The following morning, Andrew is collected by the school minibus soon after 7.30 am.
It winds through the residential side streets, collecting various boys, and eventually, it heads towards William’s estate.
Andrew wondered if William might have absconded again,
However as the minibus pulls to a halt outside his house, the front door opens and Wayne sheepishly steps out wearing black Mary Jane style shoes and burgundy tights, a tartan pinafore dress, and a burgundy blazer.
His head is hung low and his hair is tied in a pair of French plaits tied with burgundy ribbons in bows on his shoulders.
“You the one who tried to nick off yesterday?” one of the boys asked as William climbed into the minibus.
“Err…. yeah.” William said as the door slid shut behind him.
“Who are you?”
“Sandra.” the boy replied.
“It’s really Alexander but…” he shrugged.
Other boys on the bus were called Stephanie (Stephen),
Penelope (Peter),
Andrea (Andrew),
Carla (Carl),
Emily (Lee),
Christina (Christopher),
Jennifer (Jonathan),
Jane (James),
Tiffany (Timothy),
Michelle (Michael)
and Mary (Mark).
Several of them claimed to have done much the same as William when they were first sent to St Urshalla’s.
Jennifer managed three days since he’d fled to his father’s house in Rutland, whilst Tiffany’s attempt lasted a mere ten minutes.
The boys were told to be silent. Wayne peered out of the window.
Alan sat beside him and looked at William’s hair, tied in two plaits running from behind his fringe to his neck where two burgundy ribbons are tied in bows.
“Did your mum do your hair?” Andrew asked.
“Well I didn’t do it myself.” William sarcastically retorted.
“It’s better than my bunches.” Andrew frowned.
“Mum made me wear them all evening.” he moaned.
“She’s even moved me into my sister’s old room and I’ve got to wear her old clothes.”
“All the time?!”
“Well… for the next two weeks.” Andrew frowned.
“That’s a bit harsh.” William said. Andrew nodded.
“I had to wear my uniform until my homework was done, but at least I could wear my own clothes after that.” William explained.
This didn’t seem fair to Andrew.
He didn’t try to skip school as William did, but he’s the one who’s got to spend the next couple of weeks going to a girl’s school, sleeping in a girl’s bedroom, and wearing nothing but girl’s clothes.
The minibus pulled into the schoolyard and the boys alighted.
They’d been put into separate classes so went their separate ways after entering the building.
Yet again at playtime, Andrew was given a skipping rope and William was sent to play hopscotch.
He wasn’t quite so bashful today since he actually enjoyed playing the game, not that he’d admit that to many people.
Andrew on the other hand was still struggling with the skipping rope.
He could achieve three or four consecutive skips but no more than that.
His problem is that no sooner he gets into the rhythm, he can’t help but think what he looks like; heels clacking, skirt swishing and bunches bouncing… then it all goes to pot.
He’d like to try a different playtime activity but the prefects in charge tell him that he’s got to master the skipping rope first.
“All girls should be able to skip Alison.” they tell him, before suggesting he practice at home too.
Andrew and William sit opposite one another at lunchtime.
Andrew moans about his ‘difficult’ playground activity and claims that he’d rather play hopscotch than skipping.
“Hopscotch is OK.” William sheepishly confessed.
“At least there’s a bit more to it than just jumping about a bit.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Andrew frowned.
“The prefects said I’ve got to stay with the skipping group ’til I can do it properly.”
After eating their lunch, they filter out into the schoolyard where Andrew is sent to skip whilst William plays hopscotch.
In the afternoon they have a PE class and play netball for the first time ever.
At their old school, only the girls played netball but here the boys play too.
They wear really short knife-pleated PE skirts, gym knickers, a polo shirt, and thick knee socks; all in burgundy.
For Andrew and William, it’s a humbling kit to wear but everyone else wears the same so they don’t feel too out of place.
It is a bit chilly though, not having tights to give them some protection against the chilly October air.
Their PE kits were embarrassing to wear but come Thursday and the hour-long dance class, they discovered a whole new level of embarrassing attire; baby pink dance tights and a burgundy camisole leotard.
Baby pink ballet shoes and a short burgundy skirt that’s almost completely see-through.
Their hair is scraped back into a tight bun and their fringes are held off their face with numerous hair slides.
They also have a little pink wrap cardigan and some woolly leg warmers to wear until they’ve warmed up.
The class began with the five positions of classical ballet which involved standing with their arms and feet and various specific positions, over and over again.
It was slow and tiresome.
The teacher plonked on the piano, calling out the positions, reminding the pupils to concentrate and to move on the beat.
This yawn-fest was followed by something that resembled actual dancing.
Simple routines that involved steps, turns, and little jumps.
It was marginally more interesting than the five positions but the classical piano music they had to dance along to was dire.
Toward the end of the class, the teacher said it was time to ‘have some fun.
She opened the lid of a Dansette record player and placed a disc on the turntable.
Half of the kids cheered when the opening bars of The Sweet’s Blockbuster blasted out and everyone began jumping about.
This was followed by another cracking tune; Can the Can by Suzi Quatro.
Afterward, the dance teacher approached the new boys and asked if they’d enjoyed themselves.
They were non-committal but did admit to enjoying dancing to The Sweet and Suzi Quatro at the end of the class.
“Good.” the teacher smiled, handing each of them a small pamphlet.
“Learning and understanding the basics of ballet means dancing to pop music is much more fun,” she told them, before suggesting they practice the basic positions at home.
After school, Andrew’s mother excitedly asked how his dance class went.
“Really boring,” he whined.
“Is that your kit?” his mother asked, referring to the drawstring bag hanging from his shoulder.
Andrew gulped and nodded.
His mother took it from him and had a look.
“Oh lovely.” she grinned. “I can’t wait to see it on.”
“I brought it home to wash, not to wear,” Andrew muttered as his mother opened the pamphlet he’d been given.
“It says you should practice for twenty to thirty minutes each day here.” his mother informed him.
“Yeah but it doesn’t say I have to wear that,” Andrew claimed as his mother folded the leotard and tights.
“It doesn’t say you shouldn’t either.” his mother replied.
“You can practice on the landing, using the banister as a bar,” she added.
Of course, Andrew protests but his mother tells him that whilst he’s attending St Urshalla’s, he’ll do what’s expected whether he likes it or not. “…otherwise you’ll find yourself there for much longer than a fortnight.”
Alan hung his head and stuck out his lip.
“It’s not fair,” he grumbled.
“Oh it’s entirely fair Andrew.
You brought this on yourself remember.
If you hadn’t been skipping school you would have ended up at St Urshallas.” she reminded him.
“Have you got much homework to do?” she asked.
“A bit.” he replied.
“Well I suggest you get on with it.” his mother replied.
“I’ll go and chose you a dress for when you’ve finished,” she added.
“Can’t I choose for myself?” he asked.
“You wore what you wanted last night… tonight it’s my turn.” she retorted.
“Wayne doesn’t have to wear girl’s clothes all the time,” Andrew whined.
“Well, that’s up to his parents.” Andrew’s mother retorted.
“I’d guess if William had a sister he’d be in much the same boat as you are.” she reckoned.
“Now let me retie your bunches,” she said. “They’re lopsided.”
Meanwhile, William’s mother is asking how his school day was.
“OK I guess.” he hesitantly replied.
“I’ll never get used to having to answer to Winifred though.” he sighed.
His mother smiled. “It’s not a name I’d have chosen for you,” she said as she ran her fingers through his wavy hair.
“I’d have called you Emily or Claire or something.”
“There is a boy called Emily… his real name’s Lee,” William told her.
“And how’s Andrew getting on being Alison?” she asked.
“He hates it… but he has to wear girl’s clothes all the time… even a night he has to wear a nightie.”
“Well he’s not the only boy at St Urshalla’s who’s petticoated all the time.” his mother replied.
“You should think yourself lucky that you’re only being petticoated during school time.”
“…and after school,” he stated.
His mother informed him that school time isn’t over until he’s completed his homework.
“Hmm.” he moaned, before telling his mother that even the dance teacher gave them some homework.
“Really?” his mother quizzed. “What?” she asked. William removed the pamphlet from his handbag and handed it to her.
“I see.” she said as she perused it. “Half an hour every day you don’t have a dance class… I wonder if that includes weekends too?”
“I hope not.” William gulped.
His mother asked which days he does have a dance class.
“Monday and Thursday,” he replied.
“Well I suppose Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday should be enough,” she replied.
“I won’t have to wear my dance kit will I?” he sheepishly asked.
“It says here that you should.” his mother replied, handing the pamphlet back to him.
The next morning, William climbed into the minibus and sat next to Andrew.
He said that he couldn’t wait for tomorrow since that means two whole days of not having to dress like a girl.
“It’s all right for some.” Andrew glumly replied.
“The next time I’ll be allowed to wear boy’s clothes is a week on Monday when we’re allowed to go back to Cromwell Road.”
“Yeah…. it’s only another week and a bit.” William replied. After a brief pause, he added. “It’s weird though…”
“What?”
William dropped his eyes to his skirted lap and stockinged legs. “I’ve kinda got used to wearing this.” he confessed.
“Me too.” Andrew admitted. “But compared to some of the things my mum makes me wear… this is the best of a bad bunch,” he said as he smoothed his skirt over his lap.
“The tights can get a bit itchy though,” he added.
William agreed.