Magic Dress - The Witch

CHAPTER 1

Oh no! The ball had gone into the Witch's garden.

I didn't quite believe them, but the older kids said that she was a witch. She lived in an old cottage with a run-down garden, quite different from the modern estate which came up to it, where we lived.

They bullied me into going and knocking on the door, while they stood clustered outside the gate. I told myself I wasn't afraid, and knocked.

The old woman came to the door. (Actually she wasn't that old, but to us she was.)

She had a long black skirt which was witchy, but a pullover which wasn't.

"Please, Missus, can we have our ball back? It went into your garden."

"Why, of course," she said. "Come through and help yourself."

I saw some of the other kids shake their heads, and Mary Jones sucked her thumb like she does when she's worried, even though she's nearly eight.

I drew myself up to my small height and marched in. She let me out through the back door.

Dad would have had a fit at a garden like that. It was all overgrown, so it took me a while to find the ball. I wiped my feet as I came in, and she nodded approvingly.

"You're welcome to come any time," she said. "you and your friends. I've got some biscuits if they'd like to come in and have a chat."

We went through, and she invited them in for a drink and biscuits. Mary Jones was shaking her head and looking horrified. I knew what she was thinking, but witches didn't really exist, and if she kept me to eat me, then my parents would come.

The bully who had sent me took the ball and tried to look casual as he turned away, and the others followed him.

"Well," said the old woman. "If it's only you and me, would you like some cake? I don't have any lemonade, but I could offer you some tea, if you're old enough."

That did it. I was only allowed to sip a little tea sometimes, so I said I liked tea, and went inside.

It was an old house, not like our modern ones. She had no telly or proper cooker, just a black thing in the kitchen with a fire it. I was sorry for her.

She said I could ring my Mum if I wanted to ask if it was all right, and pointed to an old black phone. I said it wasn't necessary, feeling very big and independent.

I took a big gulp of the tea, and was sorry because it was too hot, so she gave me some cold water. When it cooled down, it was all right. The cake was nice -- sponge with jam in it, nicer than the ones Mum buys.

"If you want to come again, then do any time. I don't always have cake, but I always have biscuits, and I'll make a cake if I know you're coming."

"Would you like another slice?" she added, seeing my hungry gaze. I nodded.

When I needed the toilet, I was amazed to find it was outside, and instead of a handle there was a tank above it and you pulled a chain. But there was proper toilet paper and it all seemed very clean. I told her about our modern one and she was impressed. Still, I thought hers was more fun.

She was interested when I told her about school, and some things I'd seen on the telly. Much more than Mum and Dad were.

Then she said I had better be going, and I went home. As it was Saturday, Dad was watching football, and Mum was busy, so I couldn't tell them until teatime.

I was so excited.

"I went to the witch's house," I said, and Mum and Dad thought it was some kind of game.

"No, really. The old cottage down the end. Larry Biggs kicked the football into her garden and I went and got it. Then she gave me tea and cake, and we talked, just me and her!"

"You what?" said Dad, angrily. "What have we told you about strangers?"

"Steady on, love," said Mum. "It's not like getting int a car with a man. I'll go and have a word with her tomorrow."

When she did, she came back with a couple of jars, one with blackberry jam, and one with something called chutney, which Dad turned out to love.

"Mrs Hogg seems a very nice woman," Mum said, as she took off her coat.

"You can visit her if you want, but don't be a nuisance."

She turned to Dad.

"Look, Ashley doesn't have any grandparents, and Mrs Hogg doesn't have any children, so she said she wouldn't mind children visiting her. They can call her Nanny if they like."

A couple of days later, she said something to both of us.

"I asked around. It's a bit sad. When the first people came onto the estate she had just been made a widow and was dressed in black. That and her cottage, I suppose, meant that kids said she was a witch."

CHAPTER 2

I told the other children that the old woman wasn't a witch. She was going to be my Nanny since they all had grandmas and I didn't, but I would let them visit her sometimes. They had to call her Mrs Hogg.

Mum made arrangements, and I visited Nanny once or twice every week, and sometimes invited other kids if they were nice to me. She was amused at my ownership but went along with it.

The kids were disappointed that she didn't have a cauldron or pointy hat. Her broom was an ordinary one like you get in shops. There were glass jars but they had jam or chutney in them, not ingredients for potions. Everyone wanted to use the toilet.

We kids told her about witches and she pretended not to know and was amazed and worried with some of the stories.

She said if she had a magic wand, she would like to be a good witch and do helping spells

"I wish I was a witch!" I said, and Mary Jones laughed.

"Silly, it's not for boys. Only girls can be witches."

"Boys can be wizards," said Larry Biggs and pretended to make exploding spells.

"Witches are better!" said Mary Jones, and May Harris agreed, so Nanny offered more cake.

Kids have little idea about age and no tact. I worried that she might die.

"Not for a long time," she laughed. "I shall live to be 94 and you're going to live to be 100!"

I just accepted it.

Growing older but no more tactful, I asked her one day "How do you know how old you will live?"

"Because I'm a witch!" she said. "We all do!"

As the years went on the witch game sort of petered out. The other kids stopped coming when the novelty wore off, but she was my Nanny, the only one I had, and I loved her as much as any grandma.

But she was also wise and interesting. Her back garden was not overgrown. It was more like a nature reserve. Brambles and thorns kept cats, dogs and foxes out, but allowed hedgehogs and mice in, as well as birds. When I was bigger I helped her trim it to maintain the correct environment. It was quite scientific.

Rotting logs and mulch provided a home for insects which in turn provided food for birds and hedgehogs. We would check the sleeping hedgehogs and dormice in Winter, and carefully watch the nests of the mice and birds in Spring and Summer. In her front garden she had some traditional English flowers as well as herbs and some vegetables. Solitary wasps made their nests in the roof of the outhouse, and birds nested on the upper windowsill behind a creeper or under the eaves.

Nearby were the tiny remnants of a wood on which the estate had been built, where we picked mushrooms, and watched the limited wildlife.

"It's called the Ferrywood estate," she told me, "though there aren't any ferries around. It used to be called the Fairy Wood, but they thought people would laugh. It was part of the Wychwood Forest (that's W Y C H) and there were protests, but they went ahead. There were three other cottages they knocked down, but I refused to move."

Sometimes she would help a wounded creature. It was almost magical how she could tell if it would recover, or if it was best to end its pain. What a delight to see a bird with a hurt wing soon able to fly off. I also learned that death was part of life, and sometimes it could be a kindness.

Occasionally people brought injured pets to her, and she would tell them if it was something that would get better or really needed to go to the vet.

As a teenager I recognised that is what a witch was. A wise woman and healer with some plant extracts and knowledge. She was happy to accept this type of witch for herself. She had some friends she visited or sometimes came to tea, and she joked they were part of her coven.

I was fascinated by the world of plants and tiny creatures she showed me.

So much so that I went to university and did a degree in biology.

I loved most of the course, but I wasn't one of the best students. Biochemistry was my main downfall. Virology was difficult, though it was for everyone. (The lecturer had some theory which was not in the textbooks and he could not get published, but was in the exam. Fifteen years later it was accepted but someone else got the credit. Modern vaccines depend on it.) I did pretty well in ecology and animal physiology, but miserable in animal behaviour. I wasn't the only one.

"Girls!" said the lecturer. "Sorry, Ashley." Most of the class were female, and I was the only male who was making this mistake.

She was embarrassed, and I was sorry for her as she blushed.

"Ladies and Gentleman. What you are doing is anthropomorphizing. You are giving rats emotions like humans. What you must do is record the behaviour. Stimulus response; stimulus response. Apply the stimulus, note the response. Don't say the rat looked happy when you gave it a biscuit..."

"But it did!" said one girl and most of us laughed. Rats really liked biscuits as a change from their standardized rat pellets, and I was not the only one guilty of having given them a piece of digestive. We knew not to give them chocolate ones. I could certainly tell when they were happy.

She went on to remind us of the things which a rat might do and which we could record.

"It's fine to have empathy," she finished, "but don't let it cloud your observations and your conclusions. There are people who can care for animals but also observe them scientifically."

I wasn't really one. And I was sorry when a batch were sacrificed for an experiment. I understood the reason and the importance for medicine, but I knew I could never be a scientist that way.

I got my degree and so did a lot of other people. A lot more than there are jobs for biologists, as the Careers Advisor warned us.

I ended up working in an office without actually using the content of my degree, like lots of other people. But I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

I kept up my membership of the Royal Society of Biology, and went out observing nature when I could.

And I was glad to see Nanny, to tell her about what I had learned.

I learned something about myself, which I didn't share, not immediately.

CHAPTER 3

You have to understand this was the 20^th century (though not much left of it). No Wikipedia, and transgender was not a thing anyone talked about. If they had, then I would have got counselling and support.

I knew about gays, and men in drag, but that didn't seem to be me. There was something else about the girls in my class at university which made me feel I belonged. I had never had sex and didn't really want it. I just wanted to be a woman. In fact, I just felt I wasn't a man. It was like some terrible mistake had been made.

I was a graduate biologist and I knew about XX and XY chromosomes. They can't be changed. Puberty had confirmed what I was, but I wasn't really happy about it. There was a book I read about psychology and the development of the brain and how hormones before birth and at puberty affected it. There was a difference between a typical male brain and a typical female brain. However, it seemed from psychology that some women had something close to a male brain and some men had a rather female brain. (There were no MRI brain scans then.) Not everyone agreed, but it seemed to me that maybe my brain was more female than most men.

I couldn't tell my parents of course.

So I told Nanny, all the feelings I had had for years. I was crying with frustration by the end, and she gave me some home-made fruit wine.

"Do you really want to be a girl?" she said in a way which didn't seem mocking.

Did I?

I realised this was someone I could trust.

"Yes, I really wish I was."

She took my hands in hers.

"It's not easy, but if you want to, you can."

"I would do anything!" I said, as she looked deep in my eyes.

She looked away, thinking.

"Well, the first thing you need is a magic dress."

"Have you got one?" I said in surprise, then thought how stupid I was being and went red.

She smiled.

"No, I don't keep such things. But there's a shop at the end of the High Street called Magic Dresses. If you're brave enough to go there and try one on and buy it, then you've taken the first step. Bring it back to me, then we'll see what we can do."

Thinking about it later, I understood. There were men who became women. Or at least dressed and lived like women. If they persisted they sometimes got hormone treatment. It wasn't magic, just determination. This was the first step. If I could do it, then maybe I could do the rest. For practical everyday purposes I could forget my biology and be an ordinary woman.

If I could take the first step.

It was just a small dress shop, and I didn't see any customers. I hesitated, took a deep breath, and went in.

There was a middle-aged woman sitting on a chair reading a book, which she put down and stood up.

"Good morning," she said.

"Hello," I said.

And there the conversation stopped until she said "Can I help you?"

"I want to buy a dress," I said, hardly believing I had managed it.

"For myself," I added, cheeks burning.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then stopped and waved me towards the displays. We were both at a bit of a loss, I think.

She recovered first.

"Do you know your size, or would you like me to measure you?"

"No," I said. "I mean yes. I don't know, so yes."

She measured me and said "Hmm," in that way that people like mechanics and dentists do when things aren't right.

"Come with me a moment," she said and ushered me into one of two changing rooms.

"I'll sort out a few things which might do."

I sat down and waited. Eventually she came back.

"Sorry, there's only one dress that might be possible, though I could do you a skirt and top."

She had the three garments on hangers.

Then the shop bell went.

"Sorry," she said. "I'll just deal with these others."

I got undressed down to my underpants, and looked at the clothes. The dress was nothing special. Green, sleeveless with a pleated skirt.

I put it on.

Somehow in the back of my mind there was a little child hoping for a magical transformation. Of course, that didn't happen. I was just wearing some different cloth on my body.

Then the women that came in wanted to discuss dresses they wanted for a party. I could tell they were holding up things and talking about them intermixed with discussions about boys and other girls. It was different from the way they talk in mixed company, and I was fascinated.

They tried them on in the changing room next to me. The shop woman told them my room was full of some things at the moment. Finally, they bought something and left. I heard the tinkle of the bell.

"It's OK," I heard the shop woman say. "You can come out now. I've put the closed sign up."

Strangely, it just seemed all right to do so.

"Hmm," she said. "Better than I expected. Suits you. Is it comfortable? Shoulders, waist?"

"Yes," I answered. "Very."

At the front of my mind, I was embarrassed and sad to think of this silly man dressing up, as if that could change things.

But at the back of my mind, I knew this was what I wanted. To be a woman, if not properly, at least a bit. And a dress helped.

She looked at me strangely -- as she was fully entitled to, I thought.

"I'm sorry, I've not come across this before," she said, her hands on my shoulders, "but I sort of understand. I'll help you with clothes and makeup if you like."

"Tell me honestly," I said, "how do I look?"

She pursed her lips.

"Like a man in a dress."

The she smiled.

"But with a woman inside, waiting to come out!"

As the shop was closed, she suggested I stayed with her for a while. I insisted on buying the dress first. That gave me enough confidence to try on the skirt and blouse, which were fine as well.

I took my purchases to Nanny, and she kissed me and said well done.

I took to visiting Nanny and dressing up. Sometimes I stayed the night. The woman from the dress shop, whose name was Lily, was a friend of hers, and visited as well. Nanny didn't wear makeup, but Lily did and taught me how to do it. She also got some other clothes for me, including underwear and a nightdress. She was more interested in that sort of thing than Nanny.

It was just in that cottage, or in the back garden, but for a few hours I could pretend I was a girl with my grandmother. We talked about much the same things as before, but I was happier. It was just a fantasy but they told me about periods as if I was a girl on the way, and talked about dating and getting married. It all added to the pretence.

It was pretty much every weekend. Sometimes I even stayed the night. And another of Nanny's friends sometimes joined us. Just two or three women chatting together over tea and cake. I learned to cook, and Lily taught me sewing so that I could do some basic adjustments myself.

One day when there was a big event on TV, so shops were mostly closed and people were inside watching, the two women took me for a walk down the street. I felt so good.

"You'll have to tell your parents," said Nanny.

Dad got drunk. Mum was surprisingly understanding.

"If that's what you want, dear. Just in private. But you know how some people feel about homosexuals."

"Queer bashing," said Dad. Yes, they got beaten up in some places.

"Anyway," he said, "what are we going to call you? Pansy?"

"Ashley can be a girl's name," said Mum.

"Get away!" said Dad. "My Grandad and Great Grandad were both Ashleys!"

"No, really," said Mum. "There was an American visitor at work, and her name was Ashley."

"Huh, Americans!" said Dad. "You sure it wasn't a bloke in a dress?"

Next day he said he was sorry.

CHAPTER 4

It took a while, but Mum and Dad got used to me as a girl at home, and Mum helped me, telling me how things were, and getting me to act more female.

Finally I managed the big step.

I went to my employer and said I wanted to come into work dressed as a woman.

"Fucking hell!" he said. "I always reckoned you were queer, but can't you put on drag in your own time? Isn't there some club you can go to?"

"No," I said, "it's not like that. I just want a quiet life and not to bother anybody, but I would like to dress like the other women."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he said, then leaned forward and said in a quiet snarl "Listen, you make your request in writing, and I will formally agree to it, whatever you want. Otherwise I know I'd be had up for discrimination. But if the others treat you badly, I may not be able to help. And when I find a way to get rid of you that doesn't look like victimization, I will."

I can't say it went well.

Coffee got spilled on my desk and chair. People would hand me papers and accidentally drop them. Things were said behind my back, but so that I could hear. They only spoke to me if they had to, and very brusquely. The boss gave me unreasonable workloads, and criticised wherever possible.

I just put up with it. Nanny said that was all I could do.

Till finally one of the secretaries, said very loudly to two of the men "For heaven's sake, leave the poor girl alone, you great bullies! She's not doing any harm, but you are."

Another stood up and said "And if you don't cut it out Arthur, you can forget about Friday night!" which caused a few sniggers.

Arthur didn't like me, but treated me OK from then on. One of the others apologised, and the women took some of the extra work I was being given.