“Good boy.” Mother said, passing me the brown sack like frock. I headed to my room, but before I left the kitchen, my mother said “…and make sure you put some knickers on.”
“Why?” I whined. This is where my mother’s logic and my own differ. To her, one simply cannot wear a pair of underpants beneath a Brownie uniform. To me, it doesn’t make any difference, no one’s going to see them so underpants should be fine. Mother turned my logic around on me, and in a last ditch attempt to get out of wearing them, I said “They’re in the wash.”
“I didn’t only buy you one pair Vincent.” my mother informed me. “There’s plenty in your drawer.”
“Really?” I gulped. I went to my room and Mother was right; in the back of my underwear drawer is a small pile of frilly white knickers alongside some matching vests. With a trembling hand and a heavy heart, I removed a pair of knickers and my heart sank even more when I found a name tag had been stitched into them. I donned my sister’s old Brownie uniform for the second time. What worries me most is, now the uniform has my badges on the sleeve, all of a sudden it feels like my uniform. I returned downstairs and after straightening my socks, Mother took me into the garden where there was enough light and a nice background. She made me do the salute and took a photo. “Try to smile Vincent!” she said. She took another and then another, before she had me wear the Brownie ‘beanie’ hat.
“We don’t have to wear this in summer.” I grumbled as I donned it.
“I know but it is part of the uniform.” she replied before taking another two photographs. Finally I was allowed to go back inside and change my clothes. Mother suggested I keep my knickers on since they’re clean. I suggested otherwise. Mother told me that if I continued complaining at every turn, then she’d take my underpants away and all I’d have is knickers. “I’m sure Benjimin and Andrew don’t complain like you do.”
“I’m sure they don’t have to wear knickers.” I retorted.
“I think you’ll find that they do Vincent.” my mother replied. “I had a very interesting chat with their mother after dropping you off last night.”
The conversation was heading into territory that unnerved me so I didn’t pursue it. I went to my room and put some normal clothes on before putting my brownie uniform on a hanger and hanging it in my wardrobe. Mother entered. “I was about to tell you to that.” she said.
Sheepishly, I told her that it says in my Brownie Handbook that our uniforms must be hung when not being washed or worn. “It also says that we should learn to iron them too.” I glumly added.
“Oh you don’t have to do that.” Mother replied. “I’d rather iron it myself than risk you burning it.” Her eyes dropped to my feet and noticing them still clad in the girlie pelerine socks, she asked if I’d kept the rest of my underwear on. I nodded. “Good boy.” she said. I forced a smile, before asking why she’d stitched my school name tags in them. “So they don’t get mixed up with Judy’s.” she replied. “You don’t want to end up wearing her knickers by mistake do you?” she asked. I gulped and shook my head.
“I thought as much.” she said, ruffling my hair.
Over super, I told my Dad and sister about being teased at school. Dad advised me to tell a teacher if it gets too much. Judy empathised and said it should be OK for boys to do girl things if they want to, since girls do plenty of boy things and that’s OK. Judy also suggested that I practice plaiting her hair after supper. I wasn’t so keen. Nor was I keen on wearing an apron whilst I washed the dishes, one with a nice neat bow. After drying and putting away the dishes, I went to my room but Judy intercepted me on the landing. Again she suggested I plait her hair and practically pulled me into her bedroom. “I can’t do it.” I moaned.
“Which is why you need to practise… then you’ll get your badge.” she replied.
“I know but…” I muttered. “…I’ll just make a mess of it.” I claimed before describing how wonky Jane’s plait was when I’d done hers at Brownies. Again my sister told me I need to practise. I claimed I’d feel silly trying to plait my sister’s hair.
Judy is a teenager but she does have a few relics left over from her childhood. “Tell you what…” she said as she reached toward her bookshelf. “…you can practice on Rapunzel instead.” she suggested, handing me the doll. The idea of practising on a doll sent shivers down my spine, so I reluctantly agreed to practising on my sister. First I gently pulled the brush through it, then embarked on the fiddly task of plaiting. It’s not easy but after a few tries I did improve. Judy suggested I plait her hair every night before bed. I agreed, but only until I’m good enough to get my knot tying badge. She also offered to loan me her Rapunzel doll so I could practise when ever I like, but I declined. It’s bad enough having knickers in my drawer and a Brownie uniform in my wardrobe… I don’t want a doll in my room as well!
The taunting and teasing about being a Brownie and/or a potential May Queen did begin to wear off by the end of the week. A couple of kids regularly tease me rather than half the class, which is bearable I suppose. When it’s all over they’ll soon forget and I’ll be able to put this whole ghastly experience behind me.
I arrived home on Friday afternoon looking forward to two days of no school. I was feeling quite chirpy until Mother proudly showed the photographs she’d just had developed. There’s five in total of me wearing my Brownie uniform. The first looks like a mug shot, my expressionless face looks gormless and glum. The second was an attempted smile but is more of a grimace. In the third photo I’m just bearing my teeth and in the forth I’ve just donned the beanie hat and my hands are all blurry. But in the fifth photograph, the one which my mother described as ‘by far the best’, shows me smiling sweetly and looking like a very happy Brownie.
