It begins where I was born, in East London in 1952. When I was finally aware of my surroundings, I realised that I lived in a flat in the east end of London. A red brick building with black iron railings along the balconies that ran along each floor where the entrance to each flat was. One of my earliest memories was of Jack Frost who I believed I had seen at one of the windows in the flat. I also remember my fascination with the television and was strangely attracted to the controls at the back of the set. I constantly adjusted these to the despair of my parents. I also had a need to know how things worked and subsequently dismantled many toys that I could not reassemble.
At the age of three we moved to a house, still in East London, but further away from the city. This house was to be where my desire to wear women’s clothes would later surface.
But before I begin my story I will provide you some insight into my early life as a child…
I have worn glasses for as long as I can remember. I have photos of me probably about three or four years of age with glasses that were tied on, as I was too small for conventional glasses.
I think it was around the age of five that I was made to wear a patch over my left eye for days/weeks at a time. I suffered from a lazy eye that turned inward when I was tired. This was supposed to make the right eye stronger, but not the most confidence building thing for a four or five year old to wear. But I got on with it the best I could.
At the age of nine, and to add to my already ‘feeling different’, my parents were advised that I should have an operation on my right eye to correct the lazy eye problem. I could go into detail about my views on this but choose to pass by this and focus on the journey.
So, one operation later and the good and the bad news! The good news – they did resolve the problem of the eye turning inward. The bad news – they had not been 100% successful, as I now do not have parallax with my vision. Plus my eye turns outwards all of the time now and when I am tired it is more extreme. By the time I was old enough to understand what had happened it was too late to have corrective surgery.
In case you are wondering why I have included this, it’s to illustrate the effect that is had on me at the age of nine. I was now visually different to anyone else apart from how I felt inside. My little bit of confidence that I had managed to scrape together by nine had been crushed. I always felt so conspicuous from that point in my life.
I cannot say honestly what age I was when my mother found me wearing her stockings in her bedroom. My tiny legs didn’t come close to filling a stocking and they simply shrouded my legs with a large degree of baggy. She just laughed it off as something, but can’t imagine she didn’t have any thoughts of what exactly I may have been. Neither did I! At the age of eight or nine I began wearing my older sister’s clothes when I was alone in the house, I liked the feeling of being a girl. But, even at that age it was something to hide from everyone else. It was simply something that I was drawn to do by some compelling urge within me. I don’t believe that I had any idea why or what drove me to try on my sister’s clothes or that I questioned it. It was just something that I wanted to do and enjoyed how nice I felt being dressed as a girl. The only item of clothing that I can still remember is a light blue check lined skirt and matching jacket that I particularly liked.
Home had been a two up two down with an outside toilet, but it was home. A tin bath every Friday in the ‘scullery’ as it was called. A small room at the back of the house comprising a cooker, washing machine, sink with draining board with a gas water heater and a door to the garden and outdoor toilet.
Not much else happened until reaching puberty. My first introduction to the physical changes that were taking place with my body happened in the changing room at a swimming baths with two friends. One of my friends had discovered masturbation and was keen to display this new found act. Amusingly, at the time it just didn’t happen to his disappointment. However, curious as I am by nature, I attempted to repeat this for myself when I returned home. I think it may have taken a few attempts but eventually my body chose to participate in the event and voila – ejaculation!
Not surprisingly I continued to enjoy this new found aspect to my bodily functions. However, somewhere around the age of 14 or 15 I managed to contract the virus Mumps. Something that in my case affected my testicles. My right testicle swelled to the size of a beefsteak tomato and was a quite painful for a week or so. I didn’t inform my parents immediately oddly, but I recall visiting my doctor with my mother but the virus had done it’s damage by then. I was always a very quite and private boy. After about two weeks or so the swelling had reduced and so did my the size right testicle. Simply one more thing to make me feel ever different! This however did not affect masturbation which was still fully functional.
I think I was 15, when first noticed a new block of flats begin to rise above the rooftops of the houses across the road. Little did I know that we would be re-housed in one of those flats and on the 11th floor in the near future. The houses around us became hollow shells as the families moved out. Some to newly built properties nearby or to new towns in Essex. Suddenly a community, no matter how dysfunctional, was broken apart to make way for modern housing.
As far as I can recall, I must have stopped dressing at some point before puberty and being moved to the new flat. But by the age of 16 I had began to dress again, but in my mothers clothes, something I am not proud about still. At this point it had different feelings as I had also discovered my sexuality and masturbation – as a teenager does.
In all honesty, it wasn’t so bad to discover that modern life meant an indoor toilet, a bath and underfloor heating. This was the life – well for a short while! At that time I was involved with a film and photography club run from a local secondary modern school. I somehow had an idea to make a short film about life on the estate. I had no previous experience of using a 16mm cine camera, there were no camcorders at that time. So with the help of a friend who was appointed as my cameraman due to his superior knowledge of a camera, we set about shooting scenes to edit into a short film. Looking back now I can see that it was sarcastic in it’s views which did not go down well with Mayor. He walked out of a viewing for an invited audience, muttering that is was propaganda. The film was entered into a competition organised by the British Film Institute and won an award. It also managed to get featured in an early evening BBC news programme with a brief extract from the film. My one and only venture into the world of film making.
One day my parents had returned home unexpectedly when I had been dressing. I was in the bathroom… the clothes were strewn about in the lounge. I was too embarrassed to leave the bathroom and took a bath giving myself time to think how I was going to deal with the confrontation. I could not avoid the encounter and decided I needed to face my parents. A quick exit and to my bedroom, got dressed and entered the lounge. My father sat in his armchair looking quite serious. To my surprise he told me that he had seen the clothes first and quickly hid them away. He was under the impression that I was just a frustrated young man and asked if I had been with a girl. He then gave a very unhelpful father, son talk. I was not able to tell him what I had actually been doing, but this did not stop my activities at home which continued, but more carefully.
Life on a new estate marked the beginning of many new things – the first being my desire to dress up again, but in my mother’s clothes. It never occurred to me at the time that I should have my own clothes at this stage. The second was my father recovering from breaking his leg in a motorcycle accident that was about to change his and our lives for ever. My sister had married a couple of years earlier before we had moved to the flat and was living a few miles away. My father began to show signs of strange behaviour that neither I or my mother could comprehend. So we observed the changes unfold in ignorance but learning daily. Looking back it is so much easier to see what happened as he slipped into a poor mental state. Medically he was diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic after disappearing for two weeks. He returned home after sleeping in a disused signal box somewhere. He had experienced hearing voices and seeing shadowy images of figures in the flat. these had caused him concern and confusion understandably. If only I had the knowledge and wisdom I now posses, things may have been very different. But I never learned what troubled him to reach the point of driving him to such a confused mental state. Maybe just loosing his status as the bread winner, but I will never really know. I also wondered if he had the same personal struggle as I did about my gender?
Part 2: Becoming a man, or not