I felt a bit more at home throughout my second week attending Endsleigh Comprehensive School. However that’s because I knew where all my classes were held and was less reliant on George telling me where I needed to be. The uniform still feels wrong but the PE kit isn’t quite so bad as the sporty skirt (although short) isn’t pleated and the big gym knickers are neither lacy nor frilly. I made few more acquaintances and didn’t feel quite so much like a stranger. I also learned that my classmates also have to wear their uniforms at home whilst doing their homework, so I didn’t feel quite so hard done by on that front.

At home we’d pretty much got the new house arranged in a manner that suited us. We got to know the next door neighbours a little better because my sister played her music too loud and they paid us a visit. They seemed nice enough and I’d rather not hear my sister’s taste in music either. We went for a day out in The Peaks and got caught out in the rain which prompted Mum to buy Julia and I an umbrella each. I didn’t want an umbrella but since my raincoat doesn’t have a hood, I apparently need one. It’s one of those compact ones but at least it’s black with white spots and not purple & pink like my sisters. Our umbrellas did come in handy during week three when the April showers did what they do best, so much so that I also made sure I put a dry pair of socks in my school bag.

In my fourth week we went on a school trip to a stately home, museum and heritage centre near Darly Dale. It would have been better if there wasn’t another four or five school trips scheduled for the same day from ‘normal’ schools. I’d sort of got used to wearing my skirt, but only because all the other boys wear one too. We felt like we were as much on display as the curios in the museum as the kids from other school in other town pointed and whispered, giggled and sniggered at the boys from the sissy school. It wasn’t nice but I didn’t blame them. I’d have likely done the same back in my home town of Ashford whenever we spotted an Academy boy. Thankfully the tour around the stately home was done one school group at a time. We ate our packed lunches in the grounds, then hung around until our group was called. The tour took us through grand halls and galleries, an elegant dining room, a large lavish library, an ornate bedroom complete with a huge four poster bed. Then they showed us the tiny servants quarters and described how arduous their lives were; starting work at around 5am and working until long after 10pm with only one day off each month. The guide asked for a volunteer and several in our group put their hands up. Becky Jacobs was selected and we watched as she donned all the items of clothing and 18th century maid would wear; chemise, corset, petticoat, shirt, heavy black dress, crisp white apron and finally, a dainty lace hat. The guide stated that Becky wears the garments of lady’s maid; evident by the delicate lace on her apron. Kitchen and scullery maids wore much plainer aprons. Then the duties of a lady’s maid were described and another volunteer was asked for. A few of the girls hands went up, but Miss O’Neill suggested that one of the boys could volunteer instead of a girl. None of us did, so she chose me!

Just like Becky, I donned a chemise over my school uniform, and this was followed by a corset which Becky laced me into. I complained that it was too tight and the guide said that it’s actually quite loose in comparison to how tight they used to be worn. Next came a hooped petticoat, followed by an under petticoat, followed by a tunic, followed by an over petticoat, followed by a big heavy frock and long pair of satin gloves, followed by a thick housecoat and a hat similar to a bonnet. It all weighted a tonne and one of my classmates asked why they wore so much. “Because 18th century houses were very cold and very draughty, especially stately homes like this… they had no central heating, no double glazing, no lightweight and warm modern fabrics… in fact all they had apart from their many layers of clothing were the huge open fireplaces, which the maids would have to keep topped up with hefty buckets of logs or coal, dragged up several flights of stairs.” the guide explained.

With me dressed as an 19th century lady and Becky dressed as a lady’s maid, Miss O’Neill had us pose for a couple of photographs. I felt stupid but in retrospect, I suppose I got a real insight into the clothing aspect of 19h century life. We were eventually freed from our garments and the tour continued down to the kitchens where life beneath the stairs was described to us. The guide got some of us involved but they didn’t have to dress the part. The working farm demonstrated various agricultural tools and techniques from the era as well as shoeing a horse… all in all it was a very interesting day, the only sour point was the derision we received from the other school groups.

As we prepared to board the bus and make our way home, Miss O’Neill told me that she’d put the photo she’d taken of Becky and me on the school website, before saying ‘well done’ for taking part. “I know it’s not easy being the new boy in a mixed girl’s school…” she said, “…but you seem to be settling in quite well.”

“Oh er… thanks Miss.” I replied.

“When I arrived home, Mum asked me how the day trip was and I told her all about it, including the photo of me and Becky that will be put on the school’s website. “Oh let’s have a look!” Mum said.

“It won’t be there yet!” I claimed. Mum checked anyway and low & behold, there it was. With the bonnet covering my short hair, it’s hard to tell that I’m a boy, I figured. “Oh don’t do that Mum!” I whined.

“Why not?” Mum asked as a full colour A4 glossy print slowly shuffled out of the printer.

“Because you’ll show it to everyone.” I sighed. Mum told me that ‘everyone’ can see it on the website anyway, before asking after the girl who’s dressed as ‘my’ ladies maid. “That’s Becky Jacobs.” I replied, “She’s playing the lead in the school play.” I added.

Mum asked if I had a part in the play too, but I told her I was helping with the scenery. “Oh that’s a shame?” Mum replied. “Oh… a latter came today… from school.” she added.

“What about?” I cautiously asked as a letter home can often mean trouble.

“Prom week.” Mum said as she fetched the envelope.

“Prom week?” I asked.

“Aha.” Mum nodded as she pulled the letter from the envelope. “The last week in June is prom week and each year has their own Prom in the school hall.” she read. “Julia’s is on the Wednesday evening and yours is on the Tuesday… and you know what day that is?” she asked with a hint of joy. I shrugged cluelessly, but then thought. “It’s your birthday!” Mum announced.

I’d never been to a Prom before and to be honest, the concept didn’t really gel with me. Mum handed me the letter and I skim read it. Last week of June blah blah, year seven on Monday blah blah year eleven on Friday 6.00pm until 8.00pm, buffet, disco, dance, presentations. “Do we have to go?” I asked.

“Well you don’t have to go but it is your birthday.” Mum replied.

Julia emerged and asked “Have to go were?” Mum told her about prom week and I passed her the letter. Being a girl, she was naturally a lot more excited than I, and reading the letter to the end, she read out a detail that I hadn’t noticed. “Students are advised to wear party dresses and girls in years 10-13 may wear ball gowns.” she stated before pining about not being in year ten and therefore is not allowed to wear a ball gown. Mum said there’s a fine line between a party dress and ball gown and was sure she’d look lovely anyway. “I wonder what Matty will look like in a party dress?” she said in an almost accusational tone.

“I don’t ‘have’ to wear a dress do I?” I whined, before insisting that I wouldn’t go if I did.

“But it’s your birthday.” Mum said. “You don’t want to be all on your own at home when all your friends are having fun at the Prom.”

“I don’t want to spend it dressed as a girl either.” I sulked.

“Well it is a school day, so you’ll be dressed as a girl anyway.” Mum retorted, “And I was toying with the idea of maybe buying you a nice dress or something…” she paused and smiled at me then looked down at my skirt and legs. “…something that isn’t your uniform.”

“Why?” I whined.

“Because it’ll be nice.” Mum claimed. “Like I say, I was only toying with the idea… I was going to ask you first.” she told me. “I wouldn’t have just gone and bought you one.” she added. I cast her a pursed smile and said I’d rather not have a dress. “I know but… now you’ve got a Prom to go to you’ll need one.” my mother said as a huge grin swept her face. Of course I instinctively had a further moan about this, but Mum reminded me that all the other boys will be wearing dresses too. Then I light went on in her mind. “I’ll bet there’s photos from last years Prom on their website.” she said as she began to search the web pages on her laptop. “Oh, show your sister your photo.” Mum suggested.

“Wow that looks amazing!” Julia said as she looked at the photo of me in an 18th century dress and my classmate dressed as a lady’s maid.

I told her how tight the corset felt, and how heavy it was. “There must have been ten layers!” I exclaimed, trying to recall them all.

“I’d love to try on a dress like that!” Julia stated. I played the experience down and said I’d have preferred it if my teacher had selected someone other than myself. After a moment observing every detail of mine and Becky’s attire, Julia looked at me and asked, “You’ve worn that in front of your class and you’re worried about wearing a prom dress?” she paused before adding, “Boys are weird.”

“No we’re not… we’re just not used to dressing like girls… That’s all.” I replied.

“Well you’re more used to it now that you was at Easter.” Julia replied. “And you said yourself it’s not so bad.”

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean I like it.” I retorted.

Mum shut the lid of her laptop and said she needed to get the evening meal started. She also volunteered me to help since I had no homework. Julia asked if Mum had found any Prom photos on the schools website. Mum said she had but felt that I’d rather we did something other than talk about dresses… and she’s absolutely right. Julia got on with her homework and I peeled the carrots and potatoes. Later that evening, I borrowed the laptop and had a quiet look at the schools website and in particular, the photographs from last year’s Prom. I wished I hadn’t. All the boys are wearing dresses but unlike the girls, they’re wearing the sort of dress that little girls wear, with puffed sleeves, voluminous petticoats and broad satin sashes tied in a big bow at the small of the back. Now I understand the difference between a party dress and ball gown, and why my sister would rather wear one over the other.