Memoirs of a Transvestite

1900 – 1919

We were twins, born in the year 1900. Not identical, but close enough, especially wearing the same dresses. It seems funny now, in the Sixties, but it was quite normal for little boys to wear dresses then. I don’t remember it exactly, but I was told I cried when Nanny tried to put me in a sailor suit. My sister said she wanted to wear the suit, so Nanny let her. There is a photograph of us as children, me in my dress, her in the suit, with Nanny, all looking very pleased.

Apparently Mama didn’t notice, but then we didn’t have much to do with her. She was an important lady with obligations. We lived in Harrogate, a rather genteel Yorkshire town north of the industrial cities of Leeds and Bradford.

The house was a big Victorian one, with rooms enough for a lot of children and two or three servants, so we had plenty of places to have make-believe adventures. Nanny was actually Pauline the maid. Although Papa worked in a bank he didn’t earn enough to afford two servants, so Nanny did both jobs, and cooked as well. (We had a gardener who visited.) Nanny told us we only had the house because Mama was the sole surviving child of her parents who lived there before.

It was really just the three of us: Victor, Beatrice and Nanny, living in a house where we sometimes saw Papa and Mama. It was a sort of game. Nanny would present us to say good night. Sometimes I would be in shorts and be Victor, sometimes I would be in a dress and be Beatrice. Papa and Mama just said good night to those names.

It got a bit harder when I had my hair cut, of course, so we stopped doing it.

When I was fourteen and had finished school, I was found a job in Asket’s, a factory making accessories for clothing: fastenings, ribbons, pockets, collar shapes, edgings, some lace, frills and fripperies. I was a stockroom boy, fetching and carrying, putting things away so they could be found, making up orders.

Papa said I could work my way up. He also presented me with my own shaving kit of the latest kind, with a Gillette safety razor, and showed me how to shave, for when I started. I didn’t actually need it till I was eighteen.

Mama had never had a job, and since we were not of the servant class, did not expect Beatrice to have one, so she was bored at home. There were piano lessons, improving literature, and how to make the best of her looks. This included a little makeup — not like a trollop, but just a bit. The theory was that girls looked as if they had no makeup, but everyone knew it. Something to keep the skin pale, a bit of red on the lips and a tiny hint on the cheeks. Just darkening the eyebrows a little, and she was not quite so plain.

The intention was that from the age of sixteen, she should be presented to suitable young men between eighteen and thirty. It was not unknown for men considerably older to marry sixteen-year-old girls if they were pretty enough and he had sufficient money and position.

Apart from the piano lessons and reading, the task of making her into a lady was mainly the job of Nanny, of course. Mama would criticise and occasionally give a rambling discourse.

Beatrice hated it, of course. She even went to Marshal & Snelgrove, a large and quite refined department store, and applied for a job. They agreed to give her a trial, but she needed her parents’ signature. Needless to say, this was not given and caused considerable acrimony.

Then on the fourth of August 1914 the British Empire was at war.

The war was quite jolly at first. It was all going to be over by Christmas, the papers said, and lots of young men volunteered including some in Asket’s.

But it was not to be, of course. The War became the Great War, and eventually the War to End All Wars.

Mama got involved in charities sending little gifts to the brave soldiers. Beatrice had to start knitting.

Mama realised that charity work, while not exposing her to young men, could actually expose her to their mothers, so there were some visits to our house and to others and a hall where gifts for the front and for P.O.W.s were packed.

In 1916 conscription was introduced for men between 18 and 40. I was too young and Papa was too old, but even more men went. Beatrice was slightly relieved (but guilty) that she would not be presented as a marriage prospect as Mama had planned.

I was promoted, with a couple of younger boys under me to do the fetching and carrying. I had to know my way around the stock instead of just doing what I was told.

The same year, Beatrice started her monthlies. I wasn’t supposed to know, and didn’t really understand, but we were so close, she told me and Nanny explained. It was pretty horrifying.

Asket’s became a main supplier of the bits and pieces for the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps and the Women’s Land Army.

Then in 1918, the war finished.

While the end of the war was wonderful, it was to be a pretty distressing time. It had been costly in life and money. Everything was in short supply, and so many families had lost a son or husband.

Without the military contracts, and everything being so tight that people were not buying, Asket’s closed down. Papa said that some of their bosses had done well, but his bank now had debts. From the way he said it, he might have been partially to blame. Nanny said he had been demoted.

I don’t know if it was the end of the war, or the fact that we were eighteen, but Mama had something to tell the two of us.

I think she had prepared a little speech, but it went wrong.

“I,” she began, “that is you, er must. Now you’re…..”

And she burst into tears which I had never seen before, so I went to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” she said, which shocked me, so I pulled back, and just watched her sobbing.

Eventually she looked at us, her face a pitiful picture of misery.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never loved you. I can’t because you’re not mine.”

“But Mama!” I began and she shushed me.

“Six times I carried your father’s child inside me, but God never let one live! I nearly died twice. Then my husband was unfaithful with the maid! I couldn’t throw her out because it wasn’t her fault, it was his, the man I loved, and who I thought loved me!”

She had to pause to cry again.

“We kept her indoors, and I went out padded up, pretending. My old Nanny helped with the birth, and kept it secret, so you were baptised and registered as mine.”

“You were just little babies, and I had convinced myself I would love you, but I couldn’t. You don’t know how envious I was when she had you to her bosoms. Mine ached as I watched. I’ve never been a mother to you, because I wasn’t. I’m so sorry!”

She was crying again.

“Mama,” said Beatrice, trying to hug her.

“Just leave me!” she said sharply.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice as we left.

“Don’t tell your father. We were supposed to wait till you were twenty-one.”

That was the closest we ever got, though she did try to do her best for us.

Nanny cried and hugged and kissed us when I said what had happened. She had so much wanted us to know. Beatrice said we loved her like a mother anyway.

We tried saying Mummy, but eventually agreed that Nanny was best. She had always been the special person in our lives, and it would probably be easier with Papa if we didn’t change.

I was unemployed, and Beatrice’s charities had stopped, so we clung to each other as we had when we were very small. We laughed with Nanny how we had pretended to be each other.

So we tried it again.

Of course, it didn’t work.

I was an inch taller; my shoulders were wider and my waist was larger. My sister had longer hair.

It was a challenge.

She and Nanny let out a dress and I put it on. I shaved and they put some powder and rouge on me. Then Beatrice gave me deportment lessons like she had had. How to move like a lady.

Oh, we had such fun!

Then Nanny said she had to go to make dinner, and we returned to our usual state.

But next day, Beatrice worked on some of my old clothes. She has quite small breasts, like Nanny, not like Mama’s substantial bosoms, so a tight waistcoat was sufficient. With her hair tucked back, I had to agree that she wasn’t bad.

I didn’t expect it, but she went further, and got Nanny to cut her hair to the same length as mine, but arranged it, of course. Mine had got a bit long since I lost my job.

She came to dinner in a dress as usual and announced she had done her hair in a modern style.

“And I’m not wearing stays anymore!” she added.

Papa snorted. Mama didn’t say anything. She had been much quieter since she revealed the family secret.

Next day we were apprehensive as we came to dinner. I was in a dress and my sister was in a suit. I was actually wearing a corset belonging to Nanny, but still had a larger waist, supposedly being my sister without one. And some powder and a little colour, of course.

Perhaps I should explain that we wore more layers than people do today. It was both the fashion and rooms were generally colder. Men wore a suit with a waistcoat a work and at home and women would have been cold in Autumn without the petticoats. My male parts did not really show.

Neither challenged us. They addressed me as Beatrice and her as Victor for the little conversation which was made.

We couldn’t believe it! We hugged and danced afterwards.

We did it again. And Beatrice even made some conversation with Papa, asking him about the economy. He seemed pleased to talk.

One of the problems was the men coming back from the armed forces, and needing jobs. In many cases (like Asket’s) the jobs were not there.

“And in your case,” he said to ‘Victor’, “the problem is that any jobs that do come up go to those who’ve served.”

“And for you, Beatrice,” Mama added to me, “there are two million women more than men. Unless you’re pretty, or have money it’s going to be hard to find you a man. Maybe I should have let you be a shopgirl. At least you’d have an income when we’re gone.”

“Mama!” I said, a bit shocked. If she didn’t love us, she was concerned. She had been so unfortunate. Without thinking, I took her hand.

We didn’t say anything, just looked at each other’s tearful eyes.

We went upstairs to the sitting room we shared. Our room. Just my sister and me.

“How do you like wearing a dress?” she said.

“It’s all right,” I said.

“Would you mind being me for a bit longer? Just a few more days? All day? Because I love wearing trousers. I just wish I could go out like a man!”

Of course, I liked it because it was a joke. Over the next few days it became more natural. We even went out for a walk together. She was taking longer strides than usual, and reminding me to take smaller ones. Her shoes were a bit small for me, but Nanny had larger feet, so I wore those.

Mama had been right. Beatrice wasn’t pretty. She was plain. Not ugly, just plain. Looking like her brother. It had been cruel to say it, but she was right, or we would never have got away with the deception. And I was fortunate in not having a dark strong beard.

We were congratulating ourselves on Friday, when we got a shock.

At dinner, Papa was looking very pleased with himself, and said he had a bit of news which would come with the pudding.

“I’ve got a position for Victor!” he announced proudly.

“I was thinking about what we discussed, and had a word with the manager. He’s willing to let you have a trial as a junior clerk. Come with me tomorrow morning, and I’ll introduce you.”

“Thank you, Papa!” said my sister eagerly. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“That’s good,” said Mama, a rare compliment to her husband.

“We could certainly use the money.”

Which was, of course a criticism of him for not earning enough.

When we finished pudding, she spoke up.

“Beatrice, I’d like you to come to the shops with me tomorrow. We’ll leave about ten.”

“Of course, Mama,” I said.

Well, that was the end of the game.

Next morning Nanny had shined my shoes well, and I walked with Papa to the bank.

On the way he explained.

“I thought you should make your own way, not follow me, which is why I put you into Asket’s instead of being an office boy at the bank. But with you needing a job, then why not? We have applications from soldiers, but they’re not the right class. We even had a couple of women serving during the war, but they’re gone, thankfully.”

I was introduced to the Chief Clerk, Mr Wilson.

“Your father tells me you were Stock Manager at Asket’s,” he said. I nodded, though I was far from management.

“Quite a responsible position. Shame they closed, but there you are. Did you deal with accounts at all?”

“No,” I said, “though I knew prices of course.”

“Like a gross of ribbons at threepence and three-farthings each?” he replied, looking questioningly at me.

“Forty-five shillings,” said Papa, “sorry, automatic.”

“Yes, of course,” smiled Mr Wilson, but looking a bit annoyed.

“I didn’t mean to test you. It’s just basic school arithmetic. And percentages, of course. You’ve probably forgotten compound interest, but it’ll soon come back to you. All we ask is to take care, and present a smart appearance.”

“I think it might just help if you had a trim some time,” he added.

“I don’t mind myself, but some of our customers are a bit old-fashioned. Now I’ll let your father show you round.”

It was bigger than I thought, with the vaults downstairs and offices above. It was not just the personal accounts, but served major businesses all over Yorkshire and even further away. I was introduced to too many people to remember, but that included Clarence, a man in his forties with red hair, who would train me.

There was a postboy, about fifteen or sixteen, but there was a distinct lack of young men.

And I really didn’t understand the ledgers, charts and documents they showed me.

Saturday was half a day, of course, so we went home for lunch, where Papa said I had done well, though it didn’t seem it to me.

And Mama announced that Beatrice would be starting work as an assistant at Marshall & Snelgrove.

“The senior woman, Miss Stinton, remembered her as the eager fourteen-year-old, and her assistant Margaret knew me from the charity work, and I said how good she was.”

I think Beatrice had the same desperate smile as I did.

It was an unhappy afternoon as we related what had happened upstairs.

“By the way,” I said, “how could you calculate the price of a gross of ribbons at thruppence three-farthings each?”

She hesitated for a moment, then said “two pounds, five shillings.”

When I realised that was the same as forty-five shillings, I said “Yes, that’s right, but how did you work it out?”

“That’s easy,” she laughed.

“Why do you think there are twelve pennies in a shilling? It’s because we sell things in dozens! So thruppence three-farthings is three shillings and ninepence a dozen. A dozen dozens is thirty-six plus nine shillings, forty-five, so two pounds and five shillings. Do you want me to give it to you in half-crowns?”

That referred to an embarrassing moment in primary school where I had said there were ten half-crowns in a pound, instead of eight!

Then she suddenly said “Let’s dress as each other for the last time!”

It was a wonderful idea. There were two dresses I could wear, and I looked at them. Maybe we could still do it in private.

I washed my groin and armpits, shaved and put on makeup. I was getting quite good, but Beatrice adjusted it. Then I was given a good dose of perfume. Meanwhile she washed to remove the perfume from herself, and dressed in my clothes.

Papa and Mama did not seem to notice the difference.

After dinner, I moaned to my sister that I was worried about the job. I would embarrass myself and Papa.

“It’s a swiz!” she said.

“I wish I was going instead of you. I was always better at maths than you, and we had a course on home economics at the high school — managing rather more servants than us, of course.”

“D’you know, the most useful thing I did for the charities was sort out their accounts for them? The old biddies had no idea. I’d rather do that than sell ribbons.”

We talked about other things, and Nanny came to join us, having finished with the dinner things.

She was my mother and I hugged her and told her how unhappy I was.

“You can’t choose what you want in life,” she said, patting me. “I certainly didn’t.”

I was sorry for her, and was thinking of something to say, when Beatrice gave a little cry.

“Yes we can!”

We were both puzzled. She turned to me.

“Vic, you really like wearing a dress, don’t you? Go on, admit it!”

“Yes,” I said, admitting it to myself at last.

“Well then. I’ll go to the bank; you go to the shop.”

“Darling, you can’t be serious!” Nanny replied.

“I couldn’t sell dresses,” I protested.

“You wouldn’t have to. It’s the haberdashery counter. You know what all the bits are. They’ve even got a lot of Asket’s cartons in the store.”

“What have you got to lose? Go to the bank, and you probably won’t survive the probationary period. I won’t either, then I’ll go to the shop. But I’d just love to have the chance to be like a man, and deal with accounts.”

“Maybe we won’t last a day. Maybe it’ll be a week. Go on, be a proper girl, just for me!”

There were tears running down her cheeks, as she continued.

“I honestly don’t think they’ll spot you straight away. If they’re suspicious, say you feel unwell and go home, and we’ll swap. I’ll do the same.”

Was it love? Was it what I really wanted? A bit of both, I think, but I agreed.

On Sunday we shared what we knew, and I was ashamed how little I remembered. Fortunately, I knew the name Clarence and was able to describe him. Beatrice described Miss Stinton.

She warned me when I got upset.

“Don’t lose your rag! You sound like a man. Keep your voice soft. I’ve got to stop making mine too shrill. Keep calm, that’s the ticket.”

On Monday morning my sister was excited and I was nervous.

“This is it, Beatty,” she said.

“Here goes nothing, Vic,” I replied.

Papa accompanied us to the store, then went with ‘Victor’ to the bank.

I went to the staff door, and asked for Miss Stinton. The security man directed me, and I found myself in an area containing underwear and haberdashery, next to the drapers.

There was a woman like my sister had described, so I said “Good morning, Miss Stinton.”

“Good morning,” she replied, so I had at least got the right person.

She looked me up and down rather quizzically, and I was sure she could tell I was not the same person. In fact, she could see I wasn’t a girl.

“Don’t be nervous, Beatrice,” she said. “I don’t bite.”

“I see your corset is not so tight as it was on Saturday. Very sensible of you. We don’t want you fainting.”

“We’ll get our pharmacy ladies to teach you what we expect of our staff — smart but restrained.”

Cosmetics were supplied under the guise of skincare. Only actresses and prostitutes would paint their lips, but women would look after them with lip salve or lip balm to keep them moist. Often including natural ingredients such as red or black cherries which left the lips with a healthy pinkness. Treatments for skin blemishes to be applied daily. Oil for the health of eyebrows and lashes.

“Now, we have changed since you first applied. Did you come here much since then?”

“No, not really,” I said. “The war.”

“Nor did anyone else,” she answered ruefully.

“Business has been bad, and things are still tight, so our stock is more limited. More cheaper ready-to-wear garments, for example. But haberdashery is in demand, as people on a budget make alterations and primp things up. We’ll put you in the stock room to start, as there is a lot to learn before you go on the counter. Use your existing clothes for now. We’ll discuss what you should wear if the trial is successful.”