Tranford Tales - Carol

CHAPTER 1

"Arthur," I had told him, "It's a straight choice. Carol or me."

He had chosen me and we had been happily married for over twenty years.

Until I got a telephone call at work from the hospital, saying he had been brought in, but was in no immediate danger - minor injuries, but a bit confused.

When I arrived, there was a policewoman by the bed, who asked to see some identification, then called to tell the station that the next of kin had arrived.

"It's only superficial," she said. "He didn't even need stitches, but they're more concerned about his mental condition. It was down by the council estate. Some kids were throwing stones at him, so someone called. I'm sorry it's taken so long, but he gave us an address from nearly thirty years ago, and we couldn't get his name right. The doctor will tell you the rest."

"Here's my card," she added. "If he remembers anything so that we can identify who was responsible, do call. But, you know..."

She opened her hands in a gesture of defeat.

I was devastated, but not entirely surprised. He had been a bit forgetful occasionally, and had actually been encouraged to take early retirement, but we put it down to age. I guess I had been denying the signs.

A doctor came in, and said how glad she was that I had arrived, not to worry too much, but they needed my permission to do some scans and other tests, so I signed the forms, and someone else took me to another room and gave me a cup of tea. I don't know who or what he was, only what he was telling me.

They suspected something like a stroke had precipitated the behaviour, but there might well be some other issues.

"Alzheimer's?" I asked. "It's too soon to make any judgments," was the reply. "They have to make the tests. But you can help us by telling us how he's been recently."

"First of all," he said, "does he know anyone called Abby?"

My heart sank further.

"His first wife. It must have been her address he gave."

He showed me the notes, and it was.

"OK," he continued, pausing to finish his cup of tea. Mine was going cold.

"Now, this is difficult. He was partly dressed in women's clothes and had some lipstick on. I guess that's why the yobs were attacking him. And he told the police officer his name was Carol."

I rushed crying to the toilet.

When I had recovered enough and repaired my makeup, I went out puffy-faced and red-eyed.

A female nurse sat with me, and encouraged me to drink a fresh cup of tea while I gave the man more details.

Abby had been his first wife. Carol was what he called himself when he dressed up as a woman. She had caught him, and eventually they came to an arrangement where he could do it sometimes and she helped him, but just secretly at home. In return, she had a lover. (Or lovers, I didn't know and it didn't matter. No need to talk about that.) Eventually she had got pregnant by another man and they had divorced.

I met him later and found a charming, funny man with a responsible job. We fell in love, and when we wanted to marry, he had told me about what he called his hobby. I had given him an ultimatum and we had got rid of his clothes.

And Carol, so I thought. He never said anything about it again, and was a good masculine man and a loving gentle husband.

Whatever had happened to his brain, I decided I wasn't going to give him up. Even if he didn't recognise me, I would look after him as long as I was able.

So it was a pleasant surprise when he came back from the tests.

"Hello, darling," he said. "I think I've had a bit of a turn."

He held out his arms, and I rushed to hug and kiss and cry over them.

"There, there," he said, patting me. "We'll find out what happened and then we'll work on it. Maybe we should have another holiday. Remember how we got lost in Barcelona, and it turned out the best day?"

He knew who I was! He remembered time together!

What was even better was when the doctors explained it all to us. He seemed even better than me, asking intelligent questions. He had noticed his own mental deterioration. Not too bad yet, but not what he once was. They thought there had been a series of small events caused by blood clots, and one slightly larger stroke, but with medication, further ones could probably be prevented.

CHAPTER 2

I gave up my job, but between us we had a decent pension and the house was paid for.

We went on a holiday again to Barcelona, which was not the same, but very nice.

There were regular tests and counselling. We both reduced our weight and blood pressure. In the nice weather I drove us out to places.

And he got more forgetful. There was progressive dementia, but it was hard to predict.

On one of his better days, he asked "You know my hobby?"

I knew what the question really was.

"Yes. And why not? We can see how we get on with Carol."

There had been someone who had talked to us about transgender issues. I dug out the card, and made an appointment. They thought it was a good idea, and gave me some advice.

We were both nervous when I took him to a shop they recommended, to be measured and fitted with a bra. They had some fillers which were normally sold to women who had had a mastectomy. We bought a couple along with some knickers and a second bra. I had blouse and skirt which I had already bought, and was touched how pleased he was looking at himself in the changing room. The bra fitter demanded he come out, and said it worked well.

Then it was back to his man clothes, and we spent most of an afternoon looking at dresses.

We bought three and I returned one.

He admitted he had never been very good at makeup. "A bit fumble-fisted," as he put it. So in the mornings I put on makeup, and he dressed himself.

"You're a wonderful wife," he sometimes said, as he admired his makeup.

But very occasionally he would look puzzled and ask where Abby was.

He was too thin on top to actually have a female hairstyle, so I kept it trimmed and we had a wig for going out. It was a bit hot for at home all the time, so we admired him first thing, then took it off unless we went somewhere.

Initially he would have some days as Arthur and some days as Carol, but eventually it was easier to have the same routine for both of us, and it was Carol. However, he would sometimes tell me "I'm still your husband, you know," or reminisce about things we had done together. He just seemed more relaxed as Carol.

The only issue was going out. On a nice day we would sometimes drive out to a nice place. We would have a meal in a café and of course use the toilets. Sometimes people were offensive and refused us service, or said he was in the wrong toilets, and he got upset.

Sometimes he said "They'll throw stones!" in a frightened voice when someone was nasty.

After a few times when he asked for Abby, I contacted her, and she came with her husband.

We should have realised. He didn't recognise her because the Abby he knew was decades younger, and he got upset at this woman pretending. She ended up crying as well.

On one of the support sessions, I was told about a place called Tranford.

I didn't quite understand it at first, but it was like a little village where there were people the counsellor said were "not gender-conforming".

We visited it, and I liked it at once. We sold our home and moved to a new ground floor flat. There were a number of them specially intended for older or physically disabled people. There was already one couple where the wife was in a wheelchair and the husband wore dresses. We might need something when we got older, and there was apparently a nurse who lived on site in emergency, so we had her number.

They usually had a party for newcomers, but I thought it would be too confusing, so we got to know the people gradually.

There was a surprise when we went to the pub for a meal. I thought it was going to be a problem, but it worked out well. The barman told us to take a seat and said the waitress would be round shortly. The people around were very friendly, but I couldn't take in all the names at once. Carol was just smiling.

The waitress, came in - a red-haired woman I thought had probably been a man, but nice - and served someone else.

"Abby!" said Carol, excitedly, standing up. "It's Abby!" he said to me.

She came over, and he eagerly greeted her.

"Abby! It's me - Ar... er Carol!"

He frowned then continued.

"Your hair's longer, but I'd know you anywhere, Abby."

"They call me Ginger," she said, a bit taken aback.

"Of course, they do," he said with a chuckle. "Always did."

He turned to me, and struggled a bit.

"Abby was my... er...best friend!"

"Oh, come here, you," he said, opening his arms. She went to him and they hugged and kissed cheeks.

"It's good to see you again," she said. My eyes were wet.

He put a hand towards me and said "Abby, this is Gillian my...er...er, new best friend!"

"Good to meet you," said Ginger, shaking my hand. "A friend of Carol's is a friend of mine."

I ordered for the two of us.

Carol was really happy, and I was pleased for him. While we were waiting, he took my hands.

"Abby was my best friend," he said, and had to think for a while.

"But......you're...my......bestest friend!"

In bed that night he said "Gillian. You're my wife and I love you."

It was like that. A bit variable.

He could wash and dress himself, eat, and use the toilet. He got a bit confused about current affairs, but learned his way around Tranford and got to know the people by sight, though not always by name. There was a dressmaker called Liz who specialized in dresses for men, and she made a couple which we were both very pleased with. Well-fitted, but feminine and flattering. Her husband is a nurse and there is a lesbian couple, one of whom has worked as a psychiatric nurse, so they keep an eye on him as well as our regular appointments.

Abby kindly wrote and made some notes for Ginger about things he might mention, so that she could go along with it. Next time Abby visited, she said she was Abby's mum, and Carol was happy to see her 'again'.

When we pretty well knew our way around, we had the welcoming party, along with a couple of other newcomers. Carol told them solemnly "If you want to know anything, just ask me. I know everyone."

He told them the same thing later.

He was really amused by the caretaker of the community centre, Bernie, who was in a French maid outfit.

"It's a man!" he whispered conspiratorially.

We got to know him. He's about our age and not trans, just a man who likes to wear a dress, the fancier and more feminine the better. There's a few of them, as well as the ones who call themselves the Tranford Wives (not all married) who actually are women for practical purposes, with a male partner.

What is certain is that Carol enjoyed going out and about as a female, and the simple social interactions that everyone makes. He could go to the shop if I give him a list, and so far, hadn't got lost.

CHAPTER 3

Like many couples in Tranford we were avid watchers of "Strictly Come Dancing", and I was pleased how much interest he took, commenting on the dancing and the dresses. Sometimes he remembered quite a lot in conversations with the others. We used to like a bit of old-fashioned ballroom dancing when we were first married, but hadn't done it for years what with work and everything.

It was a pleasant surprise when there was some waltz music on the radio, and he suddenly took hold and led me around the kitchen.

I don't know who it was that I mentioned it to, but not long after there was a sign on the community centre, saying "Strictly Tranford! Ballroom Dancing - Beginners Welcome!"

I wasn't sure if he would want to take the man's or the woman's part, but decided he was happy in his everyday clothes as Carol. He was excited as we put on his best dress, and I said we were going to a party.

There was a surprise - Bernie in a suit! He and Liz demonstrated the basic steps. His partner Hannah looked after the music. I think nearly all the young Tranford wives were eager to learn this part of being a woman. Carol was just happy to take me round the floor, as we both got back into the motions. I didn't think he thought about what he was wearing. It was just the muscle memory and enjoyment of moving around with a partner.

Except right at the end, he said in a puzzled tone "I could wear a suit."

I had to stop myself from crying.

It was a lot of fun, with us being a bit better than most, though no-one was expert, as Bernie freely admitted. It was decided to make it a weekly event.

The next week, I tried to offer my husband his suit, but couldn't make him understand, and he was getting upset, so we went off both in dresses and makeup. The psychiatric nurse Janet was there, with her lesbian partner, who was in a man's suit, obviously just for fun.

The woman in the wheelchair (Barbara) was there. She and her husband had been quite good dancers, so she took charge of the music and her husband (in a suit for a change) demonstrated steps and danced at least briefly with every woman in the room, including me. Carol got a bit confused when they both tried to lead, so I quietly explained.

The following week was a surprise. There were some old men, pensioners who came to the pub once a week because they had been regulars long ago. Some of them turned up with women of similar age. The ringleader was a man called Freddie. He and his late wife had been prize-winners at ballroom dancing.

The pensioners essentially took over, with Freddie as the main teacher, and in few weeks we were all much better.

Bernie had an idea. It took a couple of goes, but it worked. I took Carol over early to meet Bernie in a dress. They had a cup of tea together, then Bernie said "It's dance night. We should put on our suits."

They then changed together. I had only given him a little makeup, so I wiped his face and took off his wig. I said "You're a handsome man, Arthur," and he looked pleased to see himself in the mirror.

"Arthur," he said. "Handsome." Then looking at me in the mirror, "Gillian."

There wasn't actually anything like this locally, and some younger people started turning up as well as more pensioners, and it got too crowded. So they organised what is called a tea dance for the pensioners in the afternoon, with Ginger providing the catering, with the regular dance later. They put on a few beginners' classes and advertised in the local paper. The numbers were small, but the people coming often had a drink or meal. With all these activities it was a help to the finances of the community centre and the pub.

There were one or two who came and didn't like the look of our community, but most accepted us, so it was nice to have more of an involvement with the locality.

There's one thing about Tranford. They don't all sit around looking at phones or computers. It is very much a place where people socialise.

I thought it was good for my husband, and the therapist agreed. She was interested to hear that he had learned some new steps.

"People in his situation sometimes have trouble with expressing themselves verbally, but may have more mental capabilities than you think. It's good to keep things familiar, but also keep up the stimulation. Music and dancing seem excellent."

Once a week he got dressed in a suit and was Arthur. The pensioners liked him, because there were more women than men, so he danced with them as well as me. His fitness improved!

It wasn't a bad life. He had the same sense of humour, but tended to repeat his jokes. Sometimes we had almost normal conversations: at other times he struggled with just a few words. I was advised to remind him of our times together, so we often looked through holiday photographs.

Sometimes he was quite clear that he was my husband with his hobby, but getting a bit forgetful.

CHAPTER 4

It was the pandemic which took away Arthur. Not physically, because we both managed to avoid it, but the lack of mental stimulation. All those daily contacts and communal activities had filled the days, and kept him going. It had been a big blow when Bernie caught Covid right at the beginning and took a long time to recover. Arthur didn't really understand, but was distressed about Bernie.

A nice girl called Robin gave us a laptop. (At least, I think she's a girl, though she often dresses like a man. Rather shy, like her partner, who always dresses as a girl. You can't really be sure in Tranford, and it doesn't matter.) She said it was old and she didn't use it. She got us into the internet and some sort of local one, but I wasn't very good. I know people use it to chat, and it was kind of them to try to include us, but he never quite got what was happening, and I was always pressing wrong buttons or clicking the mouse when I shouldn't, so it didn't work out. I think he thought it was some kind of poor television.

I tried taking him out for walks, but he was always trying to get close to people and wouldn't wear a mask. He'd been on cheek kissing terms with several residents, and resented me trying to hold him back. He may have been offended that they kept away.

We don't even watch that much TV, and I avoided the news. "Come Dancing", of course, and some nature programmes if we know about them, but we mainly had the radio on (BBC Radio 3 and 4.)

It was a long time, and his mental capabilities diminished. By the time it was over, proper conversations had all but vanished. He tended to struggle, so often just used one or two words.

Sadly, it was usually clear what he wanted, saying things like 'dance', 'pub', 'Abby', or 'Bernie'.

I tried to get him to put on a suit, but without the ritual of changing with Bernie, he didn't understand and got upset. He just didn't understand why we could not go and see our friends.

I did what I could, regularly going through our photographs, but had to remove the ones where we are together. It was good at the beginning, when he pointed and said 'that's me' but eventually he became a bit confused about the man standing with me. I was not sure how much he still remembered and how much was what I was telling him, but he enjoyed me talking with him about things we did.

All I could do was waltz around with him in our home. He even seemed to lose his footwork and I ended up leading, but he was still desperate to have the music and movement. I was holding on to the person I loved, so it was still a bit of romance.

Eventually the pandemic was under control. We had our jabs, and there was a dance again. I wasn't sure how much he understood, but he knew we were going out when I put on my dance dress. I had sent his suit over to Bernie with a warning. Bernie looked older, but was trying hard to be the same.

It was good that I did. He was pleased to see Bernie and (I think) amused by the dress, and interested when Bernie put on a suit, but didn't seem to understand when we tried to get him to do the same, and got upset.

Finally we gave up, and went out to the floor.

He started saying "Bernie, Bernie!" and pulled away from me. He stood with his right hand out, and at last I understood. He hadn't been clumsy when we were dancing at home, he was just trying to do the woman's steps! Bernie also understood and let him gently around the floor, as I watched, dumbfounded. He wasn't very good, but Bernie was understanding.

When the music stopped, he kissed Bernie on the cheek and said "Bernie. Gillian," and pointed to me. Bernie came over to me while Carol again took up the pose, and fortunately Freddie came across to her, and led her in the next dance.

That was the moment I began to think of my husband as she.

Carol got better at dancing, and in other ways. Her communication improved a little, but most of all she no longer needs to cling to me. I think most of the men who attend our little dances have danced with her, and she's better than me. There are some quite nice-looking men about, and she does well for kisses on the cheek.