too thought it was huge when I was your age; in fact there were several times when I shared it with another girl who had to stay the night for some reason or other.’

‘Who was she, Auntie?’ I asked.

‘Oh there were several; let me think now…’ she paused for a moment, ‘there was Nancy, Winifred…and Freya that I can remember off the top of my head.’

‘I used to have a Great Aunt Freya, she was Mommy’s dad’s–my grandpa’s–elder sister,’ Farah chipped in. ‘I fact Mommy said they were gonna call me Freya, but Grandma said it would be too confusing so I was called Farah instead, coz Daddy was a Charlie’s Angels fan. Great Aunt Freya died in an auto accident about three years ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Auntie said.

‘Me too,’ I added.

‘’S okay,’ Farah replied. ‘Actually I was a bit scared of her; she was very strict and kept on about me being unladylike! She disapproved of virtually everything; when we visited her I had to wear a frilly party dress and she made me stand and recite poetry to her with my hands clasped behind my back.’

‘Eeeewww, gross!’ I said.

‘I bet she’d have forty fits if she saw me on my motorbike,’ Aunt Greta chuckled.

‘That’s for sure,’ Farah agreed. ‘She disapproved of everything and she refused to wear jeans or pants of any sort.’

‘What even knickers, err–panties?’ I asked, wide-eyed.

‘Panties!’ squealed Farah. ‘She thought panties were disgusting, an invention of the devil and only fit for what she called “loose women and street walkers”. Great Aunt Freya always wore bloomers down to her knees. One of my boy cousins used to creep up behind her and ping her elastic. It made her even crosser than she normally was.’ She grinned, Auntie Greta burst out laughing and I giggled.

‘If she was that prim and proper she deserved it,’ remarked Auntie, still smiling. Our glee was interrupted by the ’phone ringing.

‘I’ll get it,’ I said and rushed out into the hall and picked up the handset. ‘Hello, nine-four-nine-seven-six-three.’

‘Hello, Gaby? It’s Bryony.’

‘Oh, hi, Bryony. How did you get on with the doctor? Did she say anything?

‘Yeah, she said that she thinks I’m transgendered like Farah’s friend Nora.’

‘So what happens now?’ I asked.

‘Well, I had lots of blood taken from my arm and that has to be tested, then when she gets the results I have to see her again and then she’ll decide if I should go and see this Dr Knutter lady.’

‘So will you be at school tomorrow?’ I asked.

‘Yes, as Bryan, worst luck. I’ve felt so right wearing your denim skirt, but it’ll be trousers tomorrow.’

‘Bryony, Farah and I have been thinking about your problem and we’ve decided that we want to help you all we can so that when you do come to school as your real self there will be a small group of us girls to look out for you and protect you from the bullying that might happen. We decided it should be called the Bryony Buddy Corps or B.B.C. We both thought that we would ask Angela, Kristal, Juniper and Lacey to come in as well. But it would mean that they would have to know about you being a girl in a boy’s body, and we didn’t want to say anything to them before asking your permission.’

‘I get on okay with Angela, Kristal, Juniper and Lacey, I’ve often played with them and they treat me the same as they treat each other and we often giggle at the same things. I think that’s a kewl idea. Mummy bought me some lovely new clothes, and the doc told me I should wear a bra all the time; I’m going to wear a baggy sweatshirt to keep them hidden as much as possible for now. Mummy says she’ll wash your skirt and top and let you have it at the weekend. I gotta go now, as Mummy’s got my tea ready. Give my love to Farah if she’s still there. ’Bye, Gaby!’

‘’Bye, Bryony. See you at school tomorrow, Bryan.’

I heard her giggle before she rang off. I replaced the handset on its rest and returned to the sitting room.

‘Bryony?’ asked Farah.

‘Bryony,’ I replied, nodding my head.

‘And?’

‘Oh, the doc thinks she’s probably transgendered and wants to see her again next week when the results of the blood tests are back. And I mentioned the B.B.C. and she thinks it’s a kewl idea.’

* * *

Friday at school would be a full day with proper lessons and homework to be done over the weekend. Dr Way picked me up as he had on the previous day and dropped me and Farah at the school gate where Angela, Kristal and Juniper were waiting for us.’

‘Hi, guys,’ they said as we got down from the Cherokee and Bryony-pretending-to-be-Bryan came round the corner.

‘Hi, guys, hi, Bry,’ Farah said, beating me to it by about half a second. I saw that Bryony was wearing a loose and baggy sweatshirt, so she was probably wearing a bra.

‘Come on, Bry,’ I said, following Farah’s example, ‘come and walk in with us. You don’t mind, do you, girls?’

‘What’s this, Gaby?’ asked Kristal, looking at me. ‘Is he your boyfriend or something.’

‘Nothing like that,’ I replied, ‘but all will be revealed to you soon, eh, Bry?’

Bryony nodded and Farah said, ‘Can we meet during recess, and Gabs, Bry and I will explain it to you.’

‘Recess?’ queried Juniper Berry.

‘American for break time,’ I said.

‘’ave you three got some tidy plot you’ve ’atched?’ Angela asked, her voice sounding more Welsh than usual, raising her eyebrows.

‘Not a plot, as such,’ Bryony answered. ‘There’s not enough time to explain now, which is why we decided break time would be better.’

‘And we can get further away from flapping ears,’ I added.

‘I can’t imagine what it’s all about,’ Kristal said.

‘We can’t tell you now, Kristal,’ Farah said, ‘there’s not time, but it sure is something unusual.’

We made our way into school, Bryony peeling off to use the boys’ cloakroom while the rest of us went to the girls’.

‘What’s this all about, Gaby?’ Angela asked.

‘I can’t tell you, it’ll have to come from Bry,’ was my reply.

‘Yes, that’s another thing,’ Juniper chipped in; ‘Both you and Farah have started calling Bryan, Bry. Can you at least tell us why?’

‘Look, Juniper,’ Farah said, ‘If Gabs and I could tell you we would, but we promised we wouldn’t say anything until Bry has told you her–HIMself.’ She blushed pinkly, but luckily Juniper didn’t pursue the matter. However Angela and Kristal were looking very thoughtful.

‘Are you lot coming for registration?’ Kristal asked.

‘I’ll be along in a minute, Kris,’ I said. ‘My hair’s a bit of a mess so I’ll give it a brush.’

‘Okay, come on you three,’ she said to the others. ‘Gaby can catch us up.’

‘I guess my hair’s a bit messy too,’ Farah said. ‘We’ll catch up with you in homeroom–I mean–well you know what I mean.’ She giggled and I grinned at her.

‘’Kay,’ replied Kristal, and she left with Angela and Juniper.

‘Shit!’ Farah exclaimed when they were out of earshot, ‘there’s me sticking my big foot in my mouth.’

‘I don’t think they noticed,’ I said, ‘but I think we should warn Bry-ony.’ The ony was added in a whisper.

‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘let’s go look for her.’

As we left the cloakroom we almost bumped into Bryony. Farah came straight to the point. ‘I’m sorry, Bryony, but I may have put my foot in it. Angela, Kristal and Juniper were trying to give us the third degree about why we were calling you Bry and I said that you would have to tell them yourself, and then I accidentally let a her slip out before I realised it. Soreee.’

‘She covered it up with a him straight away, and I don’t think they noticed,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry,’ Bryony said, giving Farah a hug. ‘I’ll explain everything at break time. Come on or we’ll be late for registration.’

‘Ah yes,’ Farah said in an undertone, ‘Another meeting with our famous form teacher, Ms Tess Tickell,’ and all three of us giggled.

* * *

After registration with Miss Tickell and Morning Assembly, Friday mornings started with maths, or math as Farah called it, so it was her first exposure to Mr Ogg. As he entered the classroom we chanted ‘Good morning, Miss Trogg,’ to which he replied, ‘Good morning, class.’

He stood behind the teacher’s desk and surveyed the scene, looking at each individually in turn as if trying to memorise each one. He stared at the Famous Five sitting together in the back row. ‘ Right,’ he said, ‘Messrs Pratt, Arden, Royde, Thomas and Bates, I think we’ll split you up and then we might just manage to get a bit of work done. So, Master Royde, you will change places with Miss Fortune and sit next to Miss Wood. And I think you, Master Bates, should change places with Miss Green in the second row. You are to sit in these places for every one of my classes; do you understand?’

‘Yes, Miss Trogg,’ said Wayne Bates, purposely leaving a small gap between the two words.

‘Yes, Miss Trogg,’ replied the Android with a cheeky grin; he was only too delighted to be told to sit next to the girl he fancied. Neither Talia Fortune nor Emma Wood looked particularly pleased with the new arrangement. The lesson was mainly revision of what we did at the end of the summer term and Mr Ogg also spent some time with Farah to check what she had learned at her American school.

It was French next and the Famous Five had returned to their own desks before Mademoiselle Leblanc bustled in through the door. We stood up and chanted, ‘Bonjour Mam’zelle Leblanc.’

‘Bonjour, mes enfants. Assayez vous s’il vous plaá®t.’” 

Before we sat down, Farah looked at me and grinned. I grinned back and when I turned to face Mam’zelle again she was staring at me. ‘Gabriel Chambers, pourquoi portez-vous une jupe?’”¡

‘P-pardon mademoiselle? Je ne c-comprends p-pas,’ I stammered hesitantly.

‘Why are you wear-ring a skurt?’ she said rolling her ‘Rs’ in her throat. ‘Répondez-vous en Française s’il vous plaá®t.’ §

‘Parce que je suis une fille, Mademoiselle,’ I replied, knowing I was blushing furiously. ’J’étais tourjours une fille et je m’appelle Gabrielle.’ ¶ I was sure I could feel sweat running down my back.

‘Trés bien, Gabrielle, c’est un nom trés joli français pour une jeune fille.” ”  And your nom de famille, Chambres,”¡”¡ you know what it means?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Mam’zelle, rooms.’

‘Wrong!’ came a voice from the back row, ‘it means potty!’ There was a roar of laughter from the back of the class.

’SILENCE!’ roared Mam’zelle, in a most un-Mam’zelle-like manner. ‘I weel not ’ave such be’aviour in my classes. John Thomas, you will make an apology this instant!’

‘I’m sorry, Miss,’ came the reply.

‘En français s’il vous plaá®t.’

‘I’m sorry, Mam’zelle.’

‘You will repeat after me, “Je suis désolé, Mademoiselle.” § § ’

‘Je swee dayso-lay, Mam’zelle,’ repeated the unfortunate John Thomas.

‘And to Gabrielle also,’ Mam’zelle said in French.

‘Je swee dayso-lay, Gabriel,’ muttered the unfortunate boy.

‘And,’ said Mam’zelle, writing, “Je suis désolé, Mademoiselle.” on the board with a noisy chalk, you will copy this down in your exercise book and write it out for me one hundred times and give it to me before you go home this afternoon.’

‘Yes, Mam’zelle,’ replied the unhappy boy.

‘En français, s’il vous plaá®t.’

‘Oui, Mademoiselle.’

After that the class settled down to some hard work–irregular verbs, Eeeewwww!

* * *

It was a relief when the bell rang for break. Outside, Farah and I called Angela, Kristal, Juniper, Lacey and Bryony together and we went off to a more remote part of the playground where we could sit without being overheard.

Farah started: ‘Bry, here, has a problem, a distressing problem, which Gaby and I have said we will try to help with. This is very serious, so please don’t laugh. It’s all yours, Bry.’

‘Th-thank you, F-Farah,’ said Bryony. ‘Th-this isn’t easy to s-say b-but I-I’ll try. You know how we all thought th-that G-Gaby was a boy but all along she had been a g-girl, p-pretending t-to b-be a b-boy?’

There were nods and murmurs of, ‘yes.’

‘Well, I-I-I am a g-g-girl, b-but b-born into the wr-rong b-body–a b-b-boy’s b-b-body.’ She breathed a sigh of relief at having said it. ‘I’ve known I’m a girl in a boy’s body ever since I was about three years old. I’m what is c-called tr-tr-trans-g-gendered.’

There was silence for a few moments and then Farah spoke. ‘There’s a kid back in the States I know who has the same problem and she now lives and goes to school as a girl. Gabs and I talked to Bryony yesterday and she told her mom, who took her to see the doctor.’

‘The d-doctor took some of my blood,’ Bryony explained, ‘and it’s being tested and she’ll let me and Mummy know the results next week. And there’s something else; I’m g-growing b-b-boobs.’ She raised her sweatshirt and her small bust showed through her cotton shirt. ‘The doctor says I should wear a bra.’

‘You have bigger ones than me,’ Kristal said. ‘Lucky you.’

‘Not lucky if she has to try to look like a boy. Did Farah call you Bryony?’ Juniper asked.

‘Yes, that’s how I’ve always thought of myself,’ came the reply. ‘I hate being called Bryan as it reminds me of what I am not, so could you call me Bry in front of the other guys, and maybe when we’re together you can call me Bryony.’ She then described how she had dressed up with her cousin Penny, and how much more natural she felt in girls’ clothes. ‘When I went to see the doctor yesterday, I borrowed a skirt, top and some knickers from Gaby, and Mummy took me shopping for my own clothes before we went to the doctor’s, so at least I can be a girl at home until I’m able to be one full time and come to school as Bryony Rose.’

‘And that’s where we want some help from you, guys,’ I said.

‘The idea of this meeting,’ explained Farah, ‘is to ask if you four will join Gabs and me in the B.B.C.–the Bryony Buddies Corps–so that she will have some friends to look out for her and support her when she eventually comes to school as Bryony.’

‘That’s a tidy idea,’ Angela said, ‘And I’ll certainly do all I can to ’elp. It must be proper terrible for you, Bryony, to know you ’ave the wrong body.’

‘It all seems a bit weird,’ Lacey said, ‘but if it’s true I’d be happy to help.’

‘I’ve always thought you were too girlie for a boy, Bryony,’ Kristal added, ‘so it’s not really very surprising, and one does read in the papers about such things.’

‘Will you have a sex-change?’ Juniper asked.

‘If the doctors decide I am t-transg-g-gendered, I’ll have an operation when I’m older. I’m not allowed to have it till I’m eighteen.’

‘Please don’t tell anyone else,’ Farah said. ‘Keep it to ourselves for Bryony’s sake.’

‘Yes, please do,’ Bryony said, ‘or I’ll be dead meat.’

‘Let’s all join pinkies and pinky-promise together,’ Angela suggested, ‘and wish success to the B.B.C.’

We heard the bell ring for the end of break, so we quickly hooked our pinkies together and promised to keep Bryony’s secret, then got up and walked back to our classroom, feeling something had been achieved to make things easier for Bryony when the time came for her to be her true self.

After break we had English and history and then it was time for lunch. During the pre-lunch break we six got together again and Bryony told us some more about herself. At lunch we all sat together. It was fish pie and peas which was quite good and apple pie and cream for pudding which made Farah feel very much at home, ‘Even if it’s not quite like Mom makes,’ she said.

Our afternoon lessons were biology, then we had art and finally PE. Bryony had been given a note by the doctor excusing her so she went to the library to start on her homework.

Dr and Mrs Way arrived in the Cherokee to collect Farah, and I was about to walk home with Bryony, when we were told to hop in and they would drop us off at our respective homes.

* * *

We dropped Bryony off at her house and then went on to drop me off. ‘We have a little surprise for you guys,’ Dr Way told us. ‘I have to go to a meeting in Manchester’–he pronounced it Man Chester, as if it was two words–‘tomorrow and Sunday, and Mom wants to come with me, Farah; so your Aunt, Gaby, has agreed that Farah can spend the whole weekend with you.’

‘Oh wow, Daddy, that’s just sooooo cool. Is it one of those important meetings you have to go to?’

Yes, honey,’ Mrs Way replied for her husband, ‘and we won’t be back till Monday, so do you think you’ll manage to walk to school with Gaby okay?’

‘I thiiiink I’ll just about manage to stagger there,’ Farah replied with a giggle.

* * *

After we had done our homework and had our supper it was soon time for bed. After baths we put on our night things and went to bed. Just before we got into bed Auntie brought us a late night snack–a mug of hot chocolate and HobNobs.

‘Ooooh, hot choc and cookies, brill,’ Farah said, grinning at me.

‘We call them biscuits,’ I told her, grinning back.

‘Don’t forget to brush your teeth afterwards, girls,’ Auntie told us.

‘We won’t, Auntie,’ Farah replied for both of us.

‘Don’t be too late putting your light out, will you?’ Auntie said. ‘I’ve got all sorts of things planned for you tomorrow. Night-night.’

* * *

I was wakened by Farah shaking my shoulder. ‘Gabs, wake up! What’s that horrible howling noise?’

Recognising the now-familiar sound of the air-raid siren, I was awake in an instant. ‘It’s an air-raid, I can’t explain now but we have slipped back in time to the second world war and you must call me Greta. This has happened to me before; we've got to get up and go to the air-raid shelter.’

At this moment the door opened, the light was switched on and Mummy was there. ‘Greta, Freya, get up quickly, girls. Put on your underthings, socks, shoes and dressing gowns, bring a blanket and come with me to the shelter immediately. And don’t forget your gas masks.’ She hurried away towards her own room leaving us alone.

Farah, alias Freya looked at me open-mouthed as if I was feeble-starkers-bonkers.

To Be Continued…

___________________________________

”  ‘Bonjour, mes enfants. Assayez vous s’il vous plaá®t.’ Translation: ‘Good morning, children. Sit down please.’

”¡ ‘pourquoi portez-vous une jupe?’ Translation: ‘why are you wearing a skirt?’

 § ‘Répondez-vous en Française s’il vous plaá®t.’ Translation: ‘Reply in French, please.’

 ¶ ‘Parce que je suis une fille, Mademoiselle, J’étais tourjours une fille et je m’appelle Gabrielle.’ Translation: ‘Because I am a girl, Miss. I always was a girl and I am called Gabrielle.’

” ”  ‘Trés bien, Gabrielle, c’est un joli nom français pour une jeune fille. Trans: ‘Very good, Gabrielle, that is a pretty French name for a young girl.’

”¡”¡ nom de famille, Chambres, Trans: family name, Chambers

 § § “Je suis désolé, Mademoiselle.” Trans: “I am sorry, Miss.”

---

Thanks are due to Bonzi once again for allowing his Mum to do her splendid proofing
and to Kaleigh and Annette, my oh-so harassed trans-pond teen-girl-speak consultants.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author–and that includes the French dialogue because her French is very rusty!

If you have enjoyed this chapter I hope that you will leave a comment and
vote for it by clicking the Vote Box at the top of the page.
All comments will be gratefully received, eagerly perused
and stored away for future reference.

At Aunt Greta’s–
Freya and the Doodlebugs

by Gabi
Chapter 16 of a Continuing Saga…

Recognising the now-familiar wailing of the air-raid siren, I was awake in an instant. ‘It’s an air-raid, I can’t explain now but we have slipped back in time to the second world war and you must call me Greta. This has happened to me before; we have to get up and go to the air-raid shelter.’

At this moment the door opened, the light was switched on and Mummy was there. ‘Greta, Freya, get up quickly, girls. Put on your underthings, socks, shoes and dressing gowns, bring a blanket and come with me to the shelter immediately. And don’t forget your gas masks.’ She hurried away towards her own room leaving us alone.

Farah, alias Freya looked at me open-mouthed as if I was feeble-starkers-bonkers.

We quickly got out of bed and discovered we were both wearing old fashioned flannelette nighties.

Farah gawped. ‘OhMyGod, Gabs, what’s happened?’ she hissed, ‘who was that lady and what is that god-awful wailing noise?’

‘That was Auntie G’s mum, but I have taken Auntie’s place so I am now Greta, and she’s Mummy to me; I’m not sure what you should call her, but Missus Chambers should be okay,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t, for goodness sake, call me Gabs. I have to be Greta here. And if what Mummy said is true, I’ll have to remember to call you Freya. The wailing noise is the siren giving an air-raid warning, so Mr Hitler must be sending us one of his Delightful Doodlebugs.’

‘Doodlebugs? What, for chrissakes, are Doodlebugs?’

‘Flying bombs: they’re like small planes filled with explosive and they have no pilot.’

‘Sheesh! This is just sooooooooo weird.’

‘Oh yeah, Freya, another thing about Mummy; she hates bad language and slang–what she calls guttersnipe language–so for goodness sake don’t say OhMyGod or she’ll go totally bananas. It’s the 1940s, remember.’

Freya grinned. ‘Oh my good golly, Greta, I’ll say it is.’ She giggled, and added, ‘oh, wow, just look at these bloomers!’ She held up a rather large pair of pink knickers with elastic at the waist and legs.

‘Lucky you, having pink ones I mean; because of clothes rationing I’ve only got the regulation navy-blue ones I have to wear as part of my school uniform. Come on, hurry up and put them on or Mummy will be back looking for us.’ I lowered my voice to a whisper, ‘I’ll explain it all to you when we get back to our own time.’

‘We will get back, then?’ She sounded a bit calmer.

‘Well, I have every time, so far.’

‘Sheesh, how many times has this happened to you?’

‘Three or four times. I’ve even been to school here as Greta and have a couple of chums, Sue Brown and Judy Wilson.’

‘But nobody called Tess Tickell?’ she giggled as I switched off the light and we hurried downstairs with our blankets and gas masks, trying not to trip ourselves up on trailing bits of blanket.

‘Sssshhhhh!’ I hissed. ‘Mummy might hear.’

‘Mum’s the word!’ she whispered and I giggled.

Mummy was waiting for us by the back door. ‘Have you remembered your gas-masks?’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ I replied, holding up the box which was hanging round my neck. I was glad that I had a proper, “grown-up” sort of gas mask and not one of the Mickey Mouse ones made for children I had seen in a book Auntie G had about the home front during World War 2.

‘Yes, Mrs Chambers,’ Freya answered showing her box as I had done.

‘Now, Freya, don’t forget I told you you could call me Aunt Fanny,’ Mummy said.

‘Sorry, Mrs Chamb…I mean Aunt Fanny.’

Just before Mummy turned off the light prior to opening the back door Freya looked at me and mouthed ‘Fanny?’ and had to clamp her hand over her mouth to stop herself giggling, which nearly set me off.

Using a torch that was hooded so the light could not be seen from above, Mummy led her way across the garden to the Anderson shelter in the corner. Freya was gripping my hand and was clearly nervous, but no more than I was so I was glad she was there. Mummy opened the door of the shelter and stepped down into it. Once we were in too, she lit the candle in the lantern hanging from a hook in the ceiling and turned off her torch.

‘I’ve never seen a flashlight like that one, Aunt Fanny,’ Farah-alias-Freya said.

‘Flashlight?’ Mummy queried.

‘The electric flashlight you used to show us the path.’

‘Oh, you mean my torch.’

‘Yeah. Why does it have a shade thing on it?’

‘So the light is hidden from enemy aeroplanes,’ Mummy replied. ‘Haven’t you noticed that the street lights aren’t turned on, and cars have hooded headlights too. Now, girls, Why don’t you two get in the top bunk, and I will get in the bottom one and you can try to get some sleep.’

‘I don’t think I could,’ Freya-alias-Farah replied. ‘I’m sooo nervous, it’s like my tummy’s full of butterflies; how about you, Ga–reta?’

‘Mine too. I always get nervous in air raids, especially since my best friend, Wendy, was killed when a doodlebug hit her house about a week ago.’

‘That’s tough. I’m sorry. I bet you miss her, don’t you?’

‘We all do in our class at school,’ I replied, remembering what Aunt Greta had told me back in our own time.

We lay down on our bunk and Mummy tucked the blankets round us and soon we were warm as two bugs in a rug. As we lay there, I wondered how long it would be before the raid proper began and how long it would last. Then the anti-aircraft batteries on the edge of the town opened up on the approaching enemy. Then, above the cacophony of the ack-ack guns, I heard it–that droning, crackling, buzzing, rasping noise–getting louder–and louder–and louder–closer–and closer–

Freya hugged me tightly and I did the same to her. ‘Is that noise a doodlebug?’ she asked. ‘It sure is seriously scary.’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Let’s hope it passes over us before it’s engine stops.’ It was coming closer–and closer–I knew it was directly overhead–I felt really-really scared, and we hugged each other even tighter. I prayed silently for it to pass over us.

‘Be brave, girls,’ Mummy said. ‘I think it’s going away now.’

She had barely stopped talking then we heard the engine stop! Freya and I gripped each other even harder as we waited holding our breath. I began counting the seconds as they passed; one–two–three… ten–eleven–twelve–thirteen–fourteen–fifteen–sixteen… and then the explosion came. Freya and I screamed, the ground shook, the candle in the lantern flickered but did not go out. I let the breath I had been holding for so long escape in a rush.

‘Not as close as the last one,’ I said nonchalantly.

‘But still too close for comfort,’ Freya said. ‘Can we go back to the house now, Aunt Fanny?’

‘Not yet, dear,’ came the reply. ‘We have to wait until they sound the all clear. There could be more on the way, they usually come in batches at night.’

‘And these doodlebug things have been coming over every night since 1940?’ Freya asked. ‘It’s enough to put you in a lunatic asylum.’

‘We’ve only had doodlebugs since June this year,’ Mummy said. ‘Before that we had squadrons of bombers but they were mostly flying over us heading for the Midlands–places like Coventry and Birmingham. But after the RAF gained the upper hand over the Luftwaffe we didn’t have many air raids until the buzz bombs”  started coming across.’

As Mummy finished speaking another salvo of ack-ack fire started up.

‘Sounds as if they are busy tonight,’ I said. ‘I’m glad there’s no school tomorrow–’

‘Today, you mean, dear,’ Mummy corrected me; ‘it’s about three o’clock in the morning.’

‘It’s pretty awful having to be alert in school when you’ve been in the shelter most of the night,’ I added.

‘Aunt Fanny, is there anywhere I can go to the bathroom?’ Freya asked.

‘Is it urgent, dear,’ Mummy asked.

‘Yes, it is rather,’ came the reply.

‘There’s a chamber pot in the corner for emergencies. Can you manage on that?’

‘I guess,’ Freya said. ‘It won’t be the first time.’

‘Nor the last, dear, I’m sure,’ Mummy replied. ‘There’s a roll of lavatory paper by it.’

‘Thanks.’ Freya untangled herself from me and climbed down. Mummy shone the torch to show her the potty and we turned away while our guest pulled down her knickers and settled her bottom on it.

It was at this point that the next doodlebug began to make its presence known.

‘Eek!’ squealed Freya in panic. ‘What shall I do?’

‘Well, if I was in your place, my dear, I’d finish my business and think of America,’ Mummy replied, making Freya giggle.

Meanwhile we could hear the buzzing of the doodlebug getting louder and louder–and louder and closer and closer. Freya let out a sigh of relief and I heard her tearing some loo-paper off the roll. About ten seconds later she was back up on the top bunk and snuggling close to me.

‘Geez,’ she whispered in my ear, ‘I thought I was gonna die sitting on the potty.’

I had a sudden thought which made me giggle and whispered to her, ‘If you had died on the potty, you’d have passed in two ways at once!’

She thought for a few seconds and suddenly began to giggle as she whispered back, ‘OhMyGod, Gab–reta, I’d never have thought of that, you can be sooo funny.’

‘What’s the joke, girls?’ Mummy asked from down below: thank goodness she hadn’t heard what I’d whispered, or I’d have been for it.

‘Just a silly joke, Mummy.’

The doodlebug buzzed overhead (we hoped) and at least a minute elapsed before we heard the engine cut. After the explosion, which didn’t shake us as much as the first time, we both let out a sigh of relief.

‘I wonder if that one got anybody,’ Mummy said. ‘I think it may have gone beyond the town and crashed out in the country; they do sometimes.’

Ten minutes later the all clear sounded and we trooped indoors and back to our room. As soon as we put the light on, Freya saw the doll’s house. ‘Wow! That’s gorgeous; we must play with it tomorrow,’ she said, as we removed our surplus clothes and Mummy appeared to tuck us in.

‘Try to get some sleep, dears, or you’ll feel dreadfully tired by breakfast time,’ she said, giving each of us a kiss.

‘We will, Mummy,’ I replied as she headed towards the landing, switched out the light, closed the door and left us in the dark.

‘G’night, Gabs,’ Farah whispered. ‘That was some experience and I don’t think I want to do it again.’

‘Me neither,’ I replied. ‘G’night.’

* * *

Auntie Greta wakened us at half past seven. ‘Come on, sleepyheads, it’s a lovely sunny morning,’ she said pulling back the curtains.

‘Oh, Aunt Fanny,’ Farah said, shielding her eyes. ‘That’s much too bright.’

Auntie G stopped in mid-pull; ‘You called me Aunt Fanny. That’s what Freya used call Mummy, so I suppose you two have been gallivanting through time together.’

‘I guess,’ replied Farah. ‘OhMyGod, Auntie G, how did you put up with all the Nights of the Dreaded Doodlebugs? When the second one came over I was weeing on the potty.’

‘Were you now? Very interesting. That clears up an ancient mystery that I’ve wondered about for many a long year.’

‘Really?’ I said. ‘What happened?’

‘Well one Saturday morning when Freya was staying the weekend, Mummy asked me to go out to the shelter and fetch the potty and empty it on the compost heap. The thing was that neither Freya nor I could remember anything about the raid there must have been that night. So it was your wee I had to empty that morning was it, Farah?’

‘I guess,’ Farah replied, blushing. ‘Sorreeee. Is there something I can do for you by way of recompence this morning?’

‘Don’t be a silly girl,’ Auntie replied, ‘but neither Freya nor I could remember anything about it.’

‘Actually, it was an interesting experience,’ Farah said, ‘although I did squeal when we heard the second doodlebug coming and I was sat on the potty. I asked Aunt Fanny what to do.’

‘And your mum replied,’ I said, taking up the story, ‘“Finish your business and think of America, I would suggest, dear.” I was surprised ’cause I’d never heard her make a joke like that before.’

‘Oh, Mummy could be a very witty lady at times, Gabs,’ Auntie replied. ‘Now, there’s one thing I would like to say to you both. Don’t go around telling everybody you’ve been doing a Dr Who act. They won’t understand it and will think you’ve both gone what you, Gabs, call “feeble-starkers-bonkers”.’

‘I nearly died when your mom said to call her Aunt Fanny,’ Farah told Auntie G. ‘You know what fanny means in the States?’

‘Bottom, or backside,’ Auntie replied, ‘but here in England it is much worse: here it is a slang word for vagina, or what Gabs calls a front bottom!’

‘What I don’t understand is how it happened,’ Farah said, ‘travelling back in time, I mean. Do you think like, your big bed is acting sorta like the Tardis?’

‘It’s an idea and it could be,’ I agreed, ‘except the first time I slipped back I was having tea in the sitting room with Auntie. We had both dressed up in World War two clothes, me in her old school uniform and she in one of her mum’s old wartime dresses and suddenly I found myself having tea in 1944 with her mum. I ended up doing her homework for her and not doing it very well.’ ”¡

‘I thought you did it splendidly,’ Auntie G protested. ‘I only got into trouble because I couldn’t explain what I, or rather you meant by ”well cool”.’

‘But I also smudged the line I ruled; when I said, “Oh barley-sugar” I got a tongue lashing from your mum for using guttersnipe language.’

‘Hmm. That sounds just like Mummy.’

‘I saw your awesome doll house in your bedroom,’ Farah said. ‘But we never had a chance to look at it coz your mom wanted us to go straight back to bed after the air raid.’

‘So we’d better see if we can find it, shouldn’t we?’ Auntie G asked.

‘Yes pleeeease,’ Farah pleaded.

‘That would be well kewl,’ I agreed.

‘In that case, my dears, when you get dressed I suggest you wear something old.’

‘I’ve got my old boy jeans,’ I said, ‘but they are way too big in the waist now.’

‘Don’t worry, Gabs,’ Farah said, ‘you can wear them as hipsters and show your panties above the waistband. It’s the fashion now, but I guess Aunt Fanny would go bananas.’

‘Mummy,’ Auntie G observed, ‘would go bananas, as you put it, if she saw either of you girls wearing anything but skirts or very occasionally shorts on a very informal occasion.’

‘OhMyGod, I’d just DIE if I wasn’t allowed to wear pants,’ Farah said. ‘Say, Gabs, d’you have an old pair of jeans I could borrow?

‘I’m sure I do, but they’ll be boy’s ones too.’ I replied. ‘I never had any girls’ clothes until recently.’

‘Wow, you really were a tomboy, weren’t you?’

‘Not really,’ I said, and taking my courage in both hands, ‘I was a BOY!

‘But, but, you’re a girl, just like me with boobies and things. So what happened?

‘Well, the first time I went back to 1944 I was actually a boy, but I was wearing Auntie’s old school uniform. Actually that day I had two trips back, the second one just before dinner, Auntie had made a Woolton pie and I slipped back to lay the table for her mum and meet two school friends who asked about our homework. I had to go to the loo and discovered that my, err–crotch was a “willie-free zone”, it having been replaced by a front bottom.’

‘Oh–my–good–God,’ she said slowly, separating the words. ‘Didn’t you want to like just DIE?’

‘Actually, no. I was quite pleased, ’cause I had discovered I really felt right in girls’ clothes and had told my mum earlier in the day. You see I used to be like Bryony–a girl in a boy’s body.’ I went on to explain about returning during the night for another air raid. ‘Next morning when I woke up I had to dress and go to school as Greta. I had a terrible tummy ache and it turned out I had started my first period. I was sent home to bed with a sanitary towel and went to sleep in the bed. When I woke up later in the day I was back in the present and still a girl on her period. Mummy’s a nurse and she examined me down below and then took me to see the doctor. I’ve been a girl ever since.’

‘Wow, talk about a baptism of fire. I’ll bet you were just sooooooo shocked.’

‘Yes, because I had these terrible tummy cramps. I’m soo glad it’s finished.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘Well, dears,’ said Auntie G. ‘Best foot forward, as Mummy used to say. Don’t bother with a shower now, as we’re all certain to get filthy in the garage loft space, so you can shower together afterwards–that is if you don’t mind showering with an ex-boy, Farah!’

‘Gabs has always been a girl as far as I’m concerned, just like Bryony. Say, that’s an idea, couldn’t we try to get her back to 1944 and she might change like you did, Gabs.’

‘Yeah, but I might change back, or YOU might turn into a boy.’

‘EEEEWWWWW! Then I’d have cooties!’ Farah exclaimed, crossing her fingers.

* * *

After what Mummy calls a lick and a promise we dressed quickly in old jeans and tees; Auntie had suggested that I let her shorten the legs of my old patched jeans to convert them into capri trousers, and apart from the crotch coming half-way down my thighs because of the waistband sitting on my hips–showing the top of my knickers–they looked quite good. Farah borrowed another pair of my old boy-jeans which didn’t fit her too badly.

After doing our hair we went down to find out what Auntie had got for our breakfast: cereal, boiled eggs, and toast soldiers. I spread my soldiers with Marmite, watched by Farah who wanted to know what it was.

‘Try a bit,’ I said cutting off a small piece of a soldier for her to try. ‘I think it goes really-really well with a boiled egg.’ I dipped the rest of the soldier in the runny yolk of my egg and bit into it. Mmmmm, absolute heaven!

Farah bit tentatively on the piece of Marmited soldier. ‘Wow, that’s real nice,’ she said. ‘may I have some, please, Auntie?’

‘Of course you may, dear, but spread it very thinly,’ Auntie advised, ‘or it will kill the taste of everything else. I seem to remember that Freya used to like Marmite and I often wondered if she ever managed to get it when she eventually returned to the States.’

‘I never saw it in any of the food stores we used Boston,’ Farah replied.

‘Well it’s a bit of British thing,’ Auntie G said; ‘I know you can get Marmite in New Zealand, and Australia has something similar called Vegemite. I don’t know if it’s available in Canada.’

As soon as she had spread one of her soldiers thinly with Marmite, she dipped in into the yellow yolk of her egg, then bit off the yolky end of the soldier and closed her eyes. No sound came from her for a moment or two and then there was a contented and appreciative, ‘Mmmmmmm.’

‘You like?’

‘I like,’ came the reply after she had chewed and swallowed.

* * *

After we had cleared up the breakfast things and put them in the dishwasher, Farah and I went upstairs to tidy our room before we went out to the garage with Auntie to look for her old doll’s house.

Farah said, ‘This room’s hardly any different than it was in–’ she paused, ‘–what year was it?’

‘1944,’ I replied.

‘Wow! That’s before even Mom and Daddy were born,’ she said.

‘And my Mum,’ I added, ‘but I think my dad might have been born just after the war. He was a lot older than Mummy.’

‘That’s where the doll house used to be,’ Farah said, pointing to a chair beside my chest of drawers. ‘I sooo hope we find it, it was real neat.’

‘So do I. I had one chance to play with it for a few minutes on one of my previous visits.’

‘This time-travel thing is sooo weird,’ Farah stated. ‘If it hadn’t happened to me I’d have said you were just plain crazy.’

‘Why d’you think I kept mum about it until I found the two of us there. The first time it happened to me I thought I’d gone bonkers. Talking about keeping mum, there was a poster about careless talk which said, “Be like Dad, keep Mum!” in case there were any Jerry spies around.’

‘Okay, Gabs, don’t worry; I won’t say anything. C’mon, let’s go see if Auntie G is ready for us.’

We found Auntie downstairs; she had on jeans and the long-sleeved top she used when cutting back undergrowth in the garden. Her hair was covered by a headscarf.

‘There you are, girls,’ she said. ‘You you’ve dressed just right.’

‘We’re wearing pairs of my old boy-jeans,’ I said. ‘And coz she has been time travelling with me I have told her how I used to be a boy and somehow got changed.’

‘I’m just glad I didn’t change into a boy,’ Farah said. ‘’That would be sooooo AWful! And I can’t imagine what Mom and Daddy would say if that happened.’

‘You realise you can’t tell your parents–or anyone else.’

‘Sure. They’d think I was what Gabs calls “Feeble-Starkers-Bonkers”.’

‘I’m sure they would,’ chuckled Auntie. ‘Okey-doke, lets go and look for my old dolls’ house; I must say I quite excited at the thought of seeing it again. But first, you ought to cover your hair as it’s a bit mucky in the garage loft and it’s bound to be cobwebby, and I don’t suppose you like cobwebs in your hair.’

Farah and I looked at each other and said, ‘Cobwebs, EEEEWWWW!’ in unison.

This made Auntie giggle before she said, ‘I’ve brought a couple of head squares for you to tie on. They’ll keep the worst off your hair and you can have a shower and wash your hair before lunch.’

When we entered the garage we saw that Auntie had already opened the wide trap-door in the ceiling and poked a ladder through it. ‘I’ll go up first,’ she said, ‘as I know where the light-switch is. Are you all right with ladders, Farah? I know Gabs is.’

‘No prob., Auntie G,’ she chirped. ‘I helped Daddy decorate our house back home during our Easter break and I was up and down ladders all the time.’

When Auntie had stepped off the top of the ladder and switched on the light, Farah climbed up next, with me close behind. The floor was boarded and there were several items I presumed to be furniture up there, but I could not distinguish what they were as they were covered with dust-sheets.

As she looked round, Farah gasped. ‘Wow, this place is amazing–Eeeww, a cobweb’s stuck to my nose!’ she exclaimed, brushing it away with her hand.

‘I did warn you, dear,’ Auntie said, lifting up dust-sheets to find out what was hidden beneath and on finding an old trunk that looked more like a pirate’s treasure chest added, ‘I wonder what’s in here?’

It was more of her clothes from when she was our age including school stuff. ‘These summer frocks might do you, Gabs,’ she told me. ‘The style’s very similar and they’re pure cotton and will be much more comfy and cooler that the synthetic fibre that’s used today.’ She closed the lid. ‘Ah! now THAT looks promising.’ She lifted a dust-sheet a bit further along.

It was the dolls’ house, looking almost as good as it had “last night” in 1944. We all knelt down in front of it and Auntie slipped the catch so she could open the front.

‘Oh, wow!’ squealed Farah feasting her eyes on the interior. ‘All that tiny furniture is just soooooo neat and the dining table and chairs look like tiny copies the ones in the dining room here.’

‘They are,’ Auntie Greta told us. ‘My father made them for me before the war.’

‘Wow, kewl,’ I said.

We manhandled–well, girlhandled–the dolls’ house down the ladder and into the house where Auntie supervised us while we carefully spring-cleaned her childhood treasure. She found a tin of what she called antique wax furniture polish which we used to bring a beautiful shine to all the wooden tables and chairs, and we used soft artists’ brushes to dust all the nooks and crannies. By mid-day it was sparkling like a new pin, so Farah and I went upstairs to shower and change.

* * *

After a delicious ham salad lunch, we were wondering what to do when the ’phone rang. It was Bryony who was asking us and the other members of the B.B.C. to go round to her house for tea and talk to her mum.

‘Let me just ask Auntie if it’s okay,’ I replied. ‘Auntie, Bryony’s asked that Farah and I go round for tea this afternoon ’cause her mummy wants to meet the B.B.C. May we go, please?’

‘Of course, dear.’

‘Hello, Bryony, Auntie says we can come. What should we wear? I asked. ‘Best or comfortable?’

‘Oh, comfortable,’ came the reply down the line. ‘Anything you like wearing. I’m gonna wear a skirt and top ’cause I want to get used to wearing them and I feel more myself in them, but if you want to wear jeans or shorts that would be fine.’

‘At the moment I’m wearing a denim miniskirt and a yellow tank top, and Farah’s in a red skort and a pink tee. Will those do?’

‘That sounds really kewl,’ she said. ‘Please would you ring Angela, Kristal, Juniper and Lacey for me ’cause I don’t have their ’phone numbers.’

‘’Kay, Bryony, no prob. What time should we come?’

‘Mummy says about half-past three. Is that okay?’

‘’Kay. See you then. ’Bye.’

‘’Bye.’ I heard her hang up the ’phone.

I asked Auntie before ’phoning Angela, Kristal, Juniper and Lacey. Luckily they could all come so we met outside Bryony’s house just before three-thirty, walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

Mrs Rose opened the door for us. ‘Come in, girls, come in,’ she greeted us with a friendly smile. ‘My, don’t you all look pretty. Bryony will be down in a moment, she rushed upstairs in case it wasn’t you.’

‘She’s probably shy of meeting people who don’t know she’s a girl,’ Farah surmised. ‘It was the same with my friend Nora back in the States.’

Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs we looked up and saw Bryony coming down; she was wearing a knee-length light green tiered skirt and a yellow strappy top, which seemed to accentuate her boobs, with white ankle socks and sandals.

‘Oh, hi, Bryony. You look real cute,’ Farah chirped. ‘I like the top.’

‘Wow, Bryony,’ Lacey gasped, ‘Looking at you now, I can’t believe you were ever a boy, you’re so pretty, and I love your outfit. I’ve got a skirt just like that ’cept mine’s mauve.’

‘I was only a boy on the outside, I’ve always been a girl on the inside.’ Bryony replied, as she reached the bottom of the stairs and did a twirl for us, making her swirly skirt flare out.

Juniper, Kristal and Angela each gave her a hug by way of saying, ‘Hi!’

‘You’re looking amazing, Bryony; soooo kewel,’ I told her, able to get a word in edgeways at last. She gave me a big cheesy grin.

‘Well, girls,’ said Mrs Rose, ‘let’s go into the lounge and have a chat, shall we? I want you to explain to me all about your B.B.C. It reminds me of a secret society I had with some of my school-chums when I was your age.’

To be continued…

__________________________________

”  Buzz Bomb is another name for the V1 flying bomb or Doodlebug. It earned the name Buzz Bomb from the awful buzzing noise made by it’s pulse jet motor.

”¡ See Aunt Greta’s Homework. http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/4837/aunt-gretas-homework

---

Thanks are due to Bonzi and his Mum once again for their splendid proofing,
and also to Kaleigh for advice on Farah and Boston
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

Thank you for reading my latest chapter.
If you have enjoyed it I hope that you will leave a comment and
vote for it by clicking Vote Box at the top left of the page.
All comments will be gratefully received, eagerly perused
and stored away for future reference.

At Aunt Greta’s–
A Gaggle of Girls
by Gabi
Chapter 17 of a Continuing Saga…

Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs we looked up and saw Bryony coming down; she was wearing a swirley, knee-length, light green tiered skirt and a yellow strappy top, which seemed to accentuate her boobs, with white ankle socks and sandals.

‘Oh, hi, Bryony,’ Farah chirped. ‘You look awesome,–great top.’

‘Wow, Bryony,’ Lacey gasped, ‘Looking at you now, I can’t believe you were ever a boy, you’re so pretty, and I love your outfit. I’ve got a skirt just like that ’cept mine’s mauve.’

‘I was only a boy on the outside, I’ve always been a girl on the inside.’ Bryony replied, as she reached the bottom of the stairs and did a twirl for us, making her skirt flare out prettily.

Juniper, Kristal and Angela each gave her a hug by way of saying, ‘Hi!’

‘You’re looking amazing, Bryony; sooooo kewel,’ I told her, able to get a word in edgeways at last. She gave me a big cheesy grin.

‘Well, girls,’ said Mrs Rose, ‘let’s go into the lounge and have a chat, shall we? I want you to explain to me all about your B.B.C. It reminds me of a secret society I had with some of my school-chums when I was your age.’

Bryony held the lounge door open for us and we all trooped in. Mrs Rose sat in a large comfy-looking armchair and we ranged ourselves on the two sofas facing her. Angela, Juniper, Kristal and Lacey took the big one and Bryony squeezed between Farah and me on the smaller.

‘So tell me about your B.B.C.’ said Mrs Rose. ‘What does it stand for, apart from British Broadcasting Corporation?’

‘The Bryony Buddy Corps, ma’am,’ replied Farah.

‘So I guess that with the word buddy in it, it was your idea, Farah?’

Farah blushed, and nodded. Bryony gave her a hug.

‘So what gave you the idea for the Bryony Buddy Corps?’ asked Mrs Rose.

‘One of the other kids at my school, back in the States, is like Bryony, and when she started coming to school as Nora–instead of Aron–some of the jocks and dumber kids started bullying, teasing and calling her names; so several of us girls got together to protect and support her.’

‘When Farah told us about Nora,’ I said, ‘we decided that we should do a similar thing for Bryony for when she comes to school as her true self.’

‘Especially after what ’appened to Gaby last week,’ Angela chipped in.

‘What happened to you, Gaby?’ Mrs Rose asked.

I wished Angela had kept her mouth shut. ‘I–I–was…’ I began.

‘Molested, she was,’ piped Angela, sounding more Welsh than usual, ‘by that ’orrible Kenneth Quinn an’ two of ’is big macho mates. And her on ’er period too.’

‘It was all the fault of my stinking brother, Kevin,’ Kristal added with her eyes cast downwards. ‘He told Quinn that Gabs was a tranny–a boy who likes to dress up as a girl.’

Mrs Rose looked shocked. ‘You poor dear, how absolutely appalling. I hope they weren’t rough with you.’

‘When they grabbed me I told them I was a girl, but they wouldn’t believe me,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I kneed Quinn in his gooli…his you-know-whats.’–I felt myself blushing at the word I had nearly said–‘It was three against one and it was all I could think of. At least it made him let go of me ’cause he had to nurse himself…’

‘–That was tidy,’ Angela interrupted.

‘–But the others grabbed me; Dick Head held me while Ray Gunn pulled down my–’

‘How absolutely revolting,’ Mrs Rose exclaimed. ‘Boys are such savages these days. I hope something is being done about them.’

‘Well, just as Gunn was pulling my err–knickers down, my aunt arrived on her motorbike and they got the shock of their lives. Head bolted for it, but Auntie had Gunn in an arm-lock and Quinn was still clutching himself in agony. Soon after that the police turned up.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Mrs Rose, ‘but they’ll probably get off with just a ticking off and told not to be naughty boys again.’

‘They’ve been, like suspended from school,’ Kristal said. ‘I’m just glad Mummy grounded Kevin before he could go and join in what he thought would be such jolly fun. Honestly, boys are sooooo pathetic.’

‘I bet Kevin’s glad too–NOW,’ Lacey added. ‘Why is it that are boys so stupid? D’you think they have more than a single brain cell in their heads? Ooh, I bet his friends will be piss–oops, sorry, Mrs Rose–at him.’’

‘Well it seems that the three who molested Gaby must have had something barely the size of an amoeba up there,’ Mrs Rose said with a smile. Then, looking serious again, added, ‘Surely they must have known there would be consequences. This incident makes me worry about Bryony’s safety.’

‘That’s why we have formed the B.B.C.’ Farah said. ‘After what Gaby suffered when they thought she was a boy, we thought that if Bryony was to start coming to school as a girl she could be bullied like my friend Nora in the States. If we girls stand up for her, I guess other girls, and maybe some boys will join in our group.’

‘There are a few decent boys in our year,’ I remarked. ‘Michael Heard and Philip Atlee for example.’

‘Yeah,’ said Angela, ‘It’s a good thing Phil Atlee’s not a bully.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Lacey, looking puzzled.

‘Well,’ replied Angela, ‘surely you’ve heard the old saying, “Phil Atlee will get you everywhere”!’

A groan came from most of us and Mrs Rose looked bemused.

I had a sudden thought and proclaimed, ‘Intimidation is the severest form of Phil Atlee.’

‘That’s tidy,’ said Angela, giggling.

Mrs Rose grinned.

‘I don’t understand,’ complained Juniper. ‘Phil’s a nice boy; he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘We didn’t say he wasn’t a nice boy, Juniper,’ said Farah. ‘Gabs said it was a good thing he wasn’t one of the bullies, then Angela and she mangled some well-known sayings like “Flattery will get you everywhere”.’

‘Oh, I seeeeee,’ said Juniper after a short silence. ‘Phil Atlee sounds a bit like flattery.’

‘I wonder if Phil Atlee collects stamps?’ asked Bryony.

‘I’ve no idea, darling,’ Mrs Rose replied to her daughter. ‘Whatever made you think of that?’

‘His name,’ replied a giggling Bryony.

‘His name? What d’you mean, darling,’ asked Mrs Rose.

‘Oh, Mum-mee! Think about his name–Phil Atlee.’

‘Yes, darling, I was,’ replied Mrs Rose, still looking perplexed; ‘but I still don’t see why being called Philip Atlee has anything to do stamp collecting.’

We girls just looked at each other and grinned. Some mothers!

‘And now, girls,’ continued Mrs Rose, ‘shall we go through to the dining room where Bryony and I have laid out a tea-party. You can explain more about the B.B.C. while we eat.’

It was a delicious tea with hot-buttered crumpets, dainty sandwiches, brown bread and butter and strawberry jam (my fave) and then a gorgeous cake with pink icing on it and finally strawberries and Cornish clotted cream.

During tea, Farah had mentioned how we spent the morning searching for Auntie’s old dolls’ house in the garage loft so, natch, everyone wanted to come and look at it. I gave Auntie a quick ring to ask if it was convenient for an invasion of girls to come and inspect her treasure, and she said it was and would we like some tea?

‘We’ve only just finished a huge tea, Auntie,’ I explained, ‘and there will be seven of us.’

‘Seven?’

‘Yeah–Farah, Bryony, Angela, Kristal, Lacey, Juniper and little me.’

‘That’s quite a gaggle,’ replied Auntie.

‘Are you saying we’re like geese, Auntie?’

‘No, you silly wee goose, of course I’m not,’ she replied with a chuckle. ‘Bring your gaggle round and play with the dolls’ house to your hearts’ content. It will be so nice to see it giving children pleasure again.’

‘Okay, Auntie, we’ll be round in about half an hour.’ I replaced the ’phone on its rest and returned to the other room.

* * *

As we approached Auntie’s house, Farah was waxing lyrical about the dolls’ house. ‘It’s just sooooo cute,’ she was saying, ‘and Auntie Greta told us that her dad made a lot of the miniature furniture for it and that he copied it from some of the pieces in their house.’

‘That’s right.’ I confirmed. ‘Auntie still has the dining table and chairs and loads of other things, including the bed I sleep in–which was hers when she was a girl.’

Farah looked at me and grinned: ‘It’s gargantuan–a real giant of a bed,’ she remarked. ‘Gabs and I shared it last night and there was still enough room for one or two more. The doll house has a miniature version of it.’

‘And there’s even a tiny potty underneath it,’ I added. ‘It’s got flowers all over it.’

‘A doll’s gazunder?’ chirped Juniper. ‘But how sweeeet.’

‘I hope it’s empty,’ Bryony chipped in.

‘Bryoneeeee!’ said Lacey pulling a face. ‘Eeewwww, dolly poo and wee–that’s sooooo disgusting.’

We all grimaced and then fell into a fit of the giggles. Two ladies walking towards us looked askance as if we were all feeble-starkers-bonkers and quickly crossed the road to the other pavement in case we had something contagious they could catch if they came too close, which made us giggle all the more. We were still giggling as I opened the front gate. As we walked up the path to the house, Auntie opened the door to greet us.

‘Welcome, girls,’ she said as we trooped up to the door. ‘So you’ve all come to see Esmeralda’s house.’

‘Esmeralda?’ I queried.

‘Yes, Esmeralda; didn’t I tell you my favourite doll was called Esmeralda? I called her that after seeing the film of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, with Maureen O’Hara playing Esmeralda to Charles Laughton’s Quasimodo.’

‘Did you have a Quasimodo doll too?’ asked Bryony.

‘I don’t think there was such a thing,’ Auntie replied. ‘My Esmeralda wasn’t really meant to be her. It was just that I liked the name and she was a redhead which made her look like Maureen O’Hara.’

‘Would you have liked to be called Esmeralda?’ asked Kristal.

‘When I was your age, yes, because I used to think it was such a glamorous-sounding name. Mind you, if I had been given that name I would’ve wanted to change it in my teens, and today the idea of being called it, fills me with horror.’

‘I don’t think I’d wanna be called Esmeralda either,’ Farah stated. ‘It seems kinda un-cool. I wonder where it came from?’

‘I believe it was Spanish originally,’ replied Auntie G. ‘Something to do with emeralds.’

‘That makes sense,’ Angela said. ‘I like emeralds; Mummy has a fab emerald ring–it’s really tidy.’

‘You and your tidy,’ said Auntie G.

‘Well, everyone says tidy in Cardiff,’ Angela replied in her sing-song Welsh accent. ‘It’s, like, the same as kewl only different.’

‘That’s tidy,’ said Farah with a grin and Angela stuck her tongue out at her.

‘So I suppose unkewl would be untidy?’ queried Lacey.

‘I never thought about that,’ admitted Angela, ‘but I suppose it could be.’ She frowned. ‘Hey, Lacey, look yur you, you’re not takin’ the Mickey, are you?’

‘No, Angie, ’f course I’m not,’ Lacey replied hastily.

‘Well, girls,’ Auntie said, ‘You’d better go and see Esmerelda’s House. I’ve set it up in Gaby’s room. Be careful with it, won’t you; it’s very precious to me.’

‘We will, Auntie,’ I said, leading the way upstairs. As soon as I opened my bedroom door, I saw Esmerelda’s House was set up in the same place it had occupied in 1944–next to my chest of drawers. As each of my friends saw it they would gasp and utter a series of ‘Wows, Kew-elles, Awesomes,’ and a couple of ‘Tidys.’

‘Wow, Gabs, that’s totally like, amazing,’ gasped Juniper. ‘Would you mind if I brought my kid sister, Holly, round to see it sometime?’

‘No prob.,’ I replied. ‘What year’s she in now, year six?’

‘No, five,’ came the reply. ‘Logan’s the one who’s in year six. Mind you I reckon he’d like to see it too.’

I looked at Auntie and, noticing an amused smirk on her face, guessed she was thinking about the names Mr and Mrs Berry had chosen for their children which set me wondering what they would have chosen had they had another baby; would it be Rasp, Blue, Black, Cran or Goose? I had to stop there as, offhand, I couldn’t think of any other types of berry and suddenly I realised Kristal was asking me something.

‘May we see inside please?’ she asked.

‘Sorry,’ I said, coming back down to earth, ‘I was away with the fairies.’ I knelt in front of it and unhooked the two catches that held the two halves of the front shut and swung them open wide.

‘Oh, wow-wee, Gaby,’ gasped Lacey. ‘It’s like sooooo awesome. You’re really-really lucky to have something like this.’

‘It’s not mine,’ I replied hastily, ‘it’s Auntie G’s.’

‘It’s the perfect size for Barbie,’ Bryony said. ‘Did you have any Barbies when you were a girl, Miss Chambers?’

‘Good gracious me, no. I had mainly soft dolls–stuffed with some sort of wadding or sawdust. Mummy made some of them and others came from the toyshop. Sadly they suffered from moths. Barbies never appeared in the shops until the 1960s by which time I was grown up and much too old for them.’

‘I think we’re really too old for them, too,’ said Juniper, ‘but I really love my Barbie c’lection, and of course I share it with Holly who’s not yet nine.’

‘How about Logan?’ giggled Lacey.

‘Logan’s not into dollies,’ replied Juniper.

‘Not even Action Man?’ asked Bryony.

‘Actually he has about four of them,’ replied Juniper, ‘and you’re right, Bryony, Action Man is a dolly–a boy dolly.’

‘–With cooties,’ I added.

‘Look, there’s the gazunder,’ Kristal squealed joyfully.

‘It’s just like the one we used to keep in the air-raid shelter,’ Auntie G replied. Farah nudged me and when I looked at her she grinned.

‘Good ’eavens,’ exclaimed Angela, ‘did you actually ’ave a wee in the air-raid shelter? Couldn’t you have used the outside loo?’

‘We could have done, but what if a doodlebug fell on the house while one of us was in there?’ Auntie replied. ‘Ah, that’s the front door bell.’

She headed downstairs, leaving us playing with Esmeralda’s House. I could hear happy voices coming from downstairs and wondered who had arrived. I didn’t have long to wait before finding out, because there was a knock on the door and a gruff voice I recognised instantly said, ‘Is like, my sister in here?’

‘Tim-meeee, darling!’ I squealed joyfully, leaping to my feet and nearly knocking Bryony over in the process. ‘Are you all better now?’ I rushed to him and gave him a bear hug.

‘Hi, Gabs. Yep, all germ free now. Wow, you look like, amazing; and your hair–it’s grown so long.’

‘Careful, Gabs,’ Farah warned me, ‘remember he’s a boy and boys have cooties!’

‘Timmy doesn’t. If he did he’d be ringing a hand bell and calling out, “Unclean! Unclean!” Timmy, this is my new friend, Farah Way from the USA; she’s in year seven with us. Farah, this is my big brother, Timothy Chambers Esquire.’

‘Hi, Farah, Mum told me a bit about you.’

‘Hi, Timothy Chambers Esquire,’ said Farah, holding out her right hand. ‘I sure hope you don’t have cooties.’

‘None at all; the doctor examined me all over and she said like I was a cootie free zone.’ He looked around the assembled company. ‘Help, I seem to be like outnumbered–’ he counted our heads, ‘–seven to one. Wow, Gabs, you’re so pretty. If I wasn’t your brother I would, like, fancy you.’

‘Thank you, brother dear,’ I replied, thrusting out my A-cup chest at him.

‘Is that all you?’

‘All me. No padding at all,’ I replied proudly. ‘So you’re like all better now? No strawberry tongue?’

‘Nope. All mended,’ he replied and then stuck out his tongue for inspection.

‘Eeewwww,’ said Lacey, throwing up her hands in mock horror.

‘So what are you all doing up here,’ Tim asked.

‘Lookin’ at Miss Chambers’ wonderful dolls’ ’ouse,’ said Angela.

‘Auntie G, Farah and I rescued it from the loft over her garage,’ I explained.

‘I suppose that now you’ve got that to play with, Gabs, you’ll not want to do anything more for our model railway layout.’

‘Don’t be silly, bruv,’ I told him. ‘Girls are allowed to like model railways too; anyway, I love making models with you.’

‘And we all want to like, see it, too,’ said Angela.

‘And me,’ said Bryony.

‘Oh, hi, Bry–ony,’ Tim said. ‘Mum said something about you; you look really nice and I think you’re being very brave, so if you get bovver from the likes of that ape Quinn, just let me know, okay?’

‘Thanks, Tim,’ Bryony replied, beaming at him.

‘We’ll have to make you a member of the B.B.C.,’ said Lacey, and seeing my brother frown, added, ‘–the Bryony Buddy Corps.’

‘I’ll explain about it to you, Tim,’ I said. ‘It’s like, only in case Bryony comes to school as herself–instead of being Bryan.’

‘So she doesn’t suffer what Quinn did to Gabs,’ Kristal explained.

‘And the teasing like, she got on the first day,’ Angela added. ‘Some of the boys were rotten the way they be’aved.’

‘Yes, I owe that great lumbering oaf one for what he did to you, sis.’

‘Well he’s suspended from school at present: Ray Gunn and Dick Head too,’ I said.

‘I’d like to suspend all three of them from something else,’ Tim said, grimly. Looking at him he seemed different from how he had last time I saw him–the day he went off to scout camp about four weeks earlier–stronger, more determined and more of a man.

‘My brother Kevin like, could have been in trouble too,’ Kristal told him, ‘but Mummy had grounded him ’coz she heard him telling Quinn stories about Gabs on the ’phone.’

‘You mustn’t blame Kevin,’ I said. ‘I must take some of the blame for pretending to be a boy for so long. He thought I really was a boy.’

‘I think we all did,’ Lacey added. ‘You made a very realistic boy you know, Gabs.’

‘Complete with cooties?’ asked Farah.

‘Yep, complete with cooties,’ I agreed, grinning.

‘Eeewwww!’ exclaimed Farah, but giving me a hug all the same. ‘Just as well you’re a girl then, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ I replied, giving her a grin.

‘Well then,’ Tim said, ‘are you guys gonna let me see this superb-looking dolls’ house? How come I’ve never seen it before?’

‘It was put away up in the garage loft,’ I replied. ‘It makes the little houses I build for our model railway layout look rather sad in comparison.’

‘That’s baloney, Gabs, the houses you make are at a scale of four millimetres to a foot, and the detail you put in them is awesome in something so small,’ Tim reassured me. ‘This must be at least one twelfth scale–one inch to a foot.’

‘We’re all longing to see your train set, Tim, and to watch the trains going round and round in circles,’ Lacey remarked–rather cattily, I thought.

‘It’s not a train set, Lacey,’ I protested, ‘and it does not go round and round in circles; the trains run into a terminus.’

‘Does it take long to set it up?’ Kristal asked.

‘No time at all,’ replied Tim. ‘It’s set up permanently in the loft.’

‘Does that mean we have to like crawl round on our hands and knees?’ Juniper asked.

‘Of course not,’ Tim replied, ‘The baseboards are at table height, so you can stand up and view it in comfort.’

‘I think I have a couple of photos somewhere here,’ I said, heading for my chest of drawers. ‘I think they’re in my knicker drawer.’

‘So you have a knicker drawer, do you, Sis?’

‘’Course I do, brother dear. I don’t wear Y-fronts now,’ I replied, while looking under the colourful assortment.

‘Y-fronts?’ Farah asked.

‘Boys’ briefs,’ Kristal answered.

‘We call them tighty-whiteys. Eeewwww,’ Farah squealed. ‘They’d give you cooties.’

‘I’ve found them; one colour and one black and white.’ I handed them to the sceptical Lacey.

‘Oooh, steam trains,’ Angela squeaked, looking over Lacey’s shoulder, ‘There’s lovely. My tad-cu”  has lots of pictures of steam trains he took from the bottom of his garden in Caerdydd. The main railway line runs just over the back fence.’

‘Where’s that?’ asked Juniper.

‘Cardiff, twpsan*,’ replied Angela.

‘Steam trains are more interesting than the smelly modern diesels,’ Tim stated.

‘Wow,’ exclaimed Lacey. ‘It looks so real. Did you two really make that?’

‘Tim makes a lot of the trains,’ I said.

‘From kits,’ he added, ‘and Gabs makes the buildings, and they have furniture and people inside. She’s got such nimble fingers.’

‘It’s awesome,’ Farah said. ‘Look, in the garden there’s like washing hanging on the line and two girls are doing handstands and showing their panties. That’s sooo cute, whose idea was it?’

‘Mine,’ replied a blushing Tim, ‘but Gabs modified the figures, and she made the washing lines and the houses from scratch using plastic card. She also made the hotel, and when you come and see the layout you’ll see it has a full interior if you look through the windows. There’s a reception desk in the hall, a bar and a restaurant, and bedrooms upstairs.’

‘The houses in the colour picture are set against the backscene,’ I explained, ‘so they’re only half-houses. I’ve only done one room in them so far.’

‘It’s a bathroom,’ said Tim, grinning. ‘With a naked lady drying herself after her bath.’

‘I s’pose that was also your idea, Tim,’ Juniper said, giggling. ‘Typical boy!’ She raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Haven’t you any naked boys anywhere for us girls to look at?’

‘Yes–well almost naked,’ I replied. ‘He’s wearing his underpants in one of the bedrooms in the hotel, and mopping his bald head with a towel.’

‘Ooh sex-eee,’ quipped Lacey.

‘It’s because his girlfriend’s like, reclining on the bed without any clothes on,’ Tim added.

Juniper and Lacey looked at each other wide-eyed.

‘Ach-a-fi,”¡’ exclaimed Angela. ‘I think that’s a bit rude.’

‘Are you sure Tim doesn’t have cooties, Gabs?’ Farah asked, giggling.

‘He definitely doesn’t have them,’ I replied.

‘Did you make the boat, Gaby?’ asked Bryony, quickly changing the subject.

‘I made that,’ Tim said. ‘It was from an old Airfix plastic kit.’

‘Who made the hills and things?’ Bryony asked.

‘We did that between us,’ I replied. ‘Tim made the frame, and we both did the papier maché covering.’

‘Gabs did all the detail work–like the rock outcrops and things; she’s like really-really clever,’ Tim added. ‘And she made the trees; some of them even have like, wild life in them–squirrels and birds.’

‘Awesome,’ sighed Farah.

The door opened and Auntie G and Mummy came in. ‘Hi, Mummy, I didn’t know you were here. Have you come to see Auntie G’s amazing dolls’ house?’

‘Well, I thought I’d like to see it before I cart your poor invalid brother home.’

‘We’ve been looking at some photos of Tim’s and Gaby’s awesome model railroad,’ Farah remarked. ‘They’re like, sooo clever to have built up something like that.’

‘And I bet my wicked son’s been pointing out all the naughty bits,’ said Mummy, sticking her tongue out at Tim. ‘Honestly, Gaby, you’ll have to learn how to keep your big brother under control.’

‘But he’s bigger than me, and three and a half years older,’ I grumbled.

‘Yes, dear, but you’re a girl,’ she replied and added quietly so Tim could not hear, ‘knowing how to keep boys in check is something all girls have to learn. Now let the dog see the rabbit.’ She knelt down by the dolls’ house. ‘Oh, Greta my dear, it’s absolutely wonderful. I longed to have one like that when I was a girl.’

‘It’s like, a bit special, isn’t it, Mum,’ Tim remarked. ‘Auntie Greta, Gaby says that Great-Great Uncle Crispin made a lot of the furniture for it.’

‘Yes, Daddy was very clever at such things, and he had enormous patience,’ Auntie G replied. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me at all if you and Gabs inherited a lot of your modelling ability from him.’

‘I must say, Greta, the furniture in the dolls’ house is beautifully made. He must have taken so much trouble over it.’

‘Well, he used all the right timber,’ replied Auntie, ‘and he French polished the dining table and chairs with all the care and attention of a professional French polisher.’

‘I must admit they are exceedingly beautiful,’ Mummy said. ‘In fact real miniature works of art.’

* * *

After having a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice seated round the dining room table, the girls headed for their respective homes. Bryony was complaining of a tummy ache, so her mother came and collected her in the car.

Soon after the others had gone home, the five of us who remained–Auntie Greta, Mummy, Tim, Farah and me–sat down to have Saturday high tea, a bit of a tradition in our family. The menu could be anything from fish and chips bought from the chippy down the road, through baked beans on toast, an omelette, a bowl of nourishing home-made soup, or a salad. That Saturday, Auntie told us she had some rather delicious kippers for us.

’Kippers?” exclaimed Farah. ‘What the heck are kippers?’

‘They are smoked herrings,’ Auntie replied. ‘They’re one of our favourites for Saturday high tea. A friend in Scotland sent me some special ones from their local smokery.’

‘Not those gorgeous pale ones?’ asked Mummy.

‘The very same.’

Oh, wow,’ Tim exclaimed. ‘What a treat.’

I know some people don’t like kippers on account of the multitude of small bones in them, but I don’t worry about them because they are so small and hair-like that they won’t get stuck in your throat. We had them grilled and accompanied by thinly-cut wholemeal bread and butter, and a mug of tea–absolutely scrummy, and Farah enjoyed every bite.

Not long after we had finished, Mummy took Tim home and Farah and I helped Auntie with the washing up–well, loading the dishwasher, and then went up to “our room” and played with Esmeralda’s house until bedtime.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Rose household, Bryony’s tummy ache was no better. The blame was laid firmly at the door of “too many strawberries” at tea-time–she had had a second helping and would have liked a third if her mother had not put her foot down firmly. As she didn’t really fancy the supper her mother had made her, it was decided that she would be better off having an early night and would probably feel much better in the morning. So she went upstairs, undressed and had a bath and was in bed ready for “lights-out” by ten past eight and tried to go to sleep.

At half past nine she was still awake and she needed to go to the loo. She put on her slippers and headed for the bathroom, bumping into her mother outside her room.

‘Are you feeling any better, sweetheart?’ Helen Rose asked her offspring.

‘Not really, Mummy. My tummy’s worse if anything. I’m just going to the loo.’

‘You don’t feel icky, do you?’

‘No, I just need an urgent wee,’ was the reply, as she entered the bathroom.

After she had finished, Bryony looked in the pan and got a surprise. ‘Mummy, can you come please?’ she called.

‘What is it, darling, is something wrong?’

‘Look in the loo,’ came the reply.

After a brief glance, Helen sent her back to bed and went to the telephone and dialled a number.

When it was answered, she said. ‘Oh, hello, Dr MacNeish; I’m sorry to trouble you so late, but I’m worried about Bryony. She has a bad tummy ache and has just passed some blood through her penis.’

To be continued…
_______________________

”  tad-cu: Welsh for grand-dad
* twpsan: stupid girl
”¡ ach-a-fi: A Welsh expression of disgust

---

Thanks are due once again to Bonzi and his Mum for their erudite proofing and bits of Welsh language and dialect.
Thanks also to Kaleigh and Annette for advice on American girlspeak
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

If you have enjoyed this chapter I hope that you will leave a comment and
vote for it by clicking Vote Box below. Thank you.

At Aunt Greta’s–
A Bolt From The Blue!
by Gabi
Chapter 18 of a Continuing Saga…

Farah and I went to bed that night wondering if we would find ourselves back in 1944 again. In spite of the first couple of times I had time-slipped, since then it seemed it was the bed that had acted as my “Tardis” to wartime.

‘It was great meeting your bro,’ Farah said as we undressed. ‘He’s cute and soooo cool, and he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve changed into a girl. In fact he seemed quite pleased.’

‘Well, I guess he’s always thought I was a bit girly,’ I confided; ‘but he was never mean about it–unlike a lot of other boys.’

‘Sure, most boys are pigs,’ Farah stated.

‘Yeah, with cooties,’ I added and we both giggled. ‘’Cept that’s a bit mean to pigs.’

‘You mean that pigs don’t have cooties.’

We put on our dressing gowns and went to the bathroom. ‘Do we need to shower?’ I asked. ‘We had one just before lunch and we’ll have another one in the morning before breakfast.’

‘I guess we can’t be that dirty,’ came the response, ‘but I’d still feel dirty if I didn’t wash all over before bed.’

‘Yeah, I agree,’ I answered. ‘Auntie told me that in the war she could only have 3 baths a week and you weren’t allowed to have the water more than four inches deep. The government even suggested sharing a bath to save hot water, so she and her mum often had one together.’

‘Why don’t we share one now,’ Farah suggested.

‘Better not, coz I’m still on, but if you have one first, I’ll hop in afterwards. I’ll just go and ask Auntie,’ I said, going in search of her.

She agreed readily, so we both had a quick bath with me getting in after Farah had finished. Then, donning our pyjamas we went downstairs to say goodnight to Auntie. She was on the ’phone and looking concerned, nodding from time to time and making comments like ‘Yes, I see…’ ‘naturally, you’re bound to be worried, I would be were I in your position, Helen…’ ‘of course, and I’ll tell the girls …’ ‘and promise me you’ll let me know if there’s anything we can do…’

I wracked my brain trying to think who we knew called Helen; I couldn’t think of anyone at school called Helen, and I couldn’t think of any relations–not that I knew very many. But Auntie was saying ‘goodbye’ to Helen and ringing off so I would not have long to wait.

‘Oh, hello, girls,’ Auntie said. ‘Come to say goodnight?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Who was that on the ’phone?’

‘Mrs Rose. She was just ’phoning to say that Bryony can’t come round tomorrow.’

‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ Farah said.

‘It wasn’t definite she was coming,’ I added. ‘I hope she’s all right; she had a bit of a tummy ache after tea. Too many strawberries, she thought.’

‘I’m afraid it was a bit worse than being a piggy over strawberries,’ Auntie replied. ‘Mrs Rose had Dr MacNeish round to see Bryony, and she took her straight to the General Hospital. Helen Rose was speaking from there. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with Bryony yet, the doctors are still examining her and waiting for the results of a scan.’

‘A scan,’ Farah squealed. ‘Wow, that means she could be real sick.’

‘How soon will we know if she’s going to be all right?’ I asked.

‘Mrs Rose said she’d let us know as soon as she knew anything,’ Auntie replied. ‘She had already phoned her sister–Mrs Farthing–in Great Shaghorn and she’s coming over tomorrow and bringing Penny over too.’

‘I’d like to meet Penny Farthing,’ I said.

‘Maybe you will,’ Auntie replied.

* * *

Helen Rose sat in the waiting area of the A&E Department of the General Hospital. She had been sitting anxiously for some time and kept looking at her watch. She had sampled the tea from the vending machine in the corner which was more akin to gnat’s pee than anything else; next time she tried the coffee and it was equally revolting and, she thought, at 50p a go was more than extortionate.

The time was really dragging; ‘How much longer are they going to take with her?’ she thought, glancing at her wristwatch again; it had been two and three-quarter hours. Looking for some distraction, she began browsing through a pile of old magazines when a headline on the cover of a four-year-old edition of Women’s Own caught her eye:

’I’m letting my 14-year-old have a sex change!’
She picked it up. Inside was an article about a German boy who had insisted he was a girl from when he was very small. At eight, the child started going to school in a skirt, and at 14 she was being allowed to take female hormones so she could go through a female puberty. The article described the many problems this transgendered child and her mother had had to endure in the intervening years.

‘Hmmm,’ she thought as she scanned through the text, ‘I wonder if Dr MacNeish has seen this. It’s interesting that the girls at school with this child were so supportive of her–rather like Gabrielle and her friends forming the B.B.C. Girls are so much more understanding and compassionate than boys. If Bryony is transgendered, she is going to need all the support she can get.’

‘Mrs Rose? Mrs ROSE!’ Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly.

Startled, she jumped slightly, looked up and saw a nurse in a dark blue uniform. ‘S-sorry, Sister, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.’

‘That’s all right, Mrs Rose,’ replied the sister with a friendly smile. ‘Doctor Warren will see you now, if you’ll walk this way.’

The ID badge on her uniform informed all-comers that she was Sister N. Law. Helen suppressed a strong urge to giggle as she followed her down a long corridor, watching her exaggerated, wiggling gait, and wondering if she was meant to emulate her. She knew her ‘daughter’ almost certainly would, as would a number of her friends. She was surprised and ever so slightly alarmed that she so readily thought of Bryony as a daughter after eleven years presumption of boyhood, but somehow it seemed to make sense–she accepted that Bryan had never conformed to most people’s archetypal male child. The budding breasts, a narrowing waist and broadening hips seemed to indicate a degree of femininity. And now there was this seepage of blood through her penis as an additional worry.

Sister Law stopped outside a door and knocked. ‘Come in,’ called a voice from the other side.

‘Mrs Rose to see you, Dr Warren,’ Sister announced.

‘Thank you, Norma. Come in, Mrs Rose; please take a seat,’ the doctor said, looking up and extending a slim, elegant hand to be shaken. Dr Warren was about the same age as Helen Rose and gave her a friendly smile. ‘We’ve met before; the name Rose is unfamiliar to me but I never forget a face. You went to St Agatha’s High School, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, and I remember you. You were Bunny Warren.’

‘I still am, except here I’m officially Eleanor. You were Helen Highwater in those days.’

‘Don’t remind me; d’you remember how Miss Isle, when she was taking us for gym used to call out, “come, Hell and Highwater,” when she wanted me to do something?’ Helen grimaced. ‘I could never understand why my parents never saw the pitfalls of calling me Helen, and it always bugged me that they called my twin sister, Brenda–so much more normal.’

‘Yes, those of our parents’ age seemed to be oblivious to the misfortunes they could inflict on their offspring by choosing a name that could be misconstrued. But you want to hear about your child, Bryan, except he prefers to be called Bryony.’

‘Yes–Bryony,’ Helen confirmed. ‘She insists she’s a girl in a boy’s body, and that seems to ring true seeing that she is showing distinct breast development.’

‘Yes, I noticed it,’ replied Dr Warren, ‘and she has more of a girl’s shape than a boy’s which could be significant. And her own feelings about herself are confirmed by the ultra-sound scan we did which shows that internally she is fully female, with ovaries and a fully-developed uterus and vagina, except that for some reason the labia fused over towards the end of gestation and she developed a small “penis”,’ Dr Warren explained. ‘Otherwise there are no signs of other male organs.’

‘Does that mean you think she could be intersexed, Bunny?’

‘No, not intersexed in spite of her “penis”–which is probably an enlarged clitoris which somehow has incorporated her urethra. She’s a fully functioning female internally, and I suspect she is awash with oestrogen, which is causing her physical development. I’ve checked with Dr MacNeish and she told me she’s awaiting the results of blood and DNA tests from last week. I’ll see if I can hurry them up. If Bryony is 46XX, which I strongly suspect, then it’s quite possible that she is having her first period and having no proper vaginal opening, the blood is somehow finding its way out through her “penis”. It’s probable that some masculinisation occurred in the womb, possibly through stress, and the vaginal canal closed over forming a sort of pseudo-penis, which is why everyone thought she was a boy.

‘She was complaining of a tummy ache, but I just thought it was due to over-indulgence of strawberries and cream at a little tea-party I gave her and some of her school friends. I must admit that I never thought of the possibility it being the curse.’

‘It’s hardly the sort of thing you’d expect with a son,’ Bunny said, ‘even if you suspected he might be gender dysphoric. But with Bryony having a full complement of female organs it’s going to be part of her life from now on.’

‘So her insisting that she was a girl inside is in fact the case; she will be so pleased. What’s the next step? I suppose she needs some sort of surgery.’

‘I’ve already put a drain tube in her lower abdomen to get rid of the menstrual blood; that drains into a dressing as there’s not a lot of flow, it being the first time she’s come on. Then, a bit later on, she should undergo labiaplasty so she will have a normal vagina like any other girl.’

‘How much later?’ Helen asked, anxiously.

‘Fairly soon,’ came the reply. ‘If possible I would suggest it be done before she comes on again, as it would obviate the necessity of a repeat performance of tonight’s drama.’

‘Would you do it yourself?’ Helen asked.

‘Oh my God, no,’ came the rapid-fire reply. ‘Labiaplasty is a very special skill, and Bryony deserves the best surgeon we can get. I will try to get Mr Hans Cunnimacher, FRCS to do it; he’s one of the best in the business.’

‘He sounds foreign.’

‘He does, doesn’t he, but he’s English by birth,’ replied Bunny: ‘both his grandparents came to England as refugee children from Nazi Germany in the late nineteen-thirties.’

‘Well, I’ll happily go by your recommendation. Is he likely to be very expensive?’

‘No, he does a lot of NHS work.’

‘Good,’ replied Helen, ‘that seems very satisfactory. Tell me, has Bryony been told what she has inside her?’

‘Not yet, because we want you to be present when she is told.’

‘I’d like to break the news to her myself. May I see her?’

‘Of course. I’ll take you to her,’ replied Dr Warren, standing up and heading for the door, opening it and holding it open for Helen.

‘You know, Bunny, I’ve been thinking that it’s a blessing Geoff and I finally decided to call him–err, HER Bryan,’ Helen said as they walked down the corridor to the lift.

‘Why, what was the alternative?’

‘Toby,’ Helen replied, ‘after Geoff’s father.’

‘That sounds very Shakespearian,’ commented Bunny.

‘Why Shakespearian?’ asked a puzzled Helen.

‘Toby, or not Toby? That is the question!’ replied Bunny, giggling and dodging out of reach of her old school chum to avoid any possible retaliation, and pressed the button to summon the lift.

As soon as they were inside the lift Bunny pressed the button for the floor she wanted and after a smooth-sounding man’s voice requested they, ‘mind the doors, going up,’ the doors closed behind them and the lift went into ‘lift-off mode’ and started its upward journey.

They looked at each other and burst out into a fit of schoolgirl giggles. ‘Toby, or not Toby, indeed,’ Helen chuckled, raising her eyebrows, ‘You haven’t changed, Bunny, you were always a joker. So where is my daughter?’

‘In the gynae ward; as soon as I saw the ultra-sound scan results I had her moved there. I’m gynae registrar here; she was passed on to me by the houseman who was uncertain what to do.’

The lift slowed to a halt with a ‘ding-dong’ and the smooth voice announced, ‘Fourth level, Minster and Pavilion Wards. Doors opening, please stand clear.’

The doors slid open almost silently and they left the lift. ‘So which is it?’ Helen Rose asked, ‘Minster or Pavilion?’

They were standing in a wide lobby with three sets of lift doors on one side with an enormous window opposite and on either side to left and right a pair of double swing doors.

‘Minster. I’ve had her put in a side ward on her own. We wondered about putting her in the children’s ward, but thought that at 12 and having a gynae problem, she would be better up here where the staff are used to “women’s problems”, as they are coyly called by some people.’

‘Mostly men,’ added Helen as Dr Warren held open one of the doors to Minster Ward.

Once inside, the doctor knocked on a door marked “Ward Sister” through which there came an instant reply of, ‘Come in, Doctor.’

Inside was Sister N. Law.

‘How did you know it was me, Norma,’ Bunny Warren asked.

‘You have a particular knock, and you’re one of the few people who bother to knock. Most people just barge in.’

‘We’ve come to see Bryony,’ the doctor explained. ‘Is she awake?’

‘Yes, or she was a few minutes ago,’ replied Sister, standing up. ‘So, Mrs Rose, how do you think she’ll take it that she’s actually a girl?’

‘She’ll be thrilled. You see she’s often protested that she’s a girl in a boy’s body, and we were trying to find out if she was transgendered.’

Sister opened the door of a side room and they entered. Bryony was sitting up in bed reading a magazine. ‘Hello, pet, here’s your mum and Dr Warren to see you.’

‘Mummy!’ squealed Bryony, putting down her magazine and holding out her arms for a hug.

‘How’s the tummy ache, poppet?’ Helen asked, giving her a hug and a kiss.

‘A lot better; they gave me a tablet for it, and Dr Warren put a drain in my tummy,’ came the cheerful answer. ‘Do they know what’s wrong with me?’

‘We do,’ replied Dr Warren, winking at Helen.

‘Tell me, sweetie, what do you want more than anything else in the world?’ Helen asked.

Bryony frowned for a few seconds, then grinned and replied, ‘To be a real, proper girl, Mummy.’

‘That’s what’s wrong with you, poppet,’ her mum replied.

Bryony’s eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped in disbelief. ‘But how can I be a girl when I’ve got a stupid cock-a-doodle?’

‘You know how you said you always knew you were a girl inside?’

Bryony nodded.

‘Well, that’s exactly what you are. Your scan showed that inside you have all the bits and pieces that a girl should have inside, overies, a uterus and vagina and the only bit missing is a vaginal opening. The reason for your tummy-ache is that you’re having your first period, and the blood is trying to find a way out.’

Bryony burst into tears. ‘You’re n-not t-t-teasing m-m-me, are you?’ she sobbed.

‘No, she’s not, sweetheart,’ said Bunny Warren. ‘Your mum wouldn’t do that. I know, because we went to school together. Also I saw the scan and I promise you that you’ve always been a girl.’

‘But why don’t I have a front bottom?’

‘I don’t know for certain, but I think it might be due to soemthing that happened to you when you were in Mummy’s womb that caused your vaginal canal to close over and made your clitoris grow into a sort of “pseudo-penis”.’

‘Oh WOW-WEE!’ Bryony exclaimed joyously. ‘I always KNEW I was a girl. Will I be able to have a proper front-bottom instead of that pseudo-doodle? And will I be able to have babies when I’m older?’

‘Yes, darling, to both questions,’ Helen replied. ‘Dr Warren is going to arrange for you to see a surgeon who will be able to give you a proper vagina–please try to avoid calling it a front-bottom, poppet, as I think it sounds just a wee bit unsavoury and a mite obscene.’

‘Sorry, Mummy.’

‘That’s all right, sweetheart. from now on you will know.’

‘So when do I get my new vagina?’

‘Well, Bryony, you actually have a vagina inside you, so what the doctor has to do is to re-open the vaginal canal–the bit that lets stuff get out–’

‘–And boys get in,’ giggled Bryony.

‘BRYONY! Please!’ her mother scolded. ‘I don’t want you thinking about that just yet, young lady. I hope you’ll save yourself for your husband, like I saved myself for Daddy.’

‘Sorreeeeee,’ came the repentant reply. ‘But how soon can I see the surgeon?’

‘I’ll try and speak to him on Monday, sweetie,’ Doctor Warren told her.

‘Kewl,’ came the reply, and then, after a short pause, ‘Doctor?’

‘Yes, Miss Rose,’ replied Bunny with a twinkle.

‘Did you know Mummy when she was my age?’

‘Yes we were school friends.’

‘What did she look like?’

‘Well now, let me think,’ answered Bunny, teasingly. ‘Actually she looked exactly like you, except–’

‘–except what, Doctor?’ Bryony asked anxiously.

‘Except–she didn’t have a pseudo-doodle!’ Bunny Warren said, and burst into a fit of the giggles.

* * *

I woke up at about seven o’clock according the my digital clock. Farah was still asleep next to me, but as soon as I stirred she turned over and asked, ‘What’s the time, Gabs?’

‘Just after seven,’ I replied. ‘Looks like we didn’t go anywhere during the night.’

‘Just as well. All that time travel stuff is soooo spoo-oo-oo-ooky,’ she replied making ‘spooky’ sound really-really spooky. ‘I mean, like what would happen if we got stuck back there like?’

‘Eeeek!’ I replied. ‘That would be like, the pits.’

‘Yeah. it would,’

‘Shall we get up?’ I asked.

‘Okay,’ replied Farah. ‘Let’s go to the bathroom.’

‘’Kay,’ I said.

We scrambled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Farah had the first shower and I followed on. After we had dried ourselves we returned to “my” bedroom.

‘Greta!, Freya, hurry up!’ came a voice from downstairs. ‘Brekky’s ready and we have to go to church.’

To be continued…

---

Thanks are due once again to Doctor Bonzi and his Mum for their erudite proofing and for advice on Matters Medical.
Thanks also to Kaleigh and Annette for advice on American girl/teenspeak
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the idiot author.

If you have enjoyed this chapter I hope that you will leave a comment and
vote for it by clicking Vote Box below. Thank you.

At Aunt Greta’s–
Revelation
by Gabi
Chapter 19 of a Continuing Saga…

We scrambled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Farah had the first shower and I followed on. After we had dried ourselves we returned to “my” bedroom.

‘Greta! Freya! Hurry up!’ came a voice from downstairs. ‘Brekky’s ready and we have to go to church this morning.’

I looked at Farah and shrugged; she was frowning and I realised that I was also. I looked round the room; it looked normal–not like it did in 1944. My Barbies were on top of my chest of drawers and the digital clock's numbers were still glowing green.

‘Did I hear right? Did Auntie really call up to Greta and Freya?’ I asked.

‘That’s what I heard, Gabs. It seems a bit screwball to me,’ Farah replied.

‘P’raps Auntie G’s gone starkers-bonkers?’ I suggested.

‘Well, my clothes seem to be my usual ones,’ Farah said. ‘Thank goodness there’s no sign of those ginormous pink bloomers I had to wear as Freya.’

‘You mean your harvest festivals?’ I replied with a giggle.

‘Harvest festivals?’ queried my bemused-looking friend.

‘That’s what Auntie G’s mum used to call them.’

‘But why, for heck sakes?’

‘Because “All is safely gathered in”, as the words of that harvest hymn say,’ I replied.

Stepping into her knickers, Farah giggled and shook her head. ‘I dunno, you Brits sure have some strange words for things; you call panties, knickers, bloomers, harvest festivals, and pants, trousers; it’s like you speak a different language.’

‘For us, the word pants usually means underpants and some people think it’s a bit more polite than knickers.’

‘And to us in the States knickers are what my Dad wears for golf. So do you and Auntie G usually go to church on Sunday?’

‘No, never,’ I replied. ‘That’s why I was wondering if she’d gone starkers-bonkers.’

‘Do you think that p’raps Aunt Fanny could have travelled forward in time?’

‘OhMyGod, Farah, she’d be like the girl who had a Spanish mother and a Jewish father,’ I replied.

She frowned; ‘Eh? I don’t get it.’

‘She wouldn’t know if she was Carmen or Cohen,’ I replied trying to keep a straight face.

Farah looked at me blankly and then, as if a light bulb had illuminated above her head, she began to giggle. ‘I think it’s you who’s gone starkers-bonkers. Where did you hear that terrible joke?’

‘It’s one of my dad’s fave jokes.’

‘Oh, that figures; my dad makes similar ones. What do you usually wear for church?’

‘I dunno,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never been to church as a girl. I suggest we just dress normal and we can change for church after breakfast if we have to.’

‘Good idea. Would you like to borrow my camo Bermudas?’

‘Erm–’ I thought for a moment. ‘–thanks for the offer but I think I’ll wear a skirt. I have to get used to them and I rather like wearing them; they make such a nice change after all those years wearing trousers.’

When we entered the kitchen, Farah was wearing her camo Bermudas and a khaki strappy top and I was in my denim mini with a red crop top. I was relieved to see it was Auntie G who greeted us with, ‘You both look very pretty this morning, girls. Did you have a good night’s sleep without any time-slip shenanigans?’

‘Yes thanks,’ Farah replied, ‘but you sure had us worried when you called up to us as Freya and Greta and telling us we were going to church.’

‘But I haven’t called you yet this morning, my dears,’ Auntie G stated. ‘I was just going to do it when you came down.’

‘But we both heard you,’ I protested. ‘Didn’t we, Farah?’

‘Sure did,’ Farah agreed. ‘You called up to us, “Greta! Freya! Hurry up! Brekky’s ready and we have to go to church this morning”. We both thought it was your mom.’

‘It wasn’t I who called you,’ Auntie G told us, looking perplexed, ‘but those were the very words Mummy used to call up to me on Sunday.’

‘Spoooook-eeee!,’ I said.

‘Sure is,’ Farah agreed. ‘As soon as we saw Gaby’s digital clock we knew we were in our own time, so we wondered if your mom might have time-travelled forward.’

‘Poor Mummy would have hated that,’ Auntie replied. ‘Sit down and help yourselves to cereal–there’s milk and sugar on the table. I know Gabs will have tea, but would you prefer tea or coffee, Farah?’

‘Would it be awful bothersome if I asked for coffee?’

‘No, dear, of course not. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.’

‘Gee, thanks, Auntie G.’

‘You’re welcome, poppet, especially when you’re so polite.’

Farah blushed.

After our cereal we had a boiled egg and soldiers and then toast and marmalade. We were too intent on eating to talk much, but as we had our last few mouthfuls of toast and marmalade Auntie asked, ‘Now, Gabs, have you forgotten what happens on Friday?’

‘Friday?’ I thought about it for a moment or two.

‘Yes, Friday.’

‘Ooooh,’ I squealed, ‘my birthday! I’ll be twelve.’

‘Wow,’ exclaimed Farah, ‘and it’ll be your very first as a girl, so it must be a really cool girly one to make up for all the ones you’ve missed out on. You should have a slumber party.’

‘Kew-ell,’ I replied. ‘You are sooooo clever to have such a kewl idea. Is a slumber party what we call a sleepover?’

‘Not really, a sleepover is when there are just two of you, but when there are a whole crowd of you we call it a slumber party.’

‘So, your staying here over the weekend is a sleepover?’

‘Yeah, cool.’

‘I think a slumber party’s a brilliant idea. Please, Auntie, d’you think we could have a slumber party?’

‘For you and the girls?’ came the reply. ‘That would be fun for you, wouldn’t it? Do you know what girls do when they have a slumber party, Gabs?’

‘No, but I’m sure Farah, Angela, Lacey, Kristal and Juniper will know.’

‘I think it would be nice if you ask Bryony as well,’ Farah suggested just as the ’phone rang.

‘I’ll get it, Auntie,’ I said, going to answer it. ‘Nine-four-nine-seven-six-three, Gabrielle Chambers speaking.’

‘Oh, hello, Gaby, this is Bryony’s mother.’

‘Oh, hi, Mrs Rose, is she better? Auntie said she’d been taken to hospital.’

‘Yes, I’m speaking from there and she’s going to be fine; thank you for asking, dear. Please may I have a quick word with your auntie?’

‘I’ll just go and get her; hold on, please…oh, and give Bryony my love.’ I put the handset down and returned to the kitchen and told Auntie that Mrs Rose wanted her on the ’phone.

‘Bryony’s mom?’ asked Farah, after Auntie had gone to the telephone.

‘Yes, she was speaking from the hospital.’

‘Bryony’s still there? Oh my gosh she must be real sick.’

‘Yeah, I wonder what’s wrong with her. P’raps Mrs Rose is telling Auntie G.’

‘Yeah. Hey, maybe they’ll let us visit her.’

‘I’d like that,’ I replied, ‘I hope she will be able to come to my slumber party. So what goes on at slumber parties?’

‘Well, we eat, play games, listen to CDs, dance, chat, watch a film on DVD, eat, give each other make-overs and paint our nails, dance, sing, chat, eat, play–’

‘–Okay, I get the idea,’ I interrupted. ‘Do we ever get to bed?’

Farah giggled; ‘For sure we do–but not till it’s quite late. It would not be as much fun otherwise.’

‘If we have our girly-sleepy on Friday night,’ I said, thinking out loud, ‘I could have an ordinary birthday party that Timmy and some of the boys could come to on Saturday or Sunday afternoon.’

‘What, boys only?’ asked Farah.

‘Noooo, ’course not!’ I replied. ‘It’s a good excuse to have two parties and I must have Timmy round. Maybe if we have the slumber party here, the other one could be at home. What DVD do you think the girls would like?’

‘High School Musical,’ replied Farah, without a moment’s hesitation, ‘and then we can sing along and dance as well. And of course you’ll have to be Gabriella.’

‘But I don’t know the words of the songs.’

‘You don’t have to, they come up on the screen–like with a karaoke,’ Farah assured me.

‘Wow, that’s well kewl,’ I exclaimed, as Auntie returned from her ’phone conversation with Bryony’s mum.

‘Well, my dears,’ Auntie began, ‘we’re going to visit Bryony in hospital this afternoon. She’s going to be in there for a few days yet, while they do some tests on her and she wants her B.B.C. friends to visit her. Mrs Rose says that Bryony has something she wants to tell you before you go to school tomorrow morning. You and the other girls are going to be picked up by Mrs Rose’s twin sister, Mrs Farthing, who will have her daughter Penny with her. You should get there by three o’clock. We’ll have our lunch a bit earlier than we usually do on a Sunday–at a quarter past twelve–so you can change into something smart straight afterwards.’

* * *

Our Sunday lunch was typically British and my absolute favourite–roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, sooooo scrummy with just a smidgeon of horseradish sauce and Aunties amazing gravy filling the hollows in the little Yorkshires. For vegetables we had carrots, Brussels sprouts with chestnuts, French beans, buttered parsnips and roast potatoes. For afters we had Auntie G’s home-made chocolate mousse with cream.

Straight after lunch we changed. Farah chose a pleated navy skirt with a long-sleeved sky-blue v-necked top, sheer tights and court shoes while I decided on my hipster bootcut jeans, a short pale orange tee with three-quarter sleeves and my new tan mid-calf boots with one and three-quarter inch heels–kewl, eh?–that Mummy had bought me the last time we went shopping.

We were going to be collected by car: I presumed it would be Mrs Rose and that she would have picked up the other B.B.C. members already. When the doorbell rang, I opened the door. ‘Come in, Mrs Rose,’ I said. ‘We only need to get our handbags.’

‘Actually, I’m Mrs Farthing,’ came the reply. ‘I’m Helen’s twin sister, Brenda. Now from the description I was given, you must be Gabrielle.’

‘Yes, I am, but most people call me Gaby.’ I turned towards Farah. ‘This is Farah who comes from the U.S.A. She’s at school with us and is staying the weekend with me while her parents are away.’

‘Hello, Farah,’ said Mrs Farthing, ‘how are you, dear?’

‘I’m good, thanks, Mrs Farthing. It’s real nice to meet you.’

‘And you too, Farah. Now, Gaby, we have some other girls to collect, I believe?’

‘Yes, another four; I hope you have a big car.’

‘Yes,’ she answered, smiling at us. ‘A people-carrier–a Renault Espace–big enough hold a whole patrol of girl guides.’

‘The Bryony Patrol,’ Farah added with a giggle.

‘Oh, are you a Guide, dear?’

‘Well, sorta; I’m a Girl Scout in the States.’

‘Well, we’d best be off, girls,’ Mrs Farthing said. ‘Gaby, you’d better tell your auntie, so she knows you haven’t been kidnapped.’

‘That’s all right, Helen,’ said Auntie, coming through the door; ‘–oh, you’re not Helen, but you’re so like her you must be her twin–err–’

‘Brenda Farthing,’ she said, shaking hands with Auntie. ‘Hel’s still at the hospital with Bryony. We must go, or my daughter, Penelope, who’s waiting in the car, will think I’ve disappeared in a puff of smoke. Okay, girlies, shall we go?’

* * *

We went out to the car and got in the back where a girl was waiting. She was dressed in a pink jersey dress that just about reached her knees, white frilled ankle socks and pink Nike trainers; her hair was in a ponytail. She was totally Bryony’s double, so no wonder people took them for twins.

‘Penny, darling,’ said her mother, ‘these are two of Bry’s school chums, Gaby, showing her belly-button and the top of her knickers so fashionably, and Farah who comes from America.’

‘Hi! Bryony has told–’ all three of us started in unison and immediately dissolved into a giggle-fit.

‘Now, before you go all hysterical,’ said Mrs Farthing, ‘perhaps you, Gaby, could direct me to Mrs Williamson’s house where we are to collect the other members of your little secret society.’

‘Take the first turning on the right and then the second left; it’s called Letsbeigh Avenue and Angela lives at number 69.’

‘So tell me about your secret society?’ Penny asked. ‘Does it have a name?’

‘Yes,’ replied Farah, ‘the B.B.C.’

‘Like on the telly?’

‘Not quite,’ I said. ‘In this case it stands for the “Bryony Buddies Corps”. There are six of us who are going to protect Bryan at school while he changes into Bryony.’

‘D’you think he’ll do that?’ Penny asked. ‘I know it’s what he wants, ’cause he’s told me lots of times. He really should have been born a girl.’

‘Do you know why she’s in hospital?’ Farah asked, ‘We haven’t been told. I’ve been thinking of her as “she” for a few days now, and she seems so much happier as a girl. I have a friend at school back in the States who is transgendered, and she’s been a different kid since she started coming to school as Nora instead of Aron.’

‘That’s kewl,’ Penny said. ‘So Bry’s problem isn’t new to you?’

‘It was Farah’s idea to set up the B.B.C. for her,’ I chipped in.

‘We did something the same for Nora,’ Farah continued. ‘We got most of the girls and some of the guys in our grade to accept her as herself. It was only some of the jocks who gave her a hard time–oh, and the holy Joes who went around spouting the bible about it being sinful for a boy to put on girls’ raiment; but the school made it very plain that they did not tolerate bullying of any sort from anybody.’

‘I think we’re nearly there, Gaby,’ Mrs Farthing said from the front.

I looked through the windscreen to check. We were just passing the lane end where I was attacked by Quinn and company and gave a little shudder. ‘Just a bit further,’ I said, ‘on the left hand side, just by the second tree.’

‘Gotcha,’ Mrs Farthing confirmed. ‘Gaby, if you’d be so kind as to go and tell them we’re here.’

‘’Course, Mrs Farthing,’ I replied as she drew up beside the curb outside Angela’s house. As soon as she had stopped I got out and hurried up to the front door. I was about to press the bell when the door opened and there was Angela with Kristal, Juniper and Lacey lined up behind her.

‘Hi, Gabs,’ she said. ‘We were looking out for you. Hey, I like those jeans, they’re neat and make you look sooooo kewl; you used to be such a Sioni Dai when you were pretending to be a boy.’

‘I used to be a what?’ I asked.

‘A Sioni Dai; it’s what we say in Wales when someone is a messy or untidy person.’

‘Well, I had to do something to convince everyone I was a boy, didn’t I?’

‘Well you did it very well,’ Juniper said. ‘Who’s that in the car with Farah?

‘Penny,’ I replied. ‘She’s Bryony’s cousin who lives over at Great Shaghorn. Her mum, Mrs Rose’s twin sister is taking us. Oh, hello, Auntie Mary.’

‘Hello, Gaby dear,’ said Mrs Williamson, walking out to the car with us. ‘I just thought I’d come and speak to the lady who’s driving you to the hospital. Don’t you find it a bit chilly, dear, showing so much midriff, and did you know people can see the top of your knickers.’

‘Oh, Mam,’ Angela exclaimed impatiently, ‘of course she’s showing the top of her panties–it’s the fashion, didn’t you know?’

I glanced at Mrs W–she was wearing perplexed expression. ‘When I was your age we did all we could to keep our undies hidden from sight, in case the boys thought we were sluts and made unwelcome approaches. Now, did I hear you say the lady is Bryony’s auntie?’

‘Yes, Auntie Mary. She’s called Mrs Farthing and is Mrs Rose’s twin sister.’

As we got to the car, Penny opened the back door so we could get in and Angela’s mum went to talk to Mrs Farthing, who got out of the car so we couldn’t earwig what they were saying.

Farah and I introduced Penny to everyone as we got in. There were six seats in the back, but Farah and I reckoned we could share one and put the seat belt round both of us.

‘So, Penny,’ Kristal asked, ‘do you know what’s wrong with Bryony?’

‘Well, she’s got the wrong body–’

‘–we know that,’ Lacey interrupted, ‘but we don’t know why she’s in hospital. It all seems very sudden so she must be really-really ill.’

‘She might be there to have her…her…err, you know…’ Juniper said, blushing furiously, ‘…her err…doodah… chopped off.’

‘I don’t think they can do that until she’s eighteen,’ Farah declared. ‘Leastwise they can’t in the States.’

Mrs Farthing was shaking hands with Auntie Mary, who was returning to the house. As she got into the car Mrs F said, ‘Right, girls, let’s introduce ourselves. ‘I’m Penny’s mum and Bryony’s Auntie Brenda.’

While I introduced the other four B.B.C. members, I detected a slight smirk on Penny’s face when I introduced Kristal Ball, Juniper Berry and Lacey Nickerson.

‘I think Bryony’s very lucky to have such a valiant band of supporters,’ Mrs Farthing remarked. ‘All strapped in safely? Ah, Gaby, I think you should come and sit in the front so you can belt up properly.’

As soon as I was strapped in the front seat, Mrs Farthing started the engine and we were off.

‘We were wondering exactly what is wrong with Bryony,’ I ventured. ‘Do you know, Mrs Farthing?’

‘Well, yes I do, actually, but I promised my sister–on pain of death–not to tell you as Bryony insists she wants to tell you herself. I’ve not even been allowed to tell Penny in case she let the cat out of the bag before we got to the hospital. So there’s a strict embargo on it until Bryony tells you herself.’

‘I wonder if it’s something to do with her growing boobs?’ I said.

‘My lips are sealed,’ was all Mrs Farthing would say.

* * *

The ride to the General Hospital did not take long–about ten minutes–but it took a further five to find a suitable parking place. However we did find one and when Mrs Farthing had stuck the Pay and Display parking ticket inside the windscreen, we made our way to the visitors’ entrance.

‘I must say,’ Mrs F grumbled, ‘six pounds to park the so-and-so car for a couple of hours. Daylight robbery if you ask me.’

‘I thought the National Health Service was supposed to provide everything for free,’ I said.

‘Yes, but that does not include parking your car,’ Mrs F replied with a shrug. ‘Come back, Dick Turpin,* all is forgiven.’

‘Dick Turpin?’ I queried.

‘He was an infamous highwayman** who used to hold up travellers and demand all their money and jewellery.’

‘Oh yes, I remember now,’ I confirmed as the doors into the hospital silently slid open at our approach. As soon as we were inside my nose was assailed by that typical hospital smell that is a mixture of floor polish, antiseptic, and boiled cabbage. Mrs Farthing went to the reception desk and I looked for notices pointing to the children’s ward, saw one and started in that direction.

‘And where do you think you’re going, young lady,’ Mrs Farthing said, putting a firm hand on my shoulder to stop me.

‘The children’s ward–it’s this way, look!’ I pointed at the sign.

‘Bryony’s not in the children’s ward, Miss Smarty-Pants,’ came the reply. I had never been called that before and could feel myself blushing. ‘So as you won’t find her there, you’d better come with the rest of us.’

‘Yes, Mrs Farthing. Sorry,’ I said looking down at my feet.

‘That’s all right, love,’ she said, putting an arm round my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. ‘Right now, girlies, come with me and if you’re going to chatter, please keep the volume down–particularly when we get to the ward. Bryony’s in a side room on her own as it’s an adult ward where they don’t normally take anyone as young as she is.’

She led us to the lifts and pressed the button to summon one. It arrived with a “bong” and the doors slid open silently. When we were all in she pressed the button for the third floor which was marked “Victoria Ward”–which rang a bell inside my head for some reason–the doors closed and we had lift-off. After a very short flight the doors opened again and we went out into the lobby outside Victoria Ward. Waiting there for us in her dark blue ward sister’s uniform was Mummy. I then remembered that Victoria was the gynae ward. No wonder Bryony was in a side room all the other patients would be grown-up ladies suffering from what people in polite society coyly referred to as “women’s problems”.

‘Mummy!’ I squealed.

‘Ssshh, not so loud, poppet,’ she said, giving me a quick hug. ‘Did you know the top of your knickers is showing pink above your jeans?’

‘Yes, Mummy, they’re meant to show, it’s the fashion.’

‘Hmmm, well, I’m not at all sure that I approve, young lady,’ she told me before turning to Mrs F. ‘You could only be Bryony’s Aunt Brenda, you’re so like your twin. How do you do? I’m Sister Chambers officially, but this mob–’ she pointed to us– ‘seem to know me better as Auntie Peggy. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Bryony’s side room. Such a large group of visitors is highly irregular and normally would be discouraged, so please keep your chatter sotto voce, girls, so as not to disturb the other patients in the main ward. Bryony’s waiting for you and she’s got something she particularly wants to tell you herself.’

‘Auntie Peggy,’ asked Angela, ‘Is Bryony really-really ill?’

‘I’ll let her explain herself,’ Mummy replied. Now before you go into her room you must all sterilise your hands with this alcohol gel.’

‘It won’t make us drunk, will it?’ asked Lacey.

‘I’m not asking you to drink it,’ Mummy replied with a grin, ‘just to rub it on your hands. It’s so you don’t pass any germs from outside the hospital to Bryony. Who’s first?’ I saw she was looking at me so I held out my hands to her while she squirted the gel on them. It was very cold. I rubbed it in and it quickly evaporated, leaving my hands dry and fresh-feeling.

Next up was Penny; ‘Eeeewww, it’s all slimy,’ she exclaimed.

‘Rub it in and it’ll soon evaporate,’ Mummy told her.

When we were all done we were taken to Bryony’s room. She wearing a pretty lilac-coloured nightie and was sitting up in bed with headphones on, watching TV. Her mum was sitting on a chair beside her bed reading a book. She looked up, saw us filing in and tapped Bryony’s shoulder making her look up. When she saw us her face lit up with a beaming smile.

‘Hi, cuz,’ Penny said going over to her. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Good,’ she replied. ‘Oh wow, sooooo many visitors. I never thought they’d let you all in at once. Auntie Brenda, it’s great to see you too. Thank you for bringing everyone to see me.’

‘You’re most welcome, darling,’ her aunt replied, kissing her on the cheek.

‘Now,’ said Mrs Rose, ‘I suggest that my sister and I go and get a cup of tea in the cafeteria and leave you with your friends so you can tell them what’s wrong with you.’

‘Okay, Mummy. See you later, Auntie Bren.’

‘Not if I see you first, honeybunch,’ replied Auntie Brenda, sticking out her tongue at her niece as she and her sister left us girls alone.

‘So, Bry,’ said Penny, ‘what’s wrong with you?’

‘You know I told all of you that I was a girl born into the wrong body? Well it seems that my body is not so wrong after all.’

‘But you’ve got a boy’s body,’ I said.

‘In one way, because I wee through a willie,’ Bryony replied with a giggle. ‘But that’s the only boy thing about me.’ She smiled sweetly, obviously enjoying keeping us on tenterhooks.

Angela, growing impatient, said, ‘Now look yer typsan,*** can’t you come to the point. Why were you rushed to hospital?’

‘Well,’ she said, looking round all of us, ‘I had a rather horrid tummy ache as I was having my first period–’

‘–But how could you be?’ a wide-eyed Lacey interrupted.

‘–as I was saying, I was having my first period and the blood was building up inside me until it started leaking out through my wonky wee willie. I was rushed in here because the doctor originally thought I might have a damaged kidney, but an ultrasound scan showed that inside I have a full set of female organs, except that the opening to my vagina closed up before I was born. So I have really been a girl all my life and my boobs starting to grow was just a sign that I was beginning puppetry–’ She stopped in mid-sentence as I and all the other girls dissolved into helpless laughter.

‘I think you mean puberty, girlfriend,’ Farah managed to say between chortles.

‘I know that,’ said Bryony with a big grin while chalking up an imaginary point in the air.

‘So have they opened you up so you can get rid of the blood?’ I asked.

‘Not yet; the doctor just put a drain-tube in my tummy so the blood can be released. Mummy says the specialist is going to see me tomorrow and decide what’s the best thing to do.’

__________________________________

* Dick Turpin: See http://www.stand-and-deliver.org.uk/highwaymen/dick_turpin.htm

** Highwayman: see also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highwayman

*** Typsan: Welsh dialect word meaning stupid girl/woman

To be continued…

---

Grateful meows are due once again to Doctor Bonzi and his Mum for their erudite proofing,
advice on Miscellaneous Matters Medical and numerous useful suggestions.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the idiot author.

If you have enjoyed this chapter I hope that you will leave a comment and
vote for it by clicking the Vote Box below. Thank you.

At Aunt Greta’s–
Reactions
by Gabi
Chapter 20 of a Continuing Saga…

At the end of the previous chapter Bryony was in hospital explaining to her friends in the “Bryony Buddy Corps” about her true gender status, and that she had to see a specialist before she could return home.

Now Aunt Greta’s niece continues the story…

‘Does that mean you’re going to miss a lot of school, Bryony?’ Kristal asked.

‘I hope not,’ came the reply. ‘I think they only want me here for another day or so, then I can go home and, hopefully, back to school.’

‘But what about your drain-tube?’ I queried.

‘I wondered that too,’ Bryony admitted, ‘but when I asked they said it could drip into a normal sanitary pad inside my knickers.’

‘Eeeewww! Gross!’ said Juniper, pulling a face.

‘Come off it, Junip,’ Angela replied. ‘It’s not really any different or more disgusting than when we’re on our periods, is it?’

‘S’pose not,’ Juniper admitted grudgingly, ‘if you put it like that.’

‘Anyway, cuz,’ Penny asked Bryony, ‘how are the tummy cramps? They can be awful.’

‘Horrible, but better as soon as they gave me a pain-killer pill–and a hot water bottle on my tummy helped a lot, too.’

‘I found that, too,’ I said, ‘the hot water bottle thingy, I mean. So d’you know when you’re coming back to school?’

‘Well, not tomorrow, for sure,’ came the reply. ‘Maybe later in the week. I don’t really know as so much depends on what the doctor has to say tomorrow.’

‘Will you come as Bryan or Bryony?’ Lacey asked.

‘I’d prefer to come as Bryony, but Mummy says we’ll have to speak to the headmistress first ’coz we don’t want to cause the school too many problems.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be all right,’ Kristal surmised. ‘Miss Morgan’s a pussy-cat really.’

‘Is that why some people call her Moggy?’ Lacey asked innocently. ‘I always thought it was ’coz her name’s Miss Morgan.’

‘Doh!’ Juniper said, raising her eyes heavenwards. ‘Of course it’s because she’s called Miss Morgan, dumbo!’ Poor Lacey turned bright pink at this uncharacteristic outburst from her best friend.

‘There’s no need to be like that about it, Juniper, I have an uncle in Ceredigion who has a Morgan sports car that he calls his “Moggy”,’ Angela riposted. ‘Are you on?’

‘Not yet, but I know it’s overdue when I start being mean, even to my bessimates.’

‘So, Bryony, you know what to expect from now on,’ Kristal said with a grimace. ‘The curse is the one thing about being a girl that really sucks.’

‘Nora’s lucky,’ Farah added, ‘’Coz she was born a boy she won’t ever have a monthly visitor.’

‘But being born a boy would suck even more than having visits from Mrs Moon,’ Angela declared. ‘I still find it hard to understand why you pretended to be a boy for all that time, Gabs.’

‘I suppose I was just a wee bit of a tomboy,’ I admitted with a giggle, ‘but I’ve discovered that being a proper girl is like, sooooo much more fun.’

‘A WEE bit of a tomboy? I’ll say,’ exclaimed Angela. ‘You couldn’t have been more boyish if you tried–out of school you always looked scruffy–those jeans you used to wear were sooooo grungy that they could have walked from Lands End to John O’Groats all by themselves, and as for your old trainers–Eeeewww. I couldn’t have borne to put my feet anywhere near them, let alone wear them without socks like you did.’

I saw Penny looking horrified; ‘Don’t worry, Penny, they weren’t half as bad as Angie says. She’s my best friend and is always teasing me about them. You’ll all be pleased to hear that my late-lamented jeans and trainers are no more. They went into the dustbin last week.’

‘They should have been burnt,’ Juniper said, ‘especially if they were as disgusting as Angela said.’

‘Auntie G did suggest it,’ I replied, ‘but I told her I thought burning them would pollute the atmosphere too much–global warming or something.’

‘Eeeewww!’ squealed Lacey, to be joined by Kristal, Penny and Bryony, all holding their noses, just as Mrs Farthing came to see how we were getting on.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘has someone made a smell?’

‘Mum-meeeee!’ squealed Penny. ‘You know nice, polite girls like us don’t let off!’

‘Well, it was just the way you were all holding your noses that made me wonder.’

‘That was my fault, Mrs Farthing,’ Angela admitted. ‘It was something I said which caused them to do it.’

‘We were imagining the disgusting smell given off by a boy’s grungy jeans and trainers being burnt,’ I added.

‘So, has Bryony imparted her big secret?’ asked Mrs Farthing.

‘Yes,’ Penny replied. ‘Isn’t it great? Haven’t I always said that she was more girl than boy? Well, now I’m proved to be right we’ll be even more like twins.’

‘Do you know what is happening to Bryony next, Mrs Farthing?’ Lacey asked.

‘And when?’ Juniper added.

‘None of us will know anything until tomorrow at the earliest after Professor Cunnimacher–the surgeon–has examined her,’ Bryony’s aunt replied.

‘Are you excited, Bryony?’ asked Juniper.

‘I’m looking forward to being a proper girl,’ came the reply; ‘but I’m a bit scared of having an operation. Do you know what he is likely to do, Auntie Bren?’

‘I have no idea, but Sister Chambers might know something.’

‘Sister Chambers?’ queried Bryony looking puzzled.

‘Did you want something, poppet?’ my mum asked, coming into the room.

‘Oh, hi, Auntie Peggy.’ Bryony said. ‘I was wondering what sort of operation it would be when I was going to have it?’

‘The operation’s called a Labiaplasty and when it will be depends on Prof. Cunnimacher’s list,’ Mummy replied, ‘but it could be as early as the week after next.’

‘I wish there was some way of getting rid of my winkle without having an operation,’ Bryony remarked, longingly.

‘Maybe if you tried Anti-winkle cream?’ Mummy suggested, and the rest of us giggled.

‘Will she be staying in hospital till then?’ I asked.

‘Goodness, no,’ Mummy replied. ‘We can’t have young ladies clogging up valuable beds in my nice tidy Gynae ward.’

‘Oh, wow! Bryony,’ I exclaimed. ‘Would you like to come to my birthday sleepover, err–slumber party on Friday?’

‘What’s this?’ Mummy asked. ‘A sleepover?’

‘Auntie Greta says I can have a slumber party for my birthday; if Bryony can come it will be seven of us.’

‘Sorry, Gaby, but Lacey and I can’t make it,’ Juniper said. ‘We’re spending the weekend in London.’

‘Oh, it won’t be the same without you two. Are you sure you can’t make it?’

‘’Fraid so,’ Lacey replied. ‘It was arranged during the summer hols.’

‘Well, next time. Would you like to come, Penny?’ I asked.

She looked pleadingly at her mother; ‘May I, Mummy? Pleeeeee-ease?

‘I don’t see why not–if you are very, VERY good,’ came the reply. ‘And you can keep an eye on your cousin–if she’s allowed to go.’

‘I’m sure Auntie Hel will let her go,’ Penny surmised.

‘I think she might,’ replied Mrs Farthing, ‘but we don’t know if Bryony’ll be well enough. For all we know she might still be in hospital.’

‘I hope not,’ Bryony remarked. ‘Where is Mummy?’

‘She went to the loo,’ Mrs Farthing replied. ‘She’ll be back in a minute or two.’

Penny turned to Farah and asked; ‘So, how do you like being in England?’

‘Well, it’s great so far,’ Farah replied.

‘What about school–is it the same as in America?’ Penny asked.

‘Some things are. I find some of the lessons quite hard because you do things a bit different over here. It was sooo hard not to giggle when I discovered that our homeroom teacher is called Miss Tickell and that her given name is Tess.’

‘Homeroom?’ Penny queried.

‘Oh yeah, sorry,’ said Farah, ‘homeroom is what we have back home in the States. I guess I should’ve said “class” teacher.’

‘You’ll have to tell your friends back home about the mystical testicle,’ Kristal said, making us all giggle.

‘I don’t think they’ll ever believe it,’ Farah replied, grinning. ‘They’ll probably think it’s the name of the leader of some strange religious cult.’

We carried on chatting for a while, until my mum came and said we had to go because the doctors were about to start their rounds, so we all hugged Bryony goodbye and followed Penny’s mum out to the car park.

* * *

Mrs Farthing dropped off Farah and I at Auntie G’s and drove away with the others to drop them at their respective homes before heading back to Great Shaghorn because Penny had to go to school tomorrow, like we did.

I was searching in my handbag for my latch-key when Auntie G opened the door. ‘Hello, girls. When I saw Mrs Farthing dropping you off, I thought I’d come and let you in, knowing that you aren’t used to finding things in your handbag yet, Gabs. So how was Bryony?’

‘She’s soooo happy that she’s a real girl with all the proper girly bits inside,’ I replied. ‘She’s even quite pleased that she’s having her first period ’cause that’s what led to them discovering that she really is a girl.’

‘She said the surgeon’s going to see her tomorrow,’ Farah added.

‘Yes,’ Auntie replied, ‘her mummy told me Prof. Cunnimacher was going to examine her; so that’s tomorrow, is it? Hopefully he’ll be able to operate on her quite soon.’

‘Hey, Gabs, we’ve got our English homework for Miss Gnomer to finish tonight,’ Farah reminded me. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to write your essay on?’

‘Gosh, thanks for reminding me; I‘d completely forgotten about it. The Gnome would probably fall off her toadstool if we turned up to her English lesson tomorrow without our essays.’

‘Poor Miss Gnomer,” Auntie G remarked. ‘You girls seem to have no respect for your teachers.’

‘The Gnome’s nice and a really good teacher, it’s just that she has a weird name, has beady eyes and looks like she should be sitting on a toadstool. We all love her to bits. Have you decided what you’re going to write about, Farah?’

‘I thought I’d write about the differences of living here compared with the U.S.A.’ she replied. ‘Things like how you crazy Brits drive on the wrong side of the road and the weird names you call things.’

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll write about visiting a friend in hospital.’

‘Why don’t the two of you start your essays while I get some tea for us all,’ Auntie Greta told us. ‘While you were out I made a batch of fairy cakes, and there’s a fresh packet of crumpets I can toast.’

Ooh yummy,’ I said. ‘Your fairy cakes are the best. Would you like us to help you?’

‘I’d rather the two of you got your prep done. I’ll have tea ready in half-an-hour or so and will bring it in to you when it’s ready so you can keep working.’

‘Wow, thanks, Auntie,’ I replied, ‘You’re soooo kewl.’

‘Am I, indeed? Well, just don’t say I don’t spoil you.’

We had left our prep in the dining room before we set out for the hospital, so after a quick trip to the loo we settled down to write our masterpieces–or should that be MISTRESSpieces?

When Auntie brought tea to us, I was nearly half-way through my essay which was going well. “Here you are, girls,’ she said, ‘don’t let your crumpets get cold. There’s nothing worse than a cold crumpet. There’s a jar of my raspberry jam if you want it and I’ve given you two fairy cakes each. Will that be enough?

‘Sure,’ Farah replied, moving some books aside so Auntie could put down the tray.

‘If you want more, just come and ask,’ Auntie said. ‘By the way, as we had such a heavy lunch, we’re just having soup for supper tonight.’

‘Your home-made?’ I asked.

‘Of course,’ came the reply; ‘I had some good chicken stock from boiling up the remains of the chicken carcase and have added plenty of fresh veggies, so you’ll get more than your 5-a-day today.’

‘Sounds great,’ Farah said.

‘Good. I’ll leave you to get on with things,’ Auntie replied and left us.

* * *

The alarm clock wakened us at ten to seven. We had had an undisturbed night without any forays into the past, thank goodness. Farah went to use the loo and shower first as I was still on, but there was hardly any blood now and my tummy cramps had gone–something else to thank goodness for. We helped each other dry our hair, finished dressing in our school uniforms and went downstairs to breakfast. The smell of grilling bacon assailed our nostrils so we knew that Auntie was hard at it.

‘Good morning, my dears,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well,’ Farah replied.

‘And no midnight excursions back to war-time, thank goodness,’ I added. ‘Don’t forget we’re walking to school today, ’cause Farah’s dad and mum are still away ’til lunchtime. We’ve arranged to meet Angela and Kristal on the way and walk together.’

‘Daddy’s gonna collect us after school as usual,’ Farah added. ‘Mmmm, that bacon smells real good.’

‘There’s corn flakes and coco-pops if you’d like them, so help yourselves,’ Auntie said, ‘and there’s milk in the fridge. I know I don’t have to ask Gabs, but would you like a fried egg with your bacon, Farah?’

‘Please. Sunny side up.’

‘You can’t catch me out with that one, young lady,’ Auntie replied. ‘Freya explained all that to me when I was your age, although I can’t remember if the other was easy over or over easy. And how many rashers of bacon would you like?’

‘Rashers? Farah queried, looking puzzled.

‘Oh, err–’ Auntie pondered for a few seconds, frowning, ‘You know, slices.’

‘May I have two, please?’ Farah replied, pouring coco-pops into her cereal bowl. ‘In the States, we call them strips. I wish I’d known that yesterday, I could have put it in my essay for Miss Gnomer.’

‘Couldn’t you add it before you hand it in?’ Auntie asked.

‘When’s our English lesson, Gabs?’

‘Second period,’ I replied.

‘There won’t be time then; I’d have to write the whole thing out again. Ah well, never mind. I can store it away for future reference.’

‘It would be easy if we were allowed to write our English essays on a computer,’ I said, ‘But Miss Gnomer insists they have to be in our “best handwriting”.’

‘We always had to hand-write everything, and we didn’t have Biros when I was your age, most of us had to use dip-pens–which one had to dip in a bottle off ink or an inkwell every few seconds–or a fountain pen if you were lucky.’

‘You had a fountain pen, didn’t you Auntie?’ I said. ‘Remember how I made a horrid smudge when I wrote that essay for you on my first trip back to 1944? 1 I got you into trouble with Miss De’Ath for that.’

‘Miss Who?’ Farah asked.

‘Miss De’Ath, dear,’ Auntie G replied. ‘Spelled D-E-apostrophe-A-T-H. She was our form mistress.

‘Oh, Miss Death!’ Farah giggled. ‘Oh my gosh, that’s even worse than Miss Tickell. I still can’t get over her being called Tess by the other teachers. I wrote and told Emma, my cousin over in the States about her, but I haven’t heard back from her yet. I bet she’ll giggle so much she’ll pee her panties; it wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘You used to call Miss De’Ath The Grim Reaper, didn’t you, Auntie? Did you tell Emma that there’s a girl in our class called Kristal Ball, Farah?’

‘Nah, she already thinks you Brits are the zaniest folks ever, so I thought I save it for another time–’ she giggled and added with a grin, ‘–for the sake of her panties.’

‘Now, girls,’ Auntie said, trying not to giggle, ‘back to matters in hand. Do either of you want anything else to eat? Another cup of coffee, Farah? More toast?’

‘No, thank you, Auntie G,’ Farah replied.

‘No, thank you, Auntie,’ I echoed. ‘We ought to leave in a couple of minutes ’cause we are walking today.’

‘Have you got everything you need in your backpacks?’ Auntie asked.

‘Yeah, we checked them last night after we’d finished our homework,’ I replied.

‘I brushed both your blazers for you,’ Auntie told us.

‘Thank you, Auntie G,’ Farah said.

‘Yes, thanks, Auntie.’

* * *

We discovered that Angela was waiting for us when we arrived at 69 Letsbeigh Avenue, so after greetings all round we were able to set off to Kristal’s house straight away. It was only a few minutes walk to Kristal’s, so Angela took her mobile from her blazer pocket and texted to say we were on our way. I hoped I was going to be given a mobile for my birthday on Friday.

Kristal was waiting by her front gate, so after another round of hugs and saying ‘Hi!’ we set off once again.

‘I wonder if Moggy will say anything about Bryony in assembly today?’ Angela asked when we had walked less than ten metres.

‘She might,’ I said.

‘But then again,’ Kristal added, ‘she might not.’

‘Will Ms Tickell know?’ Farah asked.

‘She’s certain to,’ I replied; ‘Miss Morgan’s bound to have told her.’ We went on to discuss our visit to Bryony in hospital and soon were joined by Lacey and Juniper. As we approached the school I noticed a couple of the boys who used to hang out with my báªte noir, Kenneth Quinn.

‘I wonder if Quinn and his mates will be back at school today?’ I said. ‘I hope not.’

‘Well, Kevin’s still grounded,’ Kristal replied, ‘and under pain of death if he so much as mention’s Quinn’s name. I’d be happy if I was never to see that great oaf again, particularly after what he did to you, Gabs.’ Farah took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘Me too,’ added Angela.

‘And me,’ offered Lacey and Juniper in unison.

‘I think they should exclude him permanently,’ Angela remarked as we walked in through the school gates.

‘Who’s that, Angie,’ asked Tanya Hyde, another of our classmates.

‘Quinn,’ I replied for Angela.

‘I agree, after what he did to you, Gaby,’ Tanya said.

We left our blazers in our changing room on the way to our classroom, where the usual chaos ruled until Miss Tickell arrived and we all hurried to our places for registration.

‘Good morning, everybody,’ Miss Tickell said cheerfully. ‘I hope you all had a restful weekend so you can work all the harder this week.’

‘Good morning, Miss Tickell,’ we chanted in unison–although I was certain I heard one of the boys mumble ‘Tess,’ instead of ‘Miss.’

‘Sit down, everyone and I’ll check if we’re all here. Ivan Arden?’

‘Here, Miss Tickell,’ Ivan replied.

‘Philip Atlee?’

‘Here, Miss Tickell.’

‘Kristal Ball?’

‘Present, Miss Tickell.’

She continued until after Walter Pratt had replied, ‘Here, Miss Tickell,’ and then she called. ‘Bryan Rose?’

I looked at Farah, and she looked at me and I was just about to put my hand up to speak when Lacey blurted out, ‘She’s in hospital, Miss Tickell.’ Any background hubbub ceased instantly.

‘Don’t you mean HE is in Hospital, Lacey?’

‘No, Miss Tickell,’ insisted Lacey. ‘We visited her in hospital yesterday and she’s definitely a girl.’

A collective gasp arose from the rest of the class.

‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life, girl,’ Miss Tickell retorted, crossly. ‘How can Bryan Rose possibly be a girl?’

I put my hand up and caught our teacher’s eye.

‘Yes, Gaby?’

‘Bryony was taken ill on Saturday and her doctor thought it was a kidney problem so she was rushed straight into hospital. I think if you check with Miss Morgan she will confirm what Lacey said. Six of us were allowed to visit her yesterday–she’s in my mother’s Gynaecology ward–and Bryony told us the news herself.’

‘Mrs Moon was visiting her,’ Lacey blurted, and most of the girls gasped while the boys looked bewildered.

Miss Tickell, looking horrified, sat down behind her desk. ‘I’m afraid I was a little late arriving this morning and didn’t have time to go to the staff common room. I’ll just finish taking the register and go and check with Miss Morgan before assembly.’

She checked off the final nine names and put the register to one side. ‘Now, I’m putting you on your honour to be quiet and remain in your places while I go and see Miss Morgan. You may talk quietly amongst yourselves, but I want no raised voices. Understand?’ She looked hard at a number of the boys in the back row and bustled out of the classroom.

‘I always thought there was something weird about Rose,’ Willy Philpott, sitting in the back row, proclaimed.

To be continued…
_____________________

1 See Aunt Greta’s Homework–the first Aunt Greta story.

---

Grateful meows are due once again to Doctor Bonzi and his Mum for their erudite proofing, advice on Miscellaneous Matters Medical and numerous useful suggestions.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the idiot author.

If you have enjoyed this chapter I hope that you will leave a comment and
vote for it by clicking the Vote Box below left. Thank you.

At Aunt Greta’s–
Another New Girl
by Gabi
Chapter 21 of a Continuing Saga…

Miss Tickell checked off the final nine names in the register. ‘Now, I’m putting you on your honour to be quiet and remain in your places while I go and see Miss Morgan. You may talk quietly amongst yourselves, but I want no raised voices. Understand?’ She looked hard at a few of the boys huddled in the back row and bustled out of the classroom.

‘I always thought there was something weird about Rose,’ Willy Philpott, sitting in the back row, proclaimed.

‘Stands to reason,’ Andrew Royde remarked, ‘With a name like Rose it must be a girl.’ He spat out the word girl like it described the most despicable creature on the planet.

‘Rose is her family’s surname, stoopid,’ scorned Wendy House; ‘you might be a lot more intelligent if you were a girl, Android.’

‘Miss Tickell said we could talk quietly,’ Michael Heard–one of the more studious boys–reminded the class. ‘Don’t let’s start a battle of the sexes.’

‘There must be something strange going on in this class,’ Willy Philpott, suggested. ‘That’s two boys have turned into girls since the beginning of term.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Roger Mee, ‘I wonder who’ll be next?’

‘My dad would go ape if I turned into a girl,’ Joe King remarked. ‘When I told him that Chambers had changed sex he said it was a sin against God and only perverts and sissy boys wanted to be girls.’

‘P’raps one of the girls will change into a boy,’ Rick Shaw surmised.

‘Eeeewww, gross,’ squealed Lacey Nickerson. ‘Why would any self-respecting girl want to be a yukky boy?’

‘Why would anybody want to be a yukky boy?’ Netta Fish added. ‘Girls are much cleverer and do things sooooo much better than dumb boys.’

‘Sshhh!’ I hissed. ‘Not so loud.’

‘We’ll get a bollocking from the Tess Tickell,’ came from one of the boys in the back row whose voice I did not immediately recognise.

Farah looked at me wide-eyed and mouthed ‘What’s a bollocking?’ at me.

‘I’ll translate for you later, Farah,’ I whispered because I could hear Miss T’s footsteps clicking along the tiled floor of the corridor outside our classroom.

‘All right, everyone,’ she said, entering the room. ‘I’ve checked with the Headmistress, and it seems that Lacey is correct in that Bryony–as she is now called–is indeed in hospital. There will be a short announcement to that effect during Assembly. So would you please line up by the door behind Lorna, ready to march smartly to the Hall.’

Lorna Mower went to the door and we lined up behind her–girls in front, boys behind–which was the custom at Tuckton School. When the bell stopped ringing, Lorna led us to the hall where we took our usual places in front of the year 8 kids and awaited the arrival of Miss Morgan.

Once the last of the junior years had taken their places in front of us, Miss Morgan swept in, her academic gown flowing behind her, and took her place on the dais behind the lectern, with the rest of the teachers behind her.

‘Good Morning, everybody,’ she said, brightly.

‘Good Morning, Miss Morgan,’ came the chanted response from all of us.

The Head led us through the hymn and the usual prayers, adding some extra prayers for “a Year 7 pupil” who had been taken ill on Saturday, was admitted to hospital as an emergency and would be off school for, hopefully, only a short time; she was obviously referring to Bryony. We waited silently after she finished speaking until she asked us to sit down for the announcements. There being no chairs or benches we each “drew up a patch of floor” and sat on that. Like those round me, I sat cross-legged, automatically smoothing my skirt under my bum and pushing the front of it down between my spread knees so my knickers didn’t show.

Miss Morgan did not speak immediately: she stood, grasping the lectern with both hands and looked over us, wearing what we recognised instantly as her “I am distressed and most displeased” face. Everyone–except, perhaps, the very newest students–will have realised we were in for a serious talking to.

‘It always distresses me,’ she began, ‘when I hear of occurrences that cast a shadow over the reputation of our school. Shortly before the beginning of term three boys–one from Year 9 and two from Year 8–interfered with a Year 7 girl in a manner that amounted to sexual harassment. This attack took place in the street while the girl was walking to a friend’s house; she retaliated against the biggest boy in the only manner she knew, but the other two still held her tightly. Had it not been for the timely intervention of an adult, that girl would have suffered an even greater trauma. The adult was able to hold one of the other boys, but the second younger one ran away.

‘Fortunately, the police, having been summoned by an adult who had discovered the boys’ plan, arrived quickly and the two remaining boys were taken into custody. The girl was taken to her friend’s house nearby by a policewoman to await the arrival of her mother. All three boys are due to appear in the juvenile court next week and are currently excluded from school. I have said it before and I will say it again, I will NOT tolerate such behaviour among the pupils at this school. Such bullying is the very worst kind and is demeaning, not only to the victim, but also to the bully. I shall press for the permanent exclusion, at least, of the Year 9 boy who instigated this cowardly and unforgivable attack. Incidents like this do nothing but sully our good reputation of being a school with a long history of service to this community. To any other pupils with such plans in mind, I say this; “You have been warned”.’ She fixed her gaze on a group of boys who were known to be trouble-makers.

We listened to her speech in silence and realised that she meant every word. We all liked Miss Morgan because she was usually very friendly and easy-going and we respected her for her fairness; but when she was in this mood she was just a bit scary–at least to those who made a habit of misbehaving. After a few seconds silence, she relaxed and read out a few of the type of notice that usually brought our morning assembly to a close and we returned to our respective classrooms.

‘I don’t think we’ll be seeing Quinn this term, Gabs,’ Angela remarked while we waited for Mademoiselle Blanc to come for our French lesson.

‘Good riddance,’ I replied. ‘Wow, Kristal, your brother Kevin’s dead lucky he’d been grounded, or he might be in the same boat as the other three.’

‘I know.’ She grimaced. ‘He had to go and see Moggy on Friday afternoon after last period. Mummy and Daddy were there too and Kevin was very red-eyed when they brought him home afterwards. I know he tried to set you up, Gabs, and because of that he’s a scumbag, but he’s also my brother and I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him.’

‘It was only that he was such a close mate of Quinn that made me think he was gruesome,’ I explained.

‘All boys can be gruesome,’ Kristal remarked; ‘especially if they are older brothers.’

‘My older brother isn’t gruesome,’ I replied defensively.

‘’Course not,’ Juniper chipped in. ‘Tim’s a real sweetie; but he’s an exception.’

‘I’m not sure he’d be happy to hear you calling him a sweetie,’ I said and then giggled, ‘but you’re absolutely right–he is.’

Our chat had to stop there because Mademoiselle Blanc swept into our classroom. ‘Bon jour, mes enfants,’ she greeted us cheerfully as we all stood up.

‘Bon jour, Mam’zelle,’ we replied.

’Asseyez vous, mes enfants. Eh bien, nous commencerons avec dictée,’ she continued. ’Ouvrez vos cahiers s’il vous plait.’

We took our French exercise books from our desks and Farah and I glanced at each other and grimaced–neither of us were keen on dictée, nor were any of our close friends.

We were all glad it was an easy piece Mam’zelle dictated to us, but that did not prevent a few surreptitious grateful sighs escaping from one or two of us when we had finished.

Our second period was maths–well, algebra actually, and not my fave subject. Mister Ogg–“Miss Trogg”–was in a rather foul mood; it seems that the boys in Year Six had been playing up during the first period and we suffered for it by being set some particularly difficult equations. We were very pleased when the bell finally rang for our mid-morning break.

It being lovely and sunny we all trooped outside for break; I teamed up with the other members of the B.B.C.–except for Kristal, because she had what she called “an errand” to do. Farah was telling us about being a cheerleader.

‘I started when I was nine,’ she explained, ‘and we trained after school four days a week. Our coach was our PE teacher–she had been a cheerleader at her high school and at college–and she worked us real hard.’

‘I wonder if Springy knows anything about cheerleading?’ Lacey asked. ‘It’d be brill if we could learn to be cheerleaders and cheer for the football first eleven.’

‘Or the netball first seven,’ added Juniper.

‘Maybe they should have boy cheerleaders,’ Angela added with a giggle. ‘They’d look soooo sweet in cheerleader dresses.’ That made us all giggle.

‘What’s so funny, girls?’ I heard Kristal ask. I looked round and realised that Kevin was with her, looking very tense and uncomfortable. I hoped sooo much that he was not going to start teasing me again, but he was looking very sheepish so I reckoned he wasn’t going to try anything on this time.

He looked at me. ‘Errm–G-G-Gaby,’ he began nervously. It was unlike him to stammer; ‘I want to apologise for s-s-s-slagging you off like I did and then telling K-K-K-Quinn you were only pretending to be a girl. I was wrong, and I’m sorry for what happened to you. It was such a stupid thing to do.’ Then he held out his right hand.

I grasped it and we shook. ‘Thank you, Kevin. I guess that was hard for you and I really value what you’ve just said. I’m sure you’ll never do such a thing again. It was probably partly my fault for pretending to be a boy for so long.’ I smiled at him and squeezed his hand. He smiled and squeezed my hand in return.

‘Thanks, Gaby. I hope you won’t be upset if I say I think you’re very pretty and, if you weren’t wearing school uniform, you’d be well hot.’

‘Thank you, kind Sir,’ I replied, and bobbed a quick curtsy to which he bowed deeply, which set us all off giggling.

‘Honestly, you two,’ Kristal exclaimed, still giggling; ‘We’ll be sending for the men in white coats from the Funny Farm at this rate.’

‘I felt really bad when I found out what Gunn found in your–err–’ he hesitated.

‘It’s all right, Kevin, you can say “knickers” if you like; we won’t be upset, will we, girls? After all, we girls all wear them.”

‘Yes,’ agreed Juniper. ‘It would be jolly cold without them. Go on, Kev, you can say it; as Gaby says we won’t be offended.’

After a short pause Kevin said, ‘Erm–knickers,’ quite quietly and blushed a deep shade of puce.

“BALL!” bellowed a loud male voice. We all looked round and saw Mr Cott, the year 8 form teacher. “Did I hear you mention female underwear to these girls?’

‘No, Sir–I mean yes, Sir,’ Kevin mumbled, looking at his shoes.

‘It’s all right, Sir,’ I said. ‘It’s our fault, we were sort of daring him to say it.’

‘Very well, Ball, I’ll let you off this time, but watch your step, lad, we are all watching you. And it might be an idea if I kept an eye on you, young ladies, too.’

‘Why, Sir?’ asked Lacey, ‘do you like, fancy us then, Sir?’

‘Hrrrmph, no, Miss Nickerson,’ came the firm reply. ‘And you can wipe that silly smile off your face, Ball.’ With that a blushing “Mr Bean” strode away. Mr Bean? you are wondering: I ought to have explained that Mr Cott’s first name was Harry.

‘Wow,’ said Angela, ‘Beanie must have ears like a bat if he heard what Kevin said, ’cause he wasn’t talking very loud. But, indeed to goodness, didn’t he blush after what you said, Lacey?’

That set us all giggling again. Soon after that the bell rang, signalling the end of break time, so we all began to make our way back to our classroom.

* * *

Before we reached to our classroom for Geography after break, Miss Tickell approached us with a girl of about our age whom we hadn’t seen before.

‘Girls,’ she called, ‘I’d like you to meet and sheepdog this new girl who has just arrived; her name is Leigh Pierre, and she is in our form. Tregeagle has just put a desk for her next to yours, Gaby.’

Tregeagle, or Chief Petty Officer Tregeagle RN (ret’d), was the school’s general factotum. He was popular with everyone and answered to the nickname “Chief” or “Chiefie”; often he could be persuaded to spin us yarns about his experiences during the Falklands War in the 1980s.

‘Leigh should have been here last week,’, Miss Tickell continued, ‘but due to unforeseen circumstances, she and her mother were delayed on their way home from France and only arrived home late last night.’

‘Still, better late than never, eh?’ I said. ‘Welcome, Leigh, I’m Gaby Chambers.’

‘Perhaps you would do the honours, Gaby, and introduce your friends to Leigh,’ our teacher asked.

‘Certainly, Miss Tickell,’ I replied, before Miss Tickell hurried off in the direction of the staff room. ‘So, Leigh, how do you spell your surname?’

‘P-I-E-R-R-E,’ came the reply. ‘My great grandparents came here from France during World War Two when the boches invaded in 1940.’

‘Wow, so you’re partly French,’ I surmised.

‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ she replied with a smile.

You’ve just missed French dictée,’ Angela chipped in.

‘This is Angela Williamson,’ I said. ‘She’s my best friend who comes from Wales.’

‘Hello, Leigh,’ Angela said, giving her a hug.

‘And this is Farah Way, who comes from the USA,’ I added.

‘Hi, Farah,’ said Leigh. ‘Whereabouts in the States d’you come from?’

‘Boston, Mass; Daddy’s working over here for the next few years, and Mom always wanted to live in England as her Mom and Dad came from here. I guess I’ll have gotten to be quite English before we go back home.’

‘We spent a couple of years in the States,’ Leigh replied, ‘Until my fart of a father ran off with his blonde bimbo secretary. Mummy says his brains aren’t in his head but in his trousers So I don’t have a father now.’

‘Oh, poor you,’ Juniper sympathised. ‘I bet you and your Mum were upset. I’m Juniper Berry, by the way.’

‘Now let me see,’ Leigh pointed to each of us in turn, ‘Gaby, Angela, Farah, Juniper, and–’

‘I’m Lacey Nickerson, and this is my best friend Kristal Ball; so now you’ve got all of us.’

‘Except Bryony–who’s in hospital,’ I added.

‘So, Leigh, where did you go to school before?’ Kristal asked.

‘In London. I hated it and so did Mummy–London I mean, not school–that was good; it was a girls’ school so we could get on without stupid boys trying to muck about during lessons.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Lacey remarked. ‘I wish we were girls only here. What d’you think, Gaby?’

‘Not all boys are idiots,’ I replied; ‘my big brother Tim’s great. Anyway if this had been a girls-only school I wouldn’t have been able to pretend to be a boy for so long.’

‘You pretended to be a boy?’ Leigh squealed in amazement.

‘Yeah. She had us all fooled,’ Kristal said. ‘We all thought she was a boy called Gabriel until just before this term started. He looked really good in his boys’ uniform.’

‘But why on earth did you pretend to be a boy?’ Leigh asked. ‘You’re a really pretty girl.’

‘I wanted to be just like my big brother, and I enjoyed playing with him,’ I replied.

‘So what made you change your mind?’

‘My boobs. They started to show through my shirt and I needed to wear a bra,’ I explained; ‘Oh yeah, and my periods started.’

‘Lucky you–starting your monthly visitor late, I mean. Mine like started at the beginning of this year, in time for my birthday,’ Leigh said.

‘A lovely prezzie–NOT!’ I sympathised, adding, ‘It’s my birthday on Friday.’

‘She’ll be twelve,’ Angela added. ‘So when’s your birthday, Leigh?’

‘The twenty-ninth of February, worst luck; so I only have like a proper birthday once every four years.’

‘Eh?’ Juniper exclaimed. ‘How come, for goodness sake?’

I suddenly realised and said, ‘Leap year; oh my God, is that why you’re called Leigh Pierre?’

‘Yeah, and it like, sucks, ’coz this year I actually had my third proper birthday,’ she replied, blushing to the roots of her hair. ‘My idiot father has a like, really evil sense of humour and insisted on having me baptised Leigh. Mummy never forgave him–she like wanted to call me Charlotte.’

‘Why didn’t your mom start calling you Charlotte when your dad ran off with lover-girl?’ Farah asked.

‘Because that female–Mummy calls my “philandering father’s bloody bimbo”–is, like, called Charlotte, and anyway I had like, got used to being called Leigh by then and quite like it now in spite of father’s terrible pun.’

‘I get the feeling he’s like, not exactly your fave person,’ I remarked.

‘Too right, girl; I hope like, his bimbos drop off,’ she confirmed with some venom, adding, ‘thank goodness he lives in the States now.’ We walked into our classroom and discovered that Tregeagle had squeezed a very new-looking desk for Leigh amongst our little coterie in the front row. There were already some of our classmates hanging around so we introduced Leigh to them. We introduced her as Leigh to spare her further blushes in the hope that by the time the other kids–especially the boys–learned her surname she would be settled in and less prone to embarrassment.

As the rest of the class returned and took their places, we introduced Leigh to them. “Your other name isn’t Ward, is it?’ asked Joe King with a cheeky grin.

‘Oh, HA-HA! No, it isn’t,’ Leigh replied sharply. ‘Neither is it original. Typical, there’s always one funny man who’s full of wind, isn’t there?’

‘Yeah,’ Angela replied, ‘boys can be soooo twp–sorry Leigh, that’s Welsh for stupid–this one is called is called Joe King, and is as twpsyn as they come.’ She finished speaking just as Miss Tickell came in to give us our geography lesson.

* * *

Leigh joined us at our usual table for lunch. Tuckton School’s cafeteria had recently been “Jamie Olivered”,¹ and chips were now a once-a-week treat as an option on a Friday with a piece of fish; the rest of the week each day had a different menu on offer over a three-week cycle. The Monday menu this week offered shepherd’s pie, tuna salad, and for the veggies–and any others who fancied it–cheese and spinach ravioli with a Neapolitan tomato sauce. It’s one of my faves so, even though I am a carnivore, I decided to have that with a small side salad, as did Leigh and Farah; Juniper and Angela went for tuna salad while Kristal and Lacey had shepherd’s pie with carrots and peas. For afters there was a choice of jam roly-poly and custard or rice pudding with a blob of jam in it or fresh fruit; we all opted for fresh fruit.

‘The food here is really great,” Leigh remarked. “Much better than my last school; we didn’t get any choice at all. Lots of the girls went out and bought chips at the chippy down the road.’

‘Some of the kids do that here, and get a chip butty² or a burger,’ Lacey told her, ‘but it’s mainly the boys who do that. Most of us girls realise that we have to eat a healthy diet if we don’t want to end up as Bessie Bunters.’

‘Hey, girls, we’ve got PE this afternoon,’ said Kristal, ‘maybe we could ask Springy about cheerleading.’

‘Who’s Springy?’ asked Leigh.

‘Miss Springer, our PE teacher,’ replied Lacey.

‘Farah was a cheerleader in the States,’ I added. ‘She was telling us about it earlier and we thought it would be great to have a cheerleader’ squad here.’

‘That would be soooo kewl,’ Leigh said. ‘I tried it in the States and it was really fun. Who would we be cheering for?’

‘The boys’ football first eleven,’ replied Juniper, ‘the boys’ and girls’ hockey first elevens and the netball first seven…’

‘…not forgetting all the other teams as well,’ interrupted Lacey.

‘I’m not sure the netball players would like us leaping about and waving poms during their matches,’ Angela offered, ‘but the boys would love it at football matches.’

‘Yeah, they’d all be undressing you with their eyes, the disgusting beasts,’ remarked Shona Hole, a studious year nine girl who usually had her head in a book. ‘That’s all they ever seem to do. Whenever I sit down to read in the playground they all hover around staring and trying to see up my skirt. I’m really glad that that moronic great ape, Quinn, is excluded this term–he was the worst of the lot.’

‘So am I glad he’s not here,’ I added.

‘Yeah, of course, it was you that he molested, Gaby, wasn’t it?’ Shona said. ‘You poor girl, I bet you were petrified.’

‘At least she kicked him in the crotch,’ said Juniper, ‘but she still had the other two being horrible to her.’

‘But not for long,’ added Angela, ‘’cause her Auntie Greta zoomed up on her motorbike wearing her black leather suit and crash helmet and grabbed one of them before he could do Gabs any more harm and the other one legged it as soon as he saw her.’

‘Wow, kew-ell,’ Shona remarked. ‘I remember when she came and talked to the school about being a student here during world war two; she arrived on a huge motorbike then. Yeah, she’s kewl alright. Well, I must go and get ready for Mr Bean’s history lesson. ’Bye.’

‘’Bye, Shona,’ I replied. ‘And we’ve gotta go and change for PE with Springy.’

‘Yeah, and ask her if we could start a cheer squad,’ said Farah.

‘That would be soooo kewl,’ Lacey added.

‘Come on, Leigh,’ I said, ‘We’ll introduce you to our luxurious changing room.’

‘I’ve been there already,’ she replied. ‘The school secretary showed me where it was and found me a locker to put my PE kit in.’

‘So, you’ve met our Miss I P Knightly, have you?’ I said, and giggles erupted from the others.

‘She’s called I P Knightly?’ squealed a wide-eyed Leigh. ‘What do the “I” and the “P” stand for?’

‘The “I” is for Isla, except she spells it I-S-L-A-Y because that’s how the Hebridean island is spelled and her mother came from there,’ Lacey explained, adding, ‘but she always signs herself “I P Knightly,” after she heard one of the boys saying that if she was called “I Slay Nightly” they’d better be careful not to upset her. I don’t know what the “P” stands for though.’

‘Maybe it’s Pamela or something like that,’ Angela surmised.

‘Or Paula, or Patricia, or something really weird like Persephone?’ suggested Leigh.

* * *

In the changing room I noticed that the other girls started by pulling to their navy-blue gym knickers. I was glad that mine weren’t so large and baggy as the ones I had worn back in 1944, but these were quite a bit more substantial than our ordinary everyday panties.

‘Say, these are like the spankies we wear as part of our cheer uniforms,’ Farah said as she followed my example.

‘SPANKIES?’ exclaimed Kristal. ‘What an extraordinary name to call knickers. My mum calls them bloomers sometimes.’

‘Yeah, some of the girls back home call them that,’ Farah replied.

I had taken off my blouse and was pulling on the yellow t-shirt that we wore as a top for gym, when Angela said, ‘Hey, Gabs, you’d be better off with a sports bra. They’re much more comfortable for gym than normal ones.’

I unzipped my school skirt and put on the short pleated pelmet that was our regulation PE skirt–no wonder we needed bloomers, our skirts barely covered them!

After putting on our trainers we jogged to the gym where we were met by Miss Springer. Some of the boys were hanging around at the other end of the gym waiting for their PE teacher, Mr Jampton, who would take them out on the sports field for some football practice.

‘Is there anything you need from the store room, Huw?’ Springy called.

‘No thanks, Ann, I’ve got all the balls I need.’

This brought a few raised eyebrows and stifled giggles from our little gaggle, and I suddenly realised that I had never known that his full name was Huw Jampton, especially as he was a Londoner.³

As soon as the boys had gone out to the sports field, Springy called us together: ‘Right, girls,’ she said, ‘Welcome back to another term, and welcome to some new faces among our number. Gaby has decided that she can no longer pretend to be a boy and I am very pleased to see her looking like the girl she is. Second I would like to welcome Farah, whom you know is from America, and today we have another newcomer, Leigh, so welcome Farah and Leigh.’ She paused while we all clapped. ‘Farah was telling me that in the States she was a cheerleader at her last school and I wondered if any of you might be interested in belonging to a cheer squad if we were to start one here?’

‘YAY!’ came the instant response from nearly everyone as a forest of hands shot up.

‘Well, I will now make a small confession,’ Springy continued; ‘When I was your age I became a cheerleader at my school and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Not only did it help keep me fit, but it was also great fun; isn’t that so, Farah?’

‘Yes, Coach, it’s really fun,’ Farah replied, grinning broadly.

‘How soon can we start, Miss?’ Angela asked.

‘Could you and Farah give us a demonstration, Miss?’ asked Wanda Barr.

‘Not just now, Wanda, because we would need to work something out and practise it. But if you like we’ll start to learn some tumbling. How many of you can do cartwheels and how many of you can do the splits?’

Several girls, including Farah, Leigh and Juniper put up their hands. I knew I could do cartwheels and I could almost do the splits as a boy so, hesitantly, I put my hand up too. By the end of the lesson most of us were doing good cartwheels and I discovered I was able to do the splits easily–my girl-body being much more flexible than my old boy-body ever was.

* * *

At the end of afternoon school Dr Way was waiting for us by the Cherokee. ‘Hi, kids, how was your weekend?’ he asked.

‘We had a real cool time, Daddy, didn’t we, Gabs?’ Farah replied, giving him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

‘Yes, it was great having Farah to stay,’ I added.

‘Well, climb aboard,’ Dr Way told us, ‘and don’t forget your seat belts.’ Once we were under way he asked, ‘Did you do anything interesting, or just hang together?’

‘We visited a friend in hospital,’ Farah answered. ‘You remember I said we had a boy in our class who was like Nora back home?’

‘Yes, you said he might be transgendered. Is he sick?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘it turns out that she has been a girl all along, but had boy bits outside. She had an ultrasound scan and it showed she has a full set of girl bits inside and she only needs to have her vagina opened up to be a proper girl.’

‘Bryony told us her boy bits would never have worked properly–only as something to wee through,’ Farah added.

‘Is she happy about it?’ Dr Way asked.

‘Yes, she’s really-really pleased,’ I answered. ‘She’s looking forward to having a proper girl-body at last.’

‘Ooh, Daddy, we’re gonna start a cheer squad at school,’ Farah said. ‘Springy, our PE teacher used to be a cheerleader when she was a schoolgirl and at uni, and when she heard that I’m a cheerleader back home, asked it we would be interested in starting a team here.’

‘We’re really looking forward to it,’ I confirmed. ‘Springy started us doing some tumbling today.’

‘Gabs is gonna be really good; she was doing really cool cartwheels and she can do the splits easily.’

We arrived at Auntie G’s and we all got out, as Farah’s suitcase had to be put in the car. Auntie offered them a cup of tea, but Dr Way said they had to rush as he had a report to write before tomorrow.

I said goodbye to Farah, saying ‘See yah tomorrow,’ and they left. I had tea and did my homework, then I rang Mummy.

‘Tuckton eight-six-eight-five-one-seven.’ It was Tim who answered.

‘Hi, Timmy,’ I squealed with delight. ‘How’s you?’

‘Good, thanks, Gabs. Dr MacNeish says I can go back to school on Friday.’

‘Are you looking forward to it?’

‘Yeah, it’s so borrrrrring hanging around at home all the time with nothing to do.’

‘I thought you’d be doing things to the layout,’ I said.⁴

‘I’ve been doing a bit, but it’s not the same without you here to do it with me.’

‘Well, I’ll soon be able to come home, won’t I? Is Mummy there?’

‘I’ll get her, hang on.’ I heard him put the ’phone down and call out, ‘Mum, Gaby’s on the ’phone.’ Then he picked it up again. ‘She’s just coming…’ and seconds later… ‘Here she is.’

‘Gaby, darling, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, Mummy, I was just ringing for any news about Bryony.’

‘Oh, I see, you didn’t want to speak to me because just I’m your mummy,’ she said but I could hear the laughter in her voice.

‘’Course I want to speak to you, but everyone at school’s asking for news about Bryony.’

‘Well she’s leaving hospital tomorrow and can go to school on Wednesday if she wants. So how did school go today? Any problems?’

‘None at all. Miss Morgan spoke to us all at assembly and told us that Quinn and the other two have been excluded for this term, and she is going to ask for Quinn to be excluded permanently.’

‘Good. The school can well do without the likes of him.’

We talked on for about ten minutes, then I had supper, watched a bit of TV and finally went upstairs to have a shower and go to bed. After reading a chapter of Boy2Girl I put out my bedside light and went to sleep.

* * *

I was wakened in the dark by the horrid wailing of the air-raid siren.

‘Here we go again,’ I thought as I started to pull on Greta’s baggy navy-blue knickers in readiness for traipsing out to the Anderson shelter in the corner of the back garden.

_____________________________

¹ Jamie Oliver: For those of you living outside the UK who may be puzzled by this reference, Jamie Oliver is a British celebrity chef who castigated the nutritional value and quality of food served up to the children in UK school dinners which seemed to be a menu of “chips (fries in the US) with everything”–even as a sandwich filling! He went on to make recommendations as to how to improve matters.
² Chip butty: A sandwich with a chip filling, usually doused liberally with salt and vinegar.
³ Hampton: Cockney rhyming slang Hampton Wick = Well, I’m sure you can make an intelligent guess! ☺
⁴ See At Aunt Greta’s–Chapter 17: A gaggle of Girls.
http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/9179/aunt-greta039s-17...

---

Grateful purrs are due once again to Doctor Bonzi and his Mum for their splendid proofing, advice on Miscellaneous Matters Medical and numerous other useful suggestions.
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the idiot author.

If you have enjoyed this chapter I hope that you will leave a comment and
vote for it by clicking the Voting Box below left. Thank you.
Gabi.

At Aunt Greta’s–
Bisto & History
by Gabi
Chapter 22 of a Continuing Saga…

I was wakened in the dark by the horrid wailing of the air-raid siren.

‘Here we go again,’ I thought, pulling on Greta’s baggy navy-blue knickers before traipsing out to the Anderson shelter in the corner of the back garden.

I pulled my warm, long flannelette nightie down again, put on my socks and shoes and was heading for the bedroom door when it opened and Mummy was there; I was surprised that she was fully dressed and wondered what time it was. ‘Oh, good girl, you’re ready. Go straight to the shelter, and I’ll be over in a moment after I’ve checked that Gray is awake.’

‘Gray?’ I queried.

‘Yes, Gray V. Browning–the American youth who’s spending a few days with us–Freya’s cousin, remember?’ Mummy replied. ‘Come on, sleepyhead, you can’t have forgotten he arrived just after supper.’

‘Oh, THAT Gray,’ I said, not having a clue to whom she was referring; but then I wouldn’t, would I because I had only just time-slipped back to 1944 again. ‘Do you know what the ‘V’ stands for?’

‘Yes, I believe it’s Val–short for Valentine.’

‘Oh, like 14th February. I’ve never knew there were boys called Valentine, anyway, isn't Val really a girl's name.’

‘I think he said he was named after his Uncle Val who makes guns,’ Mummy replied. ‘Evidently it’s quite a popular boys’ name in America. Anyway you go straight to the shelter, light the lantern and I’ll go and chivvy Gray V. Browning.’

‘Ah, Bisto,’ I said, giggling and thinking of the classic tin canister in which we kept our supply in my own time–Mummy grinned and then giggled too.

‘Just make sure you don’t call him The Bisto Kid,¹ young lady,’ Mummy added, giggling even more.

‘Yes, Mummy; I’ll just call him gravy browning,’ I replied, giggling. ‘Hurry up, won’t you? In case the Jerries are close.’

‘I will, darling,’ came the reply as I started going downstairs.

When I reached the kitchen I did not turn the light on because of the blackout. When I opened the back door I was surprised that it was still only dusk, so I looked at the kitchen clock and saw it was not quite ten o’clock. Jerry was early tonight. I was able to reach the shelter without the use of a torch, but I needed it once I was inside the shelter to find the matches to light the hurricane lantern.

I climbed on the top bunk and waited… and waited… and then heard the unmistakable buzz of a Doodlebug overhead; I slipped down off the bunk to look outside just in time to see The Bisto Kid arriving with a very harassed Mummy bringing up the rear.

‘Say, ma’am,’ the Bisto Kid drawled, ‘I don’t get what all the hurry’s about.’ He sounded more like Billy the Kid to me.

‘Don’t you hear that noise?’ I asked.

‘Oh hi, Greda,’ he replied. ‘You mean that weird sorta buzzin’ noise? Say, what is that?’

‘It’s a doodlebug,’ I replied.

‘Gee, that sounds awful, I’d hate to have a bug on my doodle.’ He gave a dirty laugh and winked at me.

‘Enough of that, young man,’ Mummy exclaimed. ‘How dare you make lewd suggestions to my daughter; she’s only eleven. And for your information that weird sort of buzzing noise is a German V-1 flying bomb that could blow all us to smithereens at any moment. It is the reason we have come out to the air-raid shelter.’

I wondered where he had been during these war years–in a hermit’s cave, perhaps?

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Chambers, I didn’t mean anything rude.’

‘For goodness sake, Gray,’ Mummy said irritably, ‘go inside and get up on the top bunk with Greta, and NO hanky-panky, if–you–please.’

‘Gee, must I? It looks real kinda spooky in there.’ He was beginning to breathe fast.

So it hadn’t been a hermit’s cave. ‘Come on in, Gray,’ I urged, ‘once the buzzing stops that means the engine’s cut out; then the bomb will crash and explode.’

‘Oh shi–my gosh,’ he exclaimed, doing a swift change of words, breathing faster and looking really scared, ‘What’ll I do? I just can’t come in there with you, I get claustrophobia. Can’t I just stay in the house?’

I put an arm round him. ‘Come on, Gray, you’ll be all right. Mummy and I have been spending lots of nights out here, and it’s much safer than staying in the house. Wendy–my best friend at school–was killed when a doodlebug demolished her home just over a week ago. If you hold on to me, I’ll keep you safe.’ I could feel him relaxing a little.

‘I think I wanna go to the bathroom,’ he said, still sounding panicky.

‘It’s okay, Gray, we’ve gotta potty inside you can use.’

‘Couldn’t I do it out here before I go in?’

‘You’ll need to be quick, dear,’ Mummy told him. ‘We won’t look, will we, Greta?’

‘Would you like me to hold your hand, Gray?’ I asked.

‘’T’s okay, Greda, I’ll need to use both hands, but I feel better with your arm round me. You won’t look, will you?’

‘’Course not, I’ll keep my eyes tight shut, if you like; anyway I kno…’ I was about to say that I knew what it was like to wee through a willie when I suddenly realised that I’d be “outing” myself, not only to him but to Mummy also. I felt myself blushing violently and was aware of the deadly droning buzz of the doodlebug getting louder and louder.

‘Hurry up, children,’ Mummy said, anxiously.

‘Finished?’ I asked.

‘Yeah,’ he said, and I pulled him into the shelter, shut the door and helped him up to the top bunk where I put my arms round him to keep him safe; I could feel him shaking–with fright I supposed. We were barely settled when the buzzing stopped. I pulled Gray to me and held him tight while enduring that seemingly endless silence that always preceded the explosion.

Finally there was an earth-shaking explosion that sounded nearer than the one that killed Wendy. Gray gripped me tightly as the earth shook.

‘Geeee-zus Mary Joseph!’ he exclaimed, crossing himself.

‘Watch your language, young man,’ Mummy said brusquely.

‘Sorry, Ma’am,’ Gray said. ‘Can we go back to the house now?’

‘No, dear,’ Mummy replied. ‘We have to wait for the all clear to sound. There could still be another flying bomb on the way.’

I listened, but found it difficult because my ears were ringing from the explosion. After a few minutes, I could hear the unmistakable sound of another doodlebug on the way. Luckily it fell much further away and there was not the violent earth-crunching explosion of the first one.

Twenty minutes later, the all clear sounded and we traipsed back to the house. I climbed back into bed and was soon asleep again.

* * *

I was awakened by a beam of sunlight that shone on my eyelids through a narrow gap in my bedroom curtains. When I came to, it dawned on me that I must be back in my own time due to the lack of black-out curtains and the fact that I was wearing my own pink nightie and no knickers. Had my trip back to wartime been just a dream? Had I really met the Bisto Kid? My bedroom door opened and Auntie G came in.

‘You’d better get up, Gabs,’ she told me. ‘It’s a quarter past seven and you’ve got school today.’

‘Okay, Auntie,’ I replied pushing back the duvet. ‘Did you ever have an American teenage boy to stay during the war?’

‘You had another of your trips, didn’t you? And you met Gray Browning.’

‘The Bisto Kid,’ I answered.

Auntie burst out laughing; ‘So it was YOU who called him that.’

‘He got claustro-wotsit in the shelter.’

‘Claustrophobic,’ she corrected me. ‘He thanked me next morning for cuddling him to make it easier for him, and when I couldn’t remember anything about it or even calling him The Bisto Kid, Mummy was worried that I might be losing my mind.’

‘You mean going bonkers?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, except we didn’t call it that in those days.’

‘He didn’t fancy weeing in the potty in the shelter, so he watered the flowers outside with the buzz of an approaching doodlebug overhead and me, with my eyes shut, clasping his shoulder from behind to help his claustropho…oh, you know!’

‘…phobia, dear.’

‘Yes, claustrophobia; thank you, Auntie,’ and I added giggling, ‘It sounds like it should be the fear of Father Christmas, or maybe sitting on his knee in his grotto. But actually, I suppose it must be awful to suffer from claustrophobia.’

‘Yes, poppet, it must be a very uncomfortable feeling,’ agreed my Aunt. ‘It made things very difficult for poor Gray.’

‘He seemed to be clueless about air-raids and how urgent it was to get into the shelter,’ I remarked, ‘so I wondered where he had been living up to then. I don’t think it could have been in Britain, or he’d have known all about air-raids.’

‘He’d been living with the monks in a monastery in Ireland, so he’d never experienced an air-raid until that first night he spent with us. It really came as a frightful shock to him. Anyway, young lady, enough blethering, you have to wash, dress, have brekky and get ready for school. I’ll put out clean a clean bra and knickers for you; will yesterday’s blouse do or would you like a clean one?’

‘I think I better have a clean one, yesterday’s might be a bit pongy in the underarm department. Do you know why Gray had been living in a monastery?’

‘Not now, Gabs. Bathroom! Wash! Dress! Brekky! School! Chop-chop!’

‘Yes, Auntie Grete. May I have a shower, please?’

‘Indeed you may, but use a shower-cap ’cause it’ll take too long to dry and restyle your hair in time.’

‘Thanks, Auntie,’ I replied and gave her a peck on the cheek.

I was still in awe of my “new” body and its sensitive skin, particularly in what Mummy calls erogenous zones, namely my vagina and boobs; sadly it had to be a quick shower, but patting myself dry on–luxury of luxuries–a warmed towel, I felt refreshed and clean. I shrugged on my towelling robe, brushed my teeth and dashed back to my room to get dressed. A number of the girls at school hate school uniform ’cause it can hardly be thought of as glamorous or á  la mode, but for me it was an essential part of being a schoolgirl. I put my hair up in a high ponytail and went downstairs for a brekky of cornflakes, a boiled egg with toast soldiers and then toast and marmalade, all washed down with two cups of tea.

‘Auntie?’ I asked, spreading Oxford Marmalade on my buttered toast, ‘could you please ring up Mrs Rose to find out how Bryony is? I hope she’s going to be all right and able to come home from the hospital soon.’

‘She will be coming home before lunch today,’ came the reply. ‘I rang her mum last night after you’d gone to bed, because I knew you’d be anxious about her. Helen’s fairly sure she’ll be well enough to come to your sleepover party on Friday; but won’t say anything definite for a day or two.’

‘That’s great; I wonder if I’d be allowed to visit her after school today?’

‘I’ll find out for you, poppet.’

‘Thanks, Auntie.’

Mrs Way was driving the Cherokee this morning; ‘Hi, Gaby,’ she said. ‘All ready for another exciting day at school? Get in the back with Farah and fasten up your seat belt.’

‘Okay, Mrs Way,’ I replied. ‘Hi, Farah. You all right?’

‘I’m good,’ Farah replied. ‘You?’

‘I’m good too.’

‘Where’s your dad?’ I asked.

‘He’s gone up to Scotland for a few days for a conference,’ Mrs Way replied. ‘So you will have to put up with my driving for the next few days.’

‘Say, Mom, don’t forget we’re in England and they drive on the wrong side of the road,’ Farah said, sticking her tongue out at me.

‘No, you drive on the wrong side of the road,’ I returned and stuck my tongue out at her.

‘Now-now, girls,’ Mrs Way laughed, ‘This is not the right time to start the Revolutionary War all over again; and I am quite used to driving on the left side of the road now, daughter o’ mine.’

The drive to school took only a few minutes and we were dropped off at the school gates where the rest of the B.B.C. were waiting for us, with the addition of our new friend who we were sheep-dogging, Leigh Pierre.

‘Hi, guys,’ Farah chirped as we tumbled out of the Cherokee.

A chorus of ‘Hi, Farah,’ and ‘Hi, Gaby,’ came from our friends, as we all exchanged high fives.

Hey, Gabs, you’ll never guess,’ Angela said, ‘Leigh lives four houses down the road from me.’

‘In Letsbeigh Avenue?’ I answered.

‘Duh! Of course Letsbeigh Avenue,’ she replied, gazing heavenwards.

‘Any news of Bryony?’ Lacey asked as we walked towards the school building.

‘Yeah, she’s coming out of hospital today.’

‘You never told me,’ Farah said, pouting.

‘Sorry, I was so surprised to find your mum driving today that I forgot to tell you. Auntie only told me during brekky; she said she ’phoned Mrs Rose last night.’

‘Will she be coming back to school this week?’ Juniper asked.

‘Who’s Bryony?’ Leigh asked.

‘Bryony Rose,’ I replied. ‘You’ll like her, Leigh.’

‘Is she in our class?’ Leigh countered.

‘Yes, but she had to go into hospital at the end of last week when she started her first period,’ Angela explained.

‘What? She had to go into hospital because she came on for the first time,’ Leigh exclaimed. ‘Why, for goodness sake? Wasn’t she expecting it to happen?’

‘Well, err–no.’ I replied. ‘You see, she–and everyone else–thought she was a boy until last week.’

‘Oh my God, the poor girl,’ Leigh sympathised. ‘How did she find out? Was her period the first clue she had?’

‘She did say her boobs were starting to grow,’ Kristal explained, ‘but that has been known to happen to boys about our age.’

‘When we visited her in hospital,’ I added, ‘she told us that although she looked like a boy on the outside, she had always thought she should have been a girl. They did a scan in the hospital and they found she had a full set of girl-bits inside–even a vagina, except it had no opening. She also had blood tests, and they showed that she’s a girl and was undergoing girl puberty.’

‘She must be producing lots of girl hormones. So what’s going to happen to her next?’ Leigh asked, as we entered the girls’ changing room.

‘I don’t exactly know yet, but her mum says they’ll probably have to do some sort of operation to give her a proper–err–’ I dropped my voice to a whisper, ‘err–front bottom–like we have. I’m hoping to visit her on the way home this afternoon.’

‘I’m looking forward to meeting her,’ Leigh declared, hanging her blazer in her locker.

‘You’ll like her,’ Farah remarked. ‘She much happier now that she knows she really is a real girl and not transgendered.’

‘Mummy told me that she’s what they call intersex,’ I added. ‘She explained that Bryony was born with a slight plumbing defect.’

‘Gaby’s mum’s a nursing sister on the gynae ward at the General Hospital,’ Angela explained.

‘So Bryony’s been a boy at school up to now?’ Leigh queried.

‘Yes,’ Kristal replied. ‘She used to be called Bryan.’

‘That figures,’ Leigh opined.

‘Before she went into hospital,’ Farah added, ‘she told a few of us about knowing she should have been born a girl; well, in my school back in the States there was a boy who was transgendered and we formed a small support group for her.’

‘Transgendered?’ Leigh queried. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘The easiest way to think of it,’ Farah replied, ‘is that she is a girl, but born into a boy’s body. In other words she has a girl-brain in a boy-body.’

‘Oh my gosh, how absolutely awful for her,’ Leigh sympathised.

‘So you see, thinking she might be transgendered,’ I added, ‘the six of us decided to form a support group for her.’

‘We wanted to do something to help ’cos she would prob get teased and bullied by the boys when she turned up in girl’s uniform for the first time,’ Lacey explained. ‘Boys can be such foul pigs, you know.’

‘We call ourselves the B.B.C.–the Bryony Buddy Corps,’ Juniper added as the bell rang, summoning us to our classroom.

‘That’s a brill idea,’ Leigh said. ‘Do you want any more members?’

‘The more the merrier,’ Farah answered as we entered our Year 7 classroom for registration.

* * *

Just after lunch Farah, Angela and I had been waylaid by Miss Morgan who told us that Mrs Rose ’phoned her to bring her up to date on her daughter’s progress and to leave a message for us–her B.B.C. friends–that Bryony was back home and wanted to see us. We reported back to Juniper, Kristal, and Lacey, who just happened to have Leigh with them

‘We could go on the way home this afters?’ suggested Angela. ‘D’you think your dad would be willing to stop by for a few minutes, Farah?’

‘Mom’s driving today and tomorrow,’ came the reply. ‘Daddy’s away at a conference up in Scotland just now. I guess she wouldn’t mind.’

‘What homework do we have tonight?’ Juniper asked.

‘History and math,’ Farah replied.

‘Sssss!’ Lacey said.

‘Don’t you like history and math?’ Farah asked.

‘Actually, I think history’s great, specially with The Gnome,’ Lacey replied. ‘It was just that you left the “S” off the end of maths.’

‘They always say “math” in the States,’ Leigh explained. ‘When I was there they all asked why I put an “S” on the end and I explained it was because it’s short for mathematics. What’s the history you’re doing this term? We had a foul history teacher at my last school–she was soooooo borrrrring.”

‘The Civil War,’ I replied and added, ‘the English Civil War. You’ll like our history lessons, our teacher is fantastic.’

‘Yeah,’ Farah said. ‘I was real surprised when I heard that you had a civil war in England like 219 years before we did in the States. It’s all about Roundheads and Cavaliers.’

‘I’ve been to several re-enactments of Civil War battles done by The Sealed Knot²,’ Juniper told us. ‘My Uncle Robin and Auntie Lesley are members of Thomas Ballard’s Regiment of Foote.’

‘Are they Roundheads or Cavaliers?’ Lacey asked.

‘Roundheads, except they call them Parliamentarians. The Cavaliers are properly called Royalists. They even borrowed some seventeenth century clothes for me to wear so I didn’t look out of place on the camp-site. Lots of families with kids take part, and until they’re about six, some of the the little boys wear long dresses and have long hair like girls. I was allowed to go on the battle field as part of the Parliamentary Baggage Trayne as it’s called. It was absolutely fantastic, just like stepping back in time. Oh, wouldn’t it be kewl to be able to travel back in time?’

Farah and I glanced at each other and grinned conspiratorially before Juniper continued her narrative.

‘Thomas Ballard’s Regiment really existed and in 1642 was one of those that fought the Battle of Edgehill–the first pitched battle of the Civil War. Every time I’ve been to a muster I’ve had an amazing time; it was really, really good fun. They have cavalry who gallop round the battlefield waving swords and firing pistols–like the highwaymen used to use–and there are cannons which make very loud bangs. The musketeers have these old-fashioned guns that make lots of smoke when they fire them and the pikemen have ginormously long spears called pikes which are about five metres long.’

‘Wow,’ exclaimed Farah, ‘that’s over sixteen feet. Cool. I’d love to see one of their battles sometime.’

‘I think I’ve got a few pictures in my backpack,’ Juniper replied. ‘Miss Gnomer asked me to bring them in to show her.’ We returned to our classroom and Juniper rummaged among her stuff, bringing out a hairbrush, bits of makeup and, from the very bottom, a wallet containing some photos. She took one out and showed it to us.

‘This is a sort of general view,’ she told us. ‘You can see how the pikemen keep their pikes sticking up in the air when they carry them. When the cavalry attack they form a defensive circle with pikes sticking out at different angles with musketeers in between. They call the circle a hedgehog–you can see why.’

‘That was a splendid explanation of basic tactics of the time, Juniper, and what a good picture.’ Miss Gnomer’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere. We all jumped because we hadn’t heard her come in. ‘Have you got any more?’ she added.

‘Yes, Miss Gnomer, a few,’ Juniper replied, blushing a deep crimson while we all scurried to our own desks.

‘Excellent,’ replied the teacher, ‘Would you like to bring them up to my desk so I can look at them? Please sit down, the rest of you.’

‘Yes, Miss Gnomer,’ Juniper answered, still very pink as she went up to the teachers’ desk at the front of the class. She handed the pictures to the history teacher, who looked through them and made appreciative noises.

‘I must say, Juniper, they are splendid photos and I think they’ll help tremendously in explaining some of the things I’m going to tell you about this afternoon. May I keep them up here till the end of the lesson?’

‘Yes, Miss Gnomer, thank you, Miss Gnomer,’ Juniper replied and returned to her desk.

The best thing about Miss Gnomer was that she really loved history and it showed in her lessons. She had the knack of making them really interesting so we enjoyed them and learned a lot. Even the usually rowdy back-row boys behaved themselves in her lessons because she made them so attention-grabbing.

Our history lesson got under way and soon The Gnome had us enthralled. I think she must be have roundhead sympathies because she made King Charles I sound like a greedy plonker, always demanding more money in taxes to pay for his fancies–including his glamorous French wife, Henrietta Maria, whom protestant England disliked because she was a Roman catholic–and he also needed money so that he could go and fight in the Thirty Years War in Europe with his mates. Then the final straw was Ship Money and the King’s entry to parliament in an attempt to arrest five Members of Parliament.³

Our teacher also explained the basics of fighting 17th century battles and used some of Juniper’s pictures to illustrate what she was telling us.

We all agreed it was one of the best history lessons we’d ever had and Leigh remarked, ‘That was Awesome; I’ve never enjoyed a history lesson so much.’

* * *

It was quite a squash in the back of the Cherokee while we were ferried to see Bryony. Mrs Way seemed happy to be able to help us. We spilled out of car and walked, in an orderly fashion–as we were supposed to when we were wearing school uniform in public–up to the front door. I reached for the bell button, but before my finger touched it, the front door opened and Mrs Rose asked us in.

She counted heads; ‘One more than last time,’ she said. ‘So who’s the new girl?’

‘Me,’ Leigh replied brightly. ‘I started today and these kind girls are sheeepdogging me.’

‘Mrs Rose,’ I chimed in, ‘this is Leigh Pierre; Leigh Pierre, this is Mrs Rose, Bryony’s mum.’

‘How d’you do, Mrs Rose?’ asked Leigh, offering a hand to be shaken.

‘I’m very well, thank you, Leigh. You’d better come through to the lounge, girls. I’m sure you’d all like something to drink, so I’ll go and see what there is and Bryony can tell you all about what is going to happen to her next.’

__________________________________

¹ Bisto: A well-known product in the UK used as an alternative to gravy browning. The Bisto story began in 1908, when two housewives Mrs Roberts and Mrs Patterson, frustrated in their efforts to produce a smooth, tasty gravy, asked their husbands to come up with a way of making the whole process easier, which they did. They called it “Bisto” because it “Browns, Seasons and Thickens in One”. The Bisto Kids first appeared in newspaper advertisements in 1919. The ragamuffin pair, a boy and girl in ragged clothes, would catch the smell of Bisto wafting on the breeze and exhale longingly, “Aah, Bisto!”
See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bisto

² See: http://www.thesealedknot.org.uk/index.asp

³ See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/English_Civil_War for details.

---

Grateful purrs are due once again to Angharad and Colonel Bonzi for their splendid proofing, advice on Miscellaneous Matters Medical and numerous other useful suggestions.
Any mistakes remaining are the sole responsibility of the idiot author.

If you have been entertained by this chapter, I hope that you will leave a comment and
vote for it by clicking the Voting Box below left. Thank you.
Gabi.

And yes, I am a vote and comment whore!