Samantha’s a girl, obviously. Paul is a boy with boyish hair. Andrew, like George has longer ‘girls’ hair, Annabel is also a girl, as is Melanie. They tell me about the various teachers, the good and the not so good, the friendly, the strict, and the classes they love or hate. “I can’t stand gym!” Andrew says.

“I like it.” Paul counters. Samantha agrees with Paul whilst Melanie and Annabel side with Andrew. George is indifferent and states that he prefers sports such as footie and cricket.

“I thought it’d be all netball and hockey.” I say. It transpires that they do play netball and hockey too, as well as rugby, lacrosse, basketball, tennis, rounders, athletics and cross country running in the summer.

The teacher called me over and I could feel numerous eyes burning into the backs of my legs, my girlie knee socks and my short pleated skirt as I approached her desk. She gave me a time table and told me that George is in all the same classes as me, so if I don’t know where I’m going, just follow him. “You’ll meet the headmaster before long.” she said. “He’s very nice but he’s a bit of a stickler.” she added. Her eyes dropped to my feet. I looked down too. “So make sure your socks are pulled up and the patterns are straight.” she advised in a friendly tone with an equally friendly smile. I thanked her and returned to my desk, took my seat and tended to my knee socks before looking at my timetable.

“What you got?” Samantha asked. “Double history.” she said, peering at my timetable.

“Yeah.” I replied. “Apparently the teacher’s a dinosaur.”

“Don’t let Miss hear you say that.” Annabel said.

“Why?” I dryly asked since it was Miss O’Neill that had told me.

“Because she’s the history teacher.” Paul informed me.

 

 

The bell rang and two thirds of the class filtered out and those who remained returned to their seats. “Right boys and girls… for the benefit of Matthew, who wants to tell us what we’ve been studying?” Miss O’Neill asked. Several hands went up in the air. “Michael.”

“The Cold War Miss.” Michael replied.

“And what can you tell us about the cold war Matthew?” the teacher asked me.

“Er…” I began, racking my brains. “It was after world war two, when the Russians and Americans were making nukes.” I said.

“Very good.” she said, smiling. “Natalie… what can you tell us about the cold war?”

The double history lesson was mostly discussion rather than copying facts from the board or a book. The class size is about half that at my old school and it felt much more involved than I’m used to. Rather than marking homework and telling us to shush, Miss O’Neil encouraged debate and participation from the entire class. We concentrated on the Cuban Missile crisis but I’d never heard the Russian point of view. Miss O’Neill asked us to consider what we have done under similar circumstances, but had us look at it from both sides. Her teaching was informative, active and very entertaining. I like history at the best of times but never so much as today.

At break, my sister Julia sought me out and asked how I was getting on. “Fine.” I replied. “History was really fun. What did you have?”

“Maths, then French.” she replied. “I’m worse at French than I thought.” she moaned.

“You’re not bad.” a girl who accompanied her said. “You know the basics.”

“Oh, this is Alice.” Julia said, referring to her chaperone I guess. “Alice this is my brother Matty.”

“Oh hello.” Alice said. She seemed nice, and didn’t seem at all bothered that I’m dressed as a girl… but then again, all the boys are. Looking at them all chatting and socialising and being normal, I figured that maybe it isn’t as weird as I thought it would be… but it’s still quite weird. Especially the ones wearing short girlie hairstyles with headbands, bunches, clips or bobbles. Plenty of ‘normal’ boys (i.e. short boyish hair) also wore patterned knee socks similar to my own, but some wore those little ankle socks with lacy frills around the cuffs. In comparison to those, my pelerine socks don’t seem too bad now… although I’d rather wear plain white knee socks like my sister.

“So, what you got next?” Julia asked.

“Er…” I retrieved my timetable. “English.”

George found me shortly before the end of break bell rang and led me to the English class. He didn’t seem to have much to say for himself, giving short answers to anything I asked. English has never been my favourite subject and it still isn’t. I can’t see the point of learning about fiction when there’s so much real stuff to learn about. The fact that Mr Clarke seemed obsessed with Shakespeare didn’t help.

At lunchtime, I sat with my sister and a couple of her new friends whilst we ate our packed lunches. We chatted about where we came from and our old school, the things we could do in our spare time, why we moved house and so on. After lunch I had a double science class followed by maths then geography. As arranged, I met my sister at the school gates and we walked home.

“So how did your first day go?” she asked.

“OK I guess.” I replied. “It’d be better if I didn’t have to wear this though.” I added, gesturing to my short pleated plaid skirt and pale bare legs.

“Hmm.” Julia began. “Maybe not.” she said.

“How do you work that out?” I asked.

“Remember when mum said that petticoated boys are less likely to be disruptive in class and less likely to bully other kids?”

“Yeeaah.” I replied with curious caution.

“Well… if it was a normal school…” she began, “…you might have been bullied because you’re new or maybe sat through classes that were constantly disrupted by boisterous pillocks.”

“Maybe.” I replied. “…and that’s a big maybe.” I added. “So… is Alice your chaperone?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Julia said. “She’s really nice…. and you got that boy… George?”

“Yeah… he’s a bit weird… hardly said a word all day.” I told her, before admitting that I thought he was a girl until his boy’s uniform registered.

“Maybe that why we wear different uniforms.”

“Yeah I guess.”

We arrived home and Mum was keen to know how we’d both got on. I told her about Miss O’Neill describing the history teacher as a ‘dragon’, and that she was the history teacher! Mum asked me how I found my uniform. “Well… I hate it but since everyone else wears the same, it’s not as bad as I’d expected.” I replied. “In fact, I’m gonna get changed.” I stated.

“Ah ah!” Mum said, stopping my exit. “Have you any homework?” she asked.

“Yeah.” I replied.

“Well the uniform stays on until it’s all done.” Mum replied. “And that goes for you too Julia.”

“Ohh.” my sister whined. “Can I at least take this off?” she asked, grabbing the little school tie she wears.

“I suppose.” Mum conceded before asking if either of us were hungry. Julia and I sat at the kitchen table and got on with our homework, then an hour or two later when Mum needed the space to prepare the evening meal, she sent us to our respective rooms. I had a bit of a moan because unlike my sister, I haven’t got a desk in my room . “There’s plenty of room to spread your books out on your bed.” Mum replied before mentioning something about squeezing a table into my small bedroom somehow.

Neither myself nor my sister had completed our assignments by the time supper was ready, meaning by the time we had finished and changed into our own clothes, it was almost 7.00pm. Mum had another task for us, and that was to make a copy of our timetables to put on the fridge door. “What for?” I asked.

“So I know when you’ve got PE and I can make sure your kit is washed.”

The next day, Tuesday, I did have PE. I was a bit embarrassed in the changing rooms, having to swap my white knickers for my gym knickers, but this can be done without removing my skirt so it wasn’t that bad. Saying that, track & field sports in a skirt doesn’t seem right; especially the long and high jump.

Wednesday was much the same as Monday, although I had a much better idea of where my various classes were held. Drama was more fun than I’d expected it to be. The class is in rehearsal for its end of year play and all the main parts have been cast so I was involved in the set design side of it which put me firmly behind the scenes.

On Friday afternoon when I returned home, Mum asked. “So how does it feel after your first week? Is it as bad as you’d thought?”

“I dunno.” I murmured. “It still feels ridiculous but at least people don’t point and laugh at me.” I added. The boys who attend the petticoating school in our home town of Ashford were often ridiculed on their way to and from school, so naturally I expected the same here. Maybe the fact that Endsliegh has two petticoating schools and one ‘normal’ school makes the difference. Maybe if the Grammar boys tease the rest of us like we teased the Ashford Academy boys, they risk expulsion. Mum told me that I don’t look ridiculous and asked why I felt ridiculous. “Well that’s obvious innit?” I replied, looking down at my short pleated skirt and pale skinny legs. “It wouldn’t feel quite so bad if I didn’t have to wear knickers and a bra as well.” I frowned. “And I’d prefer plain socks to these.” I added, kicking out my foot and sneering at my pelerine knee socks.

“I like those socks.” Mum smiled. “But I’ll get you some plain ones if you prefer.”

“Thanks.” I muttered.

True to her word, Mum came home from town on Saturday with a pack of plain socks for me. “These are ankle socks.” I noticed.

“Is that OK?” Mum asked. “I though they’d be a nice change from knee socks.” she said.

“Yeah I guess.” I replied.

Mum smiled and said, “I got you some more undies too.”

My heart sank a little as she put a cellophane wrapped pack in my hand. “Oh… er… thanks.” I mumbled. They’re labelled ‘School Knickers’ and just like the first pack they state ‘Boys: aged 11-12’. Mum suggested that I put them away, and to bring all of my old undies down. “Why?” I asked.

“Because you’ve got plenty of new ones now.” Mum replied. “…and it’ll save me having to check whether or not you’re wearing your old ones.” she added.

It’s been no fun having to lift my skirt each morning to show my mother that I’m wearing knickers and not Y fronts. But I’d rather do that than not have any Y fronts. “But what about after school and weekends?” I haft-heartedly quizzed. Mum gave me the reply I’d expected, but it was worth a try I guess. As I sauntered out of the kitchen, Mum told me to also change the undies I’m currently wearing. “Do I have to?” I whined. Of course I did. With a heavy heart, I removed all of my old Y fronts from my drawer and ripped open the new pack of ‘boys’ school knickers. Like my others, they’re white with a little satin bow stitched to the waistband, but unlike my others, the lacy trim around the legs and waistband is ruched making it stick out rather than lay flat. “It’s not fair!” I moaned to myself as I put them in the space my Y fronts filled. I kept one pair out as I had a feeling Mum wants to wear the new ones. I gulped as I pulled them up my legs to my waist (which is low in comparison to the others). The lacy trim does indeed stick out making them something far far worse than just ‘knickers’, as these are ‘frilly’ knickers. In the kitchen, Mum asked me if I was wearing the new ones. I gulped and nodded, expecting to reveal them. She asked me if I liked them and I moaned, “No because they’re frilly.”

Mum said nothing as I handed her my pile of boy’s underpants. I loitered as she went through the pile, seemingly counting them. “Good boy… I half expected you to hide a couple of pairs somewhere.” she said. It had crossed my mind, but I had a feeling she’d know exactly how many pairs I have… or had. Mum opened the pedal bin and put the entire bundle in it. My heart sank. “What?” Mum asked as my lower lip swelled.

“That means I’ll be dresses as a girl even when I’m wearing boy’s clothes.” I muttered.

“Your knickers are boy’s clothes.” Mum replied. I argued that in spite of stating ‘boys’ on the packet, they’re still knickers and knickers are for girls. “Not if it says boys on the packet.” Mum smiled. “Anyway it’s high time you boys got to wear nice clothes too… especially since girls have been able to wear boys clothes for so long.”

I recall being taught in History class that women began wearing trousers during WWI when the worked the fields and factories, prior to that they almost always wore only skirts or dresses. I wondered if the girls felt like I do when they were first given boy’s clothes to wear. Maybe Miss O’Neill might know? Mum’s voice dragged me from my thoughts. “What?”

“You were miles away.” Mum said. “I was asking what you were thinking about.”

“Oh nothing.” I replied, before telling her.

“I don’t know… in those days children wore what they were given. I don’t think they had much choice nor did they expect a choice” she explained. “They mostly wore hand-me-downs from an older brother or sister, or clothes made from old bedding or an old pair of curtains.” she added, smiling a whimsical smile. “A new dress would be a special treat for an extra special occasion.”

“I reckon it’s better wearing boys clothes if you’re a girl than it is being a boy and wearing girl’s.” I suggested. Mum said that thanks to the age old presumption that girls are inferior to boys, then it’s understandable that boys don’t want to wear girl’s clothes. “Girl’s aren’t inferior.” I stated. Mum smiled and agreed, then claimed that in some ways, girl’s are better than boys. “How?” I asked. So far as I’ve been told, girls & boys, and men & women should be equal.

Mum cited the youth crime rate and adult prison population as an example. She explained that out of just over fifty percent of the population women make up barely five percent of the prison population. “If we treat boys a bit more like we treat girls, maybe less of them would go down the wrong path and end up in jail.”

“I’m not going to end up in jail.” I insisted.

“Of course you’re not… but the statistics speak for themselves.” Mum replied. She reminded me that I’d said myself that there seems to be hardly any bad behaviour at school, and suggested that that might solely be down to the way we have to dress. “Of course a good school and good teachers help, but I think petticoating the boys helps more.”

“Do you think George and Andrew have to dress like girls all the time?” I asked. Mum needed reminding who they were. “The boys in my class with girl’s hair.” I said.

“I don’t know.” Mum replied. “If they do, maybe they don’t see it as ‘dressing like girls’.” Mum suggested. “Maybe they’re just as happy wearing a nice dress as they are jeans and a jumper.”

“I doubt it.” I presumed.

“You’re probably right.” Mum said as a wry smile swept her face. After a moment she said, “So… these boys… their hair can’t be very long because the school rules state that boy’s hair should be no longer than the collar.” I described George’s hairstyle using my hands and a series of mumbles. “Like a bob?” Mum asked.

I shrugged and nodded but wasn’t sure what one would call it. I added that he also wears a white plastic headband before being asked to describe Andrew’s hair. “It’s about the same length as George’s but it’s really curly and he wears a ribbon.”

“A white one?” Mum asked. I nodded. “I might put ribbons in your hair when it’s grown a bit.” she suggested. You can guess my reaction. I told her that I didn’t want long hair and I certainly don’t want ribbons or anything like that in it.

Mum didn’t reply. I suspected she was only teasing me but I didn’t seek clarity in the matter. “What’s for tea?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Nothing yet.” my mother said, pointing out the time. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really… just wondering.” I replied.