Thankfully the cul-de-sac seemed deserted when mum pulled up outside our house. I couldn’t get indoors and out of sight quickly enough. “I’m glad that’s over,” I said as I plonked my case down. “Can I get changed?” I asked.
“Oh not yet… I’ve hardly had the chance to see you.” mum replied. I followed her to the kitchen where she began to make a brew, but is clearly distracted and can’t help staring at me with a look of admiration. “I had no idea you’d look so nice in your uniform.” she grinned as her eyes flicked from garment to garment, from my face to my legs and back again.
Feeling like an exhibit, I shuffled nervously, not knowing what to do. Should I sit? Or stand here till she stops looking at me? “Can I at least take my blazer and beret off?” I asked.
“Of course you can. Sorry, I’m staring again.” Mum replied.
I removed my short-fitted blazer revealing my white blouse and hung it on the hook on the back of the kitchen door. I felt myself become nervous as I know full well the training bra we have to wear can clearly be seen through my blouse. I pulled out the two hairpins which keep my beret secure on the back of my head and hung that on the back of the door too. Mum said my hair looks ‘very nice’. I personally hate it. My fringe is down to my eyebrows and there’s a straight bowl cut all the way around with a wedge at the back. It’s both boyish and girlish at the same time, but a style neither sex would likely choose for themselves.
“So come on, tell me all about it?” mum said, flicking the switch on the kettle. “Have you made any friends? How are the teachers? Are you enjoying your classes?” she asked.
Apart from the obvious, St Ursula’s is like any other school. We study English and maths, science, geography, history, and art along with metalwork, woodwork, computers, domestic science, needlework and of course, PE… although we play netball, not football, hockey, not rugby, rounders not cricket… all wearing very short pleated PE skirts, big gym knickers, and a St Ursula’s polo shirt.
Mum wants to know every last detail about St Ursula’s. She is the one paying for it after all. I only wish she’d give me a little sympathy because it’s not easy being a petticoated boy. But all mum can say is “how nice!” to everything. She even says ‘how nice’ when I tell her how embarrassing it was having to play hop-scotch or skipping games during morning and afternoon break in such a short skirt, worrying about flashing our knickers with every hop, skip or jump. But when all is said and done, St Ursula’s isn’t a bad school… it’s just plain weird!
“Well the main thing is you’re settling in.” mum smiled. “And being petticoated isn’t as bad as you thought is it?”
I looked down at my short pleated skirt and straightened it on my lap, not that it needed straightening. “It’s OK,” I replied. “At least I knew in advance… some of them had no idea we had to dress like girls.”
“None at all?”
“Well it seemed that way… some seemed to go into shock when we were given our knickers.” I reminisced. “They claimed it was a mix-up, shouted and swore at the teachers, refusing to wear them, some even burst into tears.”
“But they wore them in the end no doubt?” Mum asked, knowing full well of the alternative.
“A couple wouldn’t budge and ended up suffering the consequences,” I said. “That must have been awful,” I added as I recalled the shame they must have been going through.
“Well, they should have just worn their knickers in the first place.” Mum coldly replied. She glanced at the kettle which began to boil. “How are you getting on wearing a bra?” she asked in a more cheery tone, staring directly at, and through my blouse.
“OK,” I replied, glancing at my chest briefly. “But why we have to wear them I’ve no idea,” I said. “Skirt and knickers I understand, but a bra too… ?”
“Well the girls wear bras don’t they?” she stated, getting up just as the kettle turned itself off.
“Yeah… but…”
“And you dress the same as the girls. It’s not rocket science,” she said as she poured the steaming water into each mug.
“Yeah, I ‘suppose so.” I conceded.
“Are they like proper bras, with a fastening at the back?”
I nodded.
“And how’s that, fiddly?”
“Nah it’s easy.”
“When you know how.” she smiled, placing two mugs of tea on the table and sliding one over to me.
“I did consider buying you a nice dress and some underwear in the summer… you know, to help you get used to it before you started.” mum said. “But I figured you’d have just refused to wear it.”
“I’m sure I would have,” I replied. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it… and everybody else wears the same so…” I shrugged. “It just gets a bit boring wearing the same thing day in day out.”
“Yes I can imagine.” mum empathized. “But rules are rules and uniforms do give you a strong sense of belonging.”
“I know… it’s just having to wear it all weekend too.” I added. “
“Well yes… I wouldn’t like to wear the same thing every day.” mum smiled, “But like you say, you just get used to it.” she smiled, glancing at my legs, skirt, and blouse.
