As we drove, I’d prepared myself to throw myself across the back seat in order to hide my petticoated self from anyone who may recognise me. Such fears alleviated as we crossed the narrow greenbelt between Covenworth and Crickley, but when it was time to step out of the car at Malham Hall High School, my stomach almost burst with anticipation.
As our official chaperone, Vincent is expected to show Mother and I around his school. We pass classrooms full of boys and girls wearing the all too familiar summer uniform. Apart from the obvious, Malham Hall appears to be a normal school teaching English, maths, geography, history, IT, arts and science. I expected the boys would all look miserable or ashamed having to attend a petticoating school, but they honestly don’t. We pass though the main hall where boys and girls do gymnastics, all wearing their long sleeved leotards and nothing else. We pop into the dance studio and spend a moment watching the dance class. Here both boys and girls wear pale pink dance tights, a strappy leotard and a little see though skirt. Vincent tells us that they’re practising the five positions of classical ballet. Outside we briefly watched mixed teams of boys and girls play netball, all wearing their short knife pleated PE skirts which reveal their big thick gym knickers with every throw, run or jump.
If you take the clothes all the boys wear out of the equation, Malham Hall looks like any other school, I figured. I upgraded this to any girl’s school after we passed the tennis court where four boys played doubles, each wearing a tiny white tennis skirt over a pair traditional tennis knickers with row after row of frilly lace covering the bum. Strolling through the courtyard we saw girls and boys playing with skipping ropes either in groups or alone. Some played hopscotch and others played clapping games, seemingly happily chanting the rhymes as they clapped along. Each and every one of them wear the same purple and white gingham summer dress with white socks and black girlie shoes. It’s an outfit I was no stranger to as I wore it every day after school, but thank heavens I didn’t have to wear it here. Eventually, Vincent led us to the outdoor stage and seating area where his graduation ceremony would be held. We had a good hour to wait so Mother suggested we ‘mingle’.
What surprised me was just how many guys around my age were also dressed in feminine attire. It turned out that they were mostly the current six formers attending their siblings’ graduation. They were mostly dressed similar to myself in a smart skirt & nice blouse or maybe a conservative dress, so I didn’t feel too out of place. I was however very conscious of my blouse and visible bra as I couldn’t see any others wearing something similar. There were a few boys in colourful prissy sissy frocks, but they were a definite minority. Of course there’s an equal number of lads in attendance that aren’t wearing anything feminine. Most of them kept their distance and eyed the rest of us with suspicion.