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, Mother 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. Mother 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.” Mother smiled. “But I’ll get you some plain ones if you prefer.”
“Thanks.” I muttered.
True to her word, Mother came home from town on Saturday with a pack of plain socks for me. “These are ankle socks.” I noticed.
“Is that OK?” Mother asked. “I though they’d be a nice change from knee socks.” she said.
“Yeah I guess.” I replied.
Mother 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’. Mother 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.” Mother 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. Mother gave me the reply I’d expected, but it was worth a try I guess. As I sauntered out of the kitchen, Mother 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 Mother 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, Mother 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.”
Mother 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. Mother opened the pedal bin and put the entire bundle in it. My heart sank. “What?” Mother 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.” Mother 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.” Mother 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.”
