When I am sent to try on my uniform, Mother follows me.
It quickly becomes apparent that in addition to the skirts,
pinafores,
shirts,
cardigans,
shoes and PE kit,
Mother had bought other items such as socks (predictable, and predictably I complained that she’d bought me ‘girls’ socks).
“But you could have got plain ones instead of these!” I moaned as I held a bundle of white pelerine knee socks.
But the socks were the least of my worries when I realized that in addition to the bottle green gym knickers,
I also have a pack of seven pairs of white knickers
(the package says Boy’s School Knickers with name tag)
with lace trim around the legs and waist,
and a pack of five white cropped vests which Mother calls training bras!
“I’m not wearing them, or those!” I insisted.
Mother, told me that all the boys have to wear a training bra.
“Why?” I asked. Mother said it’s because the girls do.
I asked if I ‘have’ to wear the knickers too, and why.
Mother pointed out that they are ‘boys’,
then said it’s because they’re nicer than normal boy’s undies and with such a short skirt,
I should wear something nice under it.
“But do I have to?” I asked.
Mother said I did and suggested taking away all my own underpants to make sure I do.
“Please don’t Mother.” I pleaded.
“I have to wear them for school I want to be able to change them as soon as I get home.”
“Well make sure you do.” Mother said.
“And I will check.” she assured.
My knickers and bras went in with my underpants.
My new knee socks went in my sock drawer…
apart from one of each item.
A single pair of knickers,
a white bra and pair of knee socks waited menacingly on my duvet.
The thought of having to wear a skirt is one thing…
having to wear girl’s underwear too is something else.
Fearfully, I picked up the training bra.
“It’s just like a little vest really.” my mother said,
pointing out that it doesn’t have a back fastening like a ‘proper’ bra.
“You’ll have to take your top off first.” s
he smiled as I stood motionless with it dangling from my trembling fingers.
Thankfully, she offered me some privacy and left.
Mother returned just as I was about to put a pair of socks on and asked how I was getting on.
“I hate it.” I murmured
I pulled the knitted white sock up to my knee and looked in horror at the ghastly pelerine pattern.
Mother advised me to make sure the pattern was straight and not twisted as I pulled on the other sock.
“Well stand up,
let’s have a look at you.”
Mother said with a smile.
I stood and she told me that I don’t look ‘too bad’.
I felt inclined to disagree.
“You have got your knickers on too haven’t you?” Mother asked.
I nodded and mumbled.
“Well let’s see.” Mother said.
“Oh Mu-um!” I moaned.
The last thing I wanted to do was lift my skirt to show her my knickers,
but that’s precisely what she made me do.
“Very nice.” my mother grinned.
“Much nicer than your tatty old Y fronts.”
“You’re loving every minute of this aren’t you,” I said as I dropped my skirt and looked down at myself.
“This is way too short,” I claimed.
Its hem landed around the tips of my thumbs and I couldn’t help but feel the edge of the many knife pleats with my trembling fingers.
“Is it heck!” Mother insisted.
“That’s exactly the length it should be.” she added.
“Turn around.”
Shyly I turned.
Mother said I looked ‘nice’
she told me I’d get plenty of sun on my legs before telling me that my shirt is very smart.
“It’s a blouse.”
I sulked, drawing her attention to the short pin-tucked sleeves and rounded collar.
“I suppose it is really.” Mother smiled.
She helped me with the tie which fastened at the back and once on,
I think I detested that more than the skirt.
“Can I take it off now?” I asked.
“Can I see it with the cardigan?” she replied.
“And your new shoes,” she added.
I picked up and donned the cardigan.
Mother quizzed whether it was a cardigan or a tank-top as I fumbled with the buttons as like the shirt,
they’re the wrong way around too.
“I think I prefer it without the cardigan…
or whatever it is.” I said as I looked down at myself.
I’m not a fan of brown at the best of times,
especially beige.
Mother agreed and said I can always take it off if I get too warm.
I fiddled with the buckles of my new school shoes and complained that they were too high.
“I’ll twist my ankle in these.” I moaned.
“Nonsense,” Mother replied.
“Just make sure you don’t try to run in them.”
“That’s probably why they make us wear them.” I figured.
“Yes,
you’re probably right.”
“Can I take it off now?”
“No!” Mother replied.
“I want to see you both together… a
nd if you can muster a smile,
I’d like a photograph too.”
“Please Mother… no photographs!” I pleaded.
Mother said it’s a mother’s prerogative to take photos of her children in school uniform.
I reminded her that she’s already got a photo of me in my last school uniform.
“I know but I want one of you in this one now,” she replied.
I took my first tentative steps in heeled shoes and sheepishly followed my mother downstairs.
I moaned and sulked when my sister Jane wolf-whistled at me.
“Nice legs Mathew!” she cooed.
Mother stood us next to each over and insisted that we both looked very nice and smart.
She took a couple of photos too, which I wasn’t happy about.
But being vain, my sister Jane wanted one on her own,
which prompted Mother to take one of me on my own.
I asked if I could finally go and change as Mother reviewed the photographs.
“You can change into your pinafore if you want,” she said.
“Oh, Mu-um!” I moaned.
“Oh, Mathew.” Mother retorted,
mimicking my tone.
Our mother decided that she wanted a photograph of us without our cardigans and tank-tops on, so we unbuttoned and removed them.
She took a couple more snaps before handing the camera to Jane so we could have a look.
“Oh god… I can’t believe I have to wear this in public.” I gulped.
I’d not noticed until I saw the photograph that my ‘little vest’ can be quite clearly seen through the thin fabric of my school shirt.
Jane’s bra is also visible but she’s supposed to wear one so it doesn’t matter so much.
Maybe I’ll slip a t-shirt on beneath it for school.
Mother sent us to try on our pinafores and had a whine n the way up the stairs.
“Surely it’s classed as abuse…
forcing boys to dress like girls?”
“I know what you mean.” my sister replied.
“But I think they call it equality,” she added.
“If it’s about equality then the girls could wear trousers…
it’s not as if they don’t wear them anyway.” I replied.
Jane agreed and said she’d prefer trousers,
before claiming that skirts are nice when it’s hot.
She went to her room and I went to mine.
A moment later we met on the landing,
each wearing our winter pinafores.
Jane sneered at her attire and said she preferred the skirt.
“At least this isn’t really short though,” I replied.
Mother wasn’t keen on our pinafores either.
“They’re very daggy aren’t they,” she said as Jane and I stood side by side.
“But I suppose they will be warmer in winter.”
“Do I have to wear this?” Jane sneered as she splayed the dropped box pleated skirt.
“Only in winter… from January to Easter,” Mother replied.
“What do you think Matthew?
Better or worse than your skirt?”
“I dunno,” I grumbled.
“They’re both dire but at least this isn’t really short.”
“True.” Mother smiled.
“Do you want to try your PE kit on too?”
“Not really.” I moaned, fearing that she’d insist.
Thankfully Mother didn’t insist, but she did detect my reluctance.
“I know it all seems very strange now but give it a few months and you won’t give it a second thought,” she claimed.
“If you don’t believe me, look at all those boys who go to Ashford Academy.”
“But they wear shorts,” I replied.
Mother informed me that they wear culottes,
which are girl’s shorts, and claimed that plenty of them wear a skirt instead.
“ like most ‘mixed’ girls schools, Ashford Academy is the best school in town.”
“I can’t see why,” I muttered.
“It’s because boys are less likely to be disruptive in class when they’re dressed as girls,” Mother replied.
“They’re less likely to bully and they don’t play truant either,” she added.