I look back on 1962 and still wonder at what happened. I was nearly 11 years old then, very unhappy and confused. I was quite intelligent, sensitive and very mature for my age. The things and events that happened to me defy belief. I hope that you believe.

As I walked home from school, I rubbed my ribs. David Barnes had kicked me there just outside the school gates.

He often waited for me before school and took my dinner money from me when he knew that no one could see him do the dirty deed.

Now he took to getting me after school too and hurting me in some way that gave him satisfaction.

I dared not snitch on him as it would only make things worse for me.

Two days before there had been the school concert. I wasn’t there as I was not well, and Mum was in any case working. I never took part in the festivities anyway, except for one year when I played a tree in the nativity play.

My performance was wooden.

I just couldn’t wait until school broke up for the holidays and I could forget about David Barnes for a little while.

Christmas Day was special for most but for me, unlike many others, it would also be my eleventh birthday.

My name is Mark Robbins and I lived with my mum, Joyce in a council house on a run-down, neglected estate just four hundred yards from the school. For the last year, I had been allowed to go to school by myself as, without Dad, Mum had to go to work and wasn’t in the position of being able to take me there or back.

Mum used to be a nurse, but because of my poor health and the fact that I was off school so often, the hospital let her go. She then had to get a poorly paid job at the factory to make ends meet as we had lost Dad’s income.

It might seem strange that a 10-year-old boy could go to school by himself but was not in the least unusual at the time. Kids actually played out by themselves in the streets and didn’t come home until it got dark.

We were called latchkey kids.

The area which we lived in wasn’t very nice and was run down with lots of petty and not so petty crime around. We had lived in a lovely house in a much nicer area when Dad was alive, but, when he died, Mum couldn’t afford to pay the mortgage and we were thrown out of our lovely home and put into a tatty council house, which was damp and horrible. Mum had said that my asthma had gotten worse since moving to that horrible house as the damp walls were not good for my lungs. I lost count of the many times that I had to go to the hospital after nasty attacks that left me breathless and blue-lipped.

The council said that there was nowhere else to put us, even though we had a letter from our doctor about where we lived being a contributory factor to my ill health. We were on a very long list to get moved to a better area, but there wasn’t much hope of us moving to somewhere nicer any time soon.

The council was beginning to build some high-rise blocks of flats, but they wouldn’t be completed for a few years and of course, we would have to join the queue for that too.

It was about the time that I had to go to school by myself that David had started his secret bullying campaign on me. He liked to concentrate on bullying one boy at a time and that boy was me. I wasn’t very big or strong and therefore easy meat as far as he was concerned.

David was nasty and big and threatened to pour petrol through our letterbox if I ever breathed a word to anyone about what he called our arrangement.

I believed him, even though it was, on reflection only bluster. There was something really evil about that boy. The only light on the horizon was that I would be going up to senior school after the summer holidays and then I would be shot of him. His parents were well off and although he was a nasty piece of work, he was also very bright, and he would be going to the grammar school at the other end of town near where we used to live.

I was quite bright too. I took my Eleven Plus exam but had an asthma attack on the day and did not perform very well and failed it. I would be going to one of the new comprehensive schools. This was 1962 and they were popping up everywhere, taking over from the secondary modern schools of the past which were gradually being phased out.

Mind you, I was sort of glad that I wasn’t going to the grammar school as Barnes the Menace was going there.

I, at least, had two weeks before I had to go back to school after Christmas and the bullying David and then only two more terms before I hopefully, would never see him again.

It was cold and I shivered slightly in the December air as I made my way home. The ground was a bit icy, and I had to be careful not to slip over. When I arrived home, the key to the front door was in its normal place under the third flowerpot on the left, and breathing heavily, I let myself into the cold house.

I took off my coat, scarf and horrible balaclava and hung them up on the hook in the hall. I pulled out my asthma pump from my pocket and used it. These were new to us as before, when I was struggling with my breath, I used to have to put a horrible, sour yellow pill under my tongue and let it melt.

The time was 3.15 and Mum wouldn’t be home from the clothes factory until after 6.

I went into the small kitchen, lit the gas hob, filled the kettle and put it on the stove. I needed a cup of tea to warm me up.

Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, I went into the sitting room and lit the fire. I had made it up before leaving for school that morning.

As the fire finally caught hold, the coal making cracking noises, I heard the whistle from the kettle. Going back to the kitchen, I put a couple of spoons of tea in the pot, then poured the hot water over the leaves and gave it a bit of a stir to speed things up.

Soon I was sitting by the crackling fire in the sitting room with a hot cup of tea in one hand and a Royal Scott biscuit in the other.

I did my usual dunking thing and relished the warm soggy biscuit as it slid down my throat. A bad habit, but one that I loved. You just had to be careful not to dunk it for too long as you might lose it in tea and have to scoop it out with a teaspoon.

Soon, I had warmed up and was feeling a bit better as my breathing eased and I sounded less like a dying sheep. The ache in my ribs due to the drop kick performed by David had reduced by now to a dull ache, but I knew that I would have yet another lovely-coloured bruise by the morning to join the others he had made.

As I stared at the fire and its flickering flames, my thoughts turned to Christmas. I would be eleven on Christmas day. Last Christmas, Dad was still with us, and it had been a fairly happy time, and we were a complete family. A month later he was dead. He was a commercial traveller and had died in a motorway accident caused by a drunk driver who crossed the reservation and ploughed into my father's car, killing both of them instantly.

We had been quite well off before then, as Dad had a good job and was well paid. Unfortunately, he didn't have any life insurance and the other drivers’ insurers were doing everything they could to put barriers in the way and not pay my mum the compensation she was entitled to.

We were told that it could take years before things were settled and Mum got the compensation she deserved. Our savings dwindled and then disappeared. So, Mum had to work at the factory to pay the rent and we struggled to get by.

Over in the corner was the Christmas tree, a sad affair with wilting branches. It was the only one we could afford and looked like it might not last through Christmas without it losing all its needles.

I looked up at the mantlepiece and there was the slightly faded photograph in a gilt frame of Mum, Dad and a younger me, together with my sister Sarah.

My mum once mentioned that they always thought that I would be a girl. And was a bit surprised that I turned out to be a boy.

Looking at that picture I imagined myself to be a girl in a pretty dress rather than a boy in short trousers and a v-necked jumper looking a bit sad.

Sarah was about 16 in the picture. She’s at university now up in York on a full scholarship. We don’t see her much, but I miss her a lot. She wasn’t coming back for Christmas, she said that it was because she had been asked to stay with a college friend, but I think that it was because of Dad. She was Daddy’s girl and had never gotten over his death. Coming home would just, in my opinion, remind her of happier days and the fact that we had not gotten over our loss as yet.

Heavy stuff for a child of ten, nearly eleven, but I had grown up a lot over the last year and had always been a bit of a heavy thinker.

I finished my drink and now that I had warmed up, I took the cup back into the kitchen, rinsed it out and left it on the draining board.

I went upstairs to my bedroom and sat on my bed, thinking how quiet it would be this year without all the family. It would be hours before Mum came home. After a few minutes, I decided to take a chance – I just had to.

I got up and went out into the cold hall. Above, was the hatch door to the loft. I used the long hook thing to pull the handle and drop the door. I then lower the steps. I could feel the cold already coming down from above and I shivered a bit. I would have to be quick as I didn’t want the house to get any colder than it was.

I clambered up the steps wheezing slightly and luckily, just inside the hatch, was the case. I picked it up, went down the steps again, pushed the steps up into the loft and then closed the hatch door again.

I was lucky that Mum never went up into the loft as she hated heights. It was always left for me to get things down from up there. She always said that she had nose bleeds if she went up too far. I think that she was joking!

I picked up the rather tatty case and then, going back into the bedroom, I put it on the bed. I then went over to the curtains and pulled them across. The last thing I wanted was prying eyes.

I went back to the bed and opened the case. Inside was my secret stash of girl's clothes.

They were my sister's things that should have been thrown out years before, but Mum was sentimental about that sort of thing and kept many of the clothes, toys, dolls and teddies up in the loft. She kept some of my clothes and toys too. I didn’t see the sense in it, but it was good for me as I could dress and feel more like the girl I had always been for at least the small amount of time I had available.

It had taken quite some time for me to go through my sister’s old clothes and finding ones that actually fit me. I had emptied a case and put all the ones I wanted in there.

Yes, I admit it, I am and have always been a girl inside even though I have boy bits, you know, down below.

I have never told anyone about this apart from God in my prayers and Father Christmas when I believed in him and wrote him all those letters that had never been answered. I tell a lie, I did say something about my being a girl to my parents when I was only little, but they laughed it off.

I pulled my favourite party dress out. It was on top. It was so pretty and a little old-fashioned and probably young for the nearly eleven-year-old me, but I loved it to bits. It was a pale pink, short-sleeved, and was mid-calf length on me. It was soft, slightly silky and had a white Peter Pan collar. There was also a slightly stiff white nylon and lacy petticoat which gave the dress more body and shape.

I stripped down until I was naked. Goosebumps started appearing and I shivered slightly as there was no heat in the room. There were some unused white nylon panties and some white socks there too. All Christmas presents from a long time ago that my sister never used. I slipped the panties on and then the socks. Anyway, after slipping on the petticoat, I then put on the dress. It zipped up the back and had the zip pulled part of the way up as I found it impossible to fully do up without doing that.

Contorting myself, I finally zipped the dress fully up and then brushed my longish hair out. I had always hated having it cut and lately, Mum couldn’t be bothered to argue with me about it. I did get some nasty comments at school about the length of my hair, especially from you know who, but I ignored them as much as possible. Some of the girls thought that my hair looked quite nice though and it was wonderful to have some positive comments for once. Mind you, a few of the girls said that I looked like a pansy and stupid, but you can’t win them all!

There were other clothes in the case including a few more dresses, petticoats, tops, blouses, skirts and a couple of nylon nighties and I had, on many occasions, when I knew that Mum was not coming home any time soon, had tried them all on, but that pink dress was my favourite.

One of the nightdresses, double nylon and lemon in colour, I kept under the mattress and wore most nights. I had taken over my sister's room when she went to university. It had a bolt on it, and I bolted the door every night and wore the nightie, it helped me feel a bit more like the girl I really was. Luckily, Mum only once knocked on the door for me to unbolt it and I had managed to change into my pyjamas and open the door to her without raising suspicion.

I washed the nightie and other things as much as possible when I knew that Mum wasn’t going to be home for several hours and was pleased because most of the clothes dried quickly on the washing line in nice weather, although not so well in the wintertime.

I wished that we had a washing machine and spin dryer. Life would be much easier then!

Anyway, back to that day. After dressing, I Iooked in Mum’s wardrobe mirror, curtsied to myself and said. ‘Hello Linda,’

I smiled at my reflection. This was more like the real me and I wished that I could be Linda forever.

It wasn’t just the clothes that made me feel like Linda. It was the me inside too. I was a girl despite everything, and the clothes just underlined the fact that I should never have been born a boy.

After admiring myself in the mirror, I went and did some homework, but was distracted by my clothes, worries about my being bullied and how long a time I might have before having to change back into my drab boy's clothes.

I couldn’t remember how long ago it was that I felt out of place about my body. I had always known, as far as I could remember anyway, that I considered myself as a girl rather than a boy. As I have already mentioned, when I was much younger, I talked to both my parents about it. I can't remember much about the answer, but the result was always the same; that I was a boy and that was that.

I always envied my sister and all the nice clothes that she was able to wear and that, as a girl she could act all girlie and I was expected from a young age to be brave and not show my true feelings.

Then there was nursery and school, where most of the girls looked lovely and wonderful to me and most of the boys seemed the opposite. It probably wasn’t that way as some girls are good and some are bad, just like some boys are the same. But I was looking through rose-tinted glasses and I think being more than a little prejudiced about it.

Being a Thursday, Mum normally brought home fish and chips after work as The Lonely Cod Fish and Chip Shopwas on the way back.

As it was late December, it got dark early, and I pulled all the curtains and stoked up the fire a bit.

I made myself another cup of tea and dunked another Royal Scott. Then I put a few more coals on the fire and settled down on the settee for a while. I sat and read a comic, it was a Bunty, a favourite amongst most girls of my age and older too. I kept it on top of my wardrobe so that Mum wouldn’t find it. I loved some of the stories in it and I dreamed that I was one of those girls. It made me feel like a real girl as I sat in my dress and flipped through the pages…

There was a knock on the front door, and I froze.

Here was I dressed like a girl and the last thing I wanted to do was answer the door.

The was another knock,

There was no way that I was going to go anywhere near the front door. I was glad that the door to the sitting room was closed and that I hadn't turned on the hall light.

I waited a few moments, not daring to move or make any sort of noise.

I heard the flap of the letter box go.

I waited a few moments and then peeked through the gap in the curtain.

Going across the road was the milkman. I remembered then that he normally called on this day of the week to get his money. Mum had left the money on the mantlepiece for me to give to him.

Switching off the living room light, I went out into the passage and there on the floor was a little note. I opened it.

Sorry I missed you; I’ll call back another time. Alf

That was close, I thought.

I left the note on the mantelpiece next to the money.

My heart was still thumping away nineteen to the dozen and I was wheezing slightly. I breathed in another dose of asthma relief stuff and soon felt a bit better. The important thing was that I had not been caught.

I looked at the clock on the wall. I would have to get changed soon just in case Mum came back early. It happened sometimes and I wasn’t about to take a chance.

Reluctantly I went back upstairs and changed back to pretending to be a boy and then, I went up to the North Pole, or the loft if you like, and put the case back.

The only thing that I kept on were the panties. I argued with myself that Mum wouldn’t see them and what she didn’t know she wouldn’t worry about. I hid the comic in its usual place and then it was all like before; boring Mark was back.

I heard the front door open forty minutes later.

‘Mark, I’m home.’

‘Hello Mum,’ I said as I came into the kitchen.

I could smell the fish and chips from the hall and my mouth was already watering.

‘Put the plates in the sink and put hot water over them Love; It’ll keep the meal warmer for longer.’

‘Yes Mum.’

Soon we were sitting at the kitchen table eating our meal. As usual, there were far too many chips, but that was better than too few.

‘So,’ said Mum as she picked up a large chip and dipped it in tomato sauce, ‘schools finishing early next week?’

‘Yes, two weeks off. I can’t wait.’

‘What will you do with yourself?’

‘Not sure yet. But I’ll think of something.’

I knew what that something would be, I would be Linda as much as possible and live a bit more like the girl I truly was. I could do that as Mum was working up to Christmas Eve.

‘I’m sorry Sarah’s not coming home this Christmas, I miss her,’ said Mum sadly.

‘I miss her too. Is it because of Dad?’

She started to tear up and I wished that I kept my big mouth shut.

‘I think so.’

She smiled.

‘Never mind Peanut, we’ll try to make it a nice one, just you and me, eh?’

I nodded, feeling the prick of tears in my eyes too and not trusting myself to say something else stupid.

Friday was quite nice. I had one of my all too frequent asthma days when I couldn’t go to school. I had more than enough days like that, and it often happened the day after I was bullied by David.

Just after Mum went to work, the milkman came and collected his money, and I wasn’t expecting any other callers. I knew that Mum would not be home early to surprise me too, because it was a busy time at work as her bosses made their workers do more and more as the holidays were coming up, so once my breathing got a bit easier, I went up into the loft and brought down my precious case and spent the day as Linda.

Occasionally, the truant officer came to see if I was really ill. Unlike some other kids, I wouldn’t mention, who bunked off school, I actually was ill on those occasions and hated to miss my lessons, even if the school was horrible. However, the truant officer, Mr Davies, I knew from one of the other boys, was in the hospital with a hernia and I didn’t have to worry about the possibility of him knocking on the door until he was back at work.

So, I became Linda for the day, and it was lovely.

The weekend was quiet, and I did some more homework to make up for the times I was off sick. My teacher, Mrs Morris passed our house on the way home from school on Friday evening and was kind enough to drop off some work for me. Luckily, I had just changed back before she called, otherwise, it would have been a bit embarrassing!

On Saturday I caught the bus to the shops and bought Mum a box of Milk Tray chocolates and a Christmas card. It wasn’t much but she always said that it was the thought that counts.

As I walked around the high street, I stopped sometimes at the clothes shops and looked at the displays of girl's clothes. I did a lot of sighing then. I saw one girl about my age go into one of the shops and I wished that I was that girl going, all excited, into the brightly displayed shop with her mum.

Reluctantly, I tore myself away from the shop with those perfectly clothed manakins, wearing dresses that I longed to be in, and carried on down the road.

I stopped suddenly as I saw him.

David Barnes.

He was on the other side of the road with his dad and mum. He didn’t look very happy.

Probably been told that he can’t have a bazooka for Christmas. I thought, none too charitably.

I turned away and looked at the window displaying bras of all things. I saw their reflections in the window go past and down the road. The last thing I wanted to see was that monster.

I carried on down the road going into a few shops rather to keep warm than buy anything. The shops were full of Christmassy things, and I wasn’t that impressed. This year wouldn’t be a nice Christmas and to be honest, I would be happy when it was all over and we could get back to normal, whatever passes for normal for me.

Soon after, I went into the New Wimpy Bar and had a milkshake and an egg and bacon bun which was nice.

‘Where’s your Mum?’ asked the waitress with a dirty tabard on.

‘At work,’ I replied, wishing that she would mind her own business.

She shrugged and mumbled something under her breath.

That was the problem, everyone thought that I was much younger than I was, I looked about eight and it was another reason why that monster David picked on me – I was small and vulnerable.

The meal came and I paid for it. The waitress took my money and said nothing. I don’t think that she approved of someone so young being out without Mummy.

Tough, I thought.

Then I reflected on that. I wasn’t a bad person and I wondered why I was getting what some people might call an attitude.

I shrugged but hoped that things might turn out for the better after New Year, it certainly couldn’t be much worse than the current one.

Monday and Tuesday came and went.

David was off school for some reason and that made things a bit easier for me as I would avoid being his punch bag. I sighed with relief as school finished on Tuesday and the next day would be Christmas Eve. We were a bit late breaking up that year for some reason, normally it would have been a few days before. I was just glad that it was over. I loved schoolwork, but I didn’t love the school. There were too many kids who liked to disrupt things and that made it harder for me to concentrate.

The next day was Christmas Eve. Mum went to work for the final time before the two-day break. She was looking tired and worn out and had creases on her face that she never had when Dad was alive. I know she tried to keep cheerful for me and I loved her for it.

She was barely out of the door before I went up into the loft and brought my case down.

This last day before Christmas I put the pink dress back on. It really was my favourite.

I spent the day, wrapping up the Milk Tray chocolate box, writing my card to Mum and reading a new Bunty that I bought for my sister when I went along to the shops. I had already posted a card to Sarah a few days before, but we hadn’t heard from her. That was a pity as I loved my sister. It seemed like she was growing away from us and that made me so sad.

Later in the day, being December, it grew dark early and there was a promise of snow, something that I had never seen before at that time. Maybe it would be a white Christmas?

We were to have fish and chips again as Mum wasn’t that keen on cooking when she came home late from work. This was yet another one of those days because her Scrooge of a boss wanted to get as much work out of his workers to make up for the fact that they were off for a few days.

Anyway, Mum didn’t trust me to cook and that was a shame, but she was like that. So, it was fish and chips – yet again, only I asked Mum to get me a saveloy instead, just for a change.

It was a good job that I loved them almost as much as fish!

Anyway, we had to go out that evening, so Mum wouldn’t have time to cook. I was a member of the local church choir. I had always liked singing and Mum said that I had the voice of an angel, but I think that she was biased about that!

It was going to be the church carol service and it was the only time of year when the church was quite full.

We weren’t hugely religious, but I did enjoy being a member of the church choir, even though I was more than a bit shy. It gave me a feeling of belonging somehow.

Christmas day was going to be a roast dinner day but with chicken rather than turkey. There were only two of us and I didn’t like turkey much anyway. Mum had bought a small Christmas pudding, and we were going to have that with some thick yellow custard. I hoped that it would be a nice day and I promised myself that I would try and cheer Mum up somehow. Although in this council house with wallpaper peeling off the wall and the ever-present smell of damp, I would find it hard to cheer myself up let alone Mum!

I sighed, put on some more coals on the fire and watched the flames as they shot up the chimney after a moment.

I had a silly thought. I hadn’t done it this year or last year. I used to write a letter to Father Christmas asking for the same thing every year and then because I was secretive about it, I used to put it on the fire without showing what I had written.

It was always the same,

Let me be a girl. I promise to be good.
Love Linda xxxxx

I had stopped truly believing in Father Christmas because people at school were saying that there was no such person, being or whatever and it was all a fib told to kids by parents for some reason. So, I stopped writing the letters. I had never been answered or had my dreams come true, so what was the point or that was my argument anyway?

I was nearly eleven now and no one believed in Father Christmas anyway at my age, did they?

I stared into the flickering flames of the fire and then I just nodded to myself, I was going to do it just one more time even though there was no such person.

Silly, I know but it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

I got up, brushed down my skirt which had a few spots of dust on it, went over to the shelf where Mum kept her papers, picked up a sheet of notepaper and a pen and then went to the table in the kitchen.

Smoothing my skirt under me, I sat down and after a few moments of hesitation I wrote:

Dear Father Christmas.
I am a bit older now and I haven't written to you for ages. Sorry for that.
I have had a rotten time, especially this last year when my dad was killed. Mum is so very unhappy, and my sister doesn’t want to know us.
Then there’s me. Every time I wrote to you at Christmas and asked you to help me to be Linda nothing happened, and I am still a horrible boy.
I know that there are lots of people worse off than me, but can you help, if you have the time to make my life and Mum’s a little bit nicer?
Thank you.
Lots of love,
Linda.
xxxxx

I looked at the note, my eyes pricking slightly with tears, and just nodded to myself. I wasn't going to ask for anything in particular, because that hadn’t helped before. I just wanted the next year to be nicer than the one before. I would have to just live with the fact that inside I was a girl and hope the future might be brighter.

I took the note and went back into the sitting room. The fire needed a few more coals, so I put some on and used the poker to liven things up a bit. Soon the flames were going up the chimney. Without hesitation, I put my note on the flames and watched it burn and the ashes and smoke go up the chimney.

It was done.

Of course, nothing would happen, and it was a complete waste of time, but at least I had got some worries off my chest for a bit.

I stood up and looked at the clock. Going back into the kitchen, I laid the table and then put the plates in the oven on a very low gas.

Mum would be home soon, and I reluctantly went back upstairs to my dingy bedroom and took my girl's clothes off. My nose wrinkled at the slight smell of damp. I should have been used to it by now.

After putting the case safely back up in the attic, I had just put the ladder back up and closed the hatch when I heard the front door open.

‘Mark, I'm home!’

That was a close thing!

I went downstairs slightly breathless. She was standing there taking off her coat and hat. She looked sad and I wondered why.

‘Are you wheezing again?’ She asked picking up her shopping bag.

‘A bit.’ I replied.

‘Use your puffer that’s what it's for.’

‘Yes Mum.’

‘Are you going to be all right going to church tonight? I don’t want you to come down with a chest infection.’

‘I’ll be fine Mum. I’m looking forward to going.’

‘Okay then.’ She replied smiling tiredly.

On an impulse, I gave her a hug.

‘What’s that for?’

‘I love you Mum.’

‘I love you too Peanut. Now let's have our dinner before it gets cold, but first, puffer.’

‘Yes Mummy.’ I replied in a little girl's voice for some reason.

‘Oh you!’ said Mum laughing making her seem almost young again, ‘you sound just like Sarah at your age when she wanted something.’

Soon we were sat at the table and eating our hot meal with steaming cups of tea in front of us. I nearly told her about me and the fact that I was a girl. Then I sighed, she would never understand. When we spoke about when I was little, she and Dad just said that I was a boy, and I should accept it…

I dipped a chip in some tomato sauce and then looked up. She was very quiet.

There was something up, because Mum looked sad again, and seemed to be miles away. She was only picking at her food, and I had nearly finished eating.

‘Mum, what's wrong?’

She looked at me and started to be a bit tearful.

‘Mum, what is it, please tell me?’

She put her knife and fork down and sipped her tea, trying, with some effort, to pull herself together.

‘I wasn’t going to tell you until after Christmas, but I have been laid off from work.’

‘Laid off?’

‘Made redundant, given the sack, let off, it all means the same thing. I have no job. The other girls have been sacked too. The factory is being moved up north and there isn't any work for me or others. Why he told us on Christmas Eve, I’ll never know. Anyway, we’ll have to manage somehow. ‘He’s paid me four weeks' money, so we are all right for a short while, but work is hard to get around here and we’ll just have to wait and see if anything turns up.’

I went around the table and hugged Mum and we both had a bit of a cry.

After finishing our meal, we got ready to go out.

Soon, wrapped up warm against the cold, we walked to the church, which was next to my school, not surprising as our school was a Church of England one. I left Mum at the door and went to get changed with the other boys. It was a pity that girls were not allowed as members of the choir, and I wondered if that was the case in other churches.

Dressed in our cassocks, ruffs and pure white surplices, we all looked pretty angelic as we followed the vicar in his robes down the aisle to the choir stalls carrying our tall candles, although, I knew for a fact that a couple of the boys were less than angelic outside church!

The service was nice, and it went a long way to help me forget for a while the problems that Mum and I had. Once in Royal David’s City and Silent Night gave me the usual lump in the throat feeling but all in all it was a nice happy service, and I loved the way the young children joined in with enthusiasm.

All too soon, the service was over and following the vicar once again, we went back down the aisle and then into the vestments room to change back into our normal clothes.

I didn’t say much to the other kids as we changed. None of them were my friends and anyway, I was quite shy. I did have one friend in the choir, John, but he had the flu, so obviously wasn’t there.

Soon I was the last one to leave the room to find Mum waiting for me outside.

She hugged me and said, ‘You all looked and sounded lovely Peanut.’

I had no idea why she and Dad ever called me that, except that I loved eating peanuts and the pet name stuck from an early age. It beat being called ‘pest’ anyway!

The last few people were leaving the church now and the vicar standing by the door was saying his goodbyes to them.

Finally, it was our turn.

‘Mrs Robbins, nice to see you, young Mark here sang beautifully tonight as he always does. I’m sure that you are proud of him.’

‘Oh yes, he’s a good boy.’ replied Mum as she shook his hand.

I had a wish that she could say that I was a good girl, rather than a boy, but it was nice to be praised like that and I felt my face go a bit hot for some reason.

We said our goodbyes and walked down the path to the church gate. It started to snow gently, nothing heavy but it was nice to see. Up above it was overcast but there was a break in the clouds, and I could see a bright star I wondered what it was called and then we arrived at the gate.

Mrs Hollins was standing there with her young daughter. She worked at the factory too and looked a bit glum.

Mum and she said her hello’s and started talking. Then I remembered that I had left my cap in the church.

‘Mum, I left my cap in the vestry.’

‘Okay love, go and get it. I’ll wait here.’

She continued her chat with Mrs Hollins while I went back down the path and around the corner and ran straight into…

David Barnes.

‘Well look who it is, Mark Robbins. I’m glad I’ve run into you. Someone saw me thump you the other day and told the school and my parents. I’ve had a right telling off because of you and I’ve been told that I won’t get so many presents this year because of my attitude.’

‘That has nothing to do with me.’ I replied backing up and coming into contact with a headstone.

‘You can't run from me now. I knew you’d be here. You’re in the choir, aren't you, you little pansy creep.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I was going to get to you as you came out of the church, but your mum was there and other people too. I suppose that Mummy’s little boy can’t go anywhere without her. I went into the church and there was no one there. I did see a nice shiny plate with some money on it, so I borrowed it. That makes up a bit for not having so many presents this year.’

All the time I was speaking, I was edging around the gravestone. I was going to make a run for it if I could.

‘I thought that I would have to wait until next term before I paid you back for spoiling my Christmas, but there you are, right in front of me looking like you’re about to wet your pants. What a creep...’

He was ahead taller than me and much tougher. I had no chance in a fight with him, even if I wanted to fight, which I didn’t.

I ran for it.

I didn’t make ten yards before he tackled me to the ground. In the distance, I heard my mum cry out as my head hit the edge of a gravestone.

‘MARK!

It was the last thing I heard as everything went black.

I heard her voice from a distance. I couldn’t catch what she was saying. And then she became clearer.

‘Linda, wake up.’

My head hurt and I felt very fuzzy.

Cracking open my eyes, I blinked, the light was too strong for me, and I closed them again.

‘Linda, don’t go back to sleep honey.’

My head ached at the back. It was one of those, thump, thump-thump-type headaches. It wasn’t nice…

Linda.

I gradually opened my eyes again and everything was a bit blurry. Then my eyes came into focus. Mum was standing there but she was wearing a nurse's uniform!

‘M…Mum?

‘Yes, it’s me honey. How do you feel?’

I was still very confused.

‘Where am I?’

‘In hospital, don’t you remember what happened?

‘I had a fight in the churchyard, and he threw me to the ground and then everything went dark.’

‘Linda, what are you talking about…’

‘Why are you calling me Linda? I’m Mark, remember and why are you wearing that uniform?’

She looked worried.

‘The knock on your head has confused you. You are Linda, not Mark and you just slipped on the ice after the Carol Service and hit your head. Look I’ll go and grab a doctor.’

She kissed me on the cheek.

‘Don’t worry love, it’s not unusual to be confused after having a bang on the head. Although I’ve never heard of a concussion patient who is a girl thinking she’s a boy! Never mind love, you just rest for a minute.’

She went out of the room and left me to my confused thoughts.

Linda, she called me Linda!

A girl, not a boy, she said.

And she’s dressed like a nurse.

In confusion, I sat up slightly in bed and winced as my headache felt even worse than before. I looked around and saw that I was in a single room with pale green walls.

I yawned, still feeling very tired and disorientated and then my jaw snatched shut as I realised that I was wearing… a pink cotton nightie!

What's going on?

I felt my hair; it was long, much longer than before. It went down to my shoulders, and I had a bandage around my head too.

I then had the silly idea that I had been in hospital for months and that was why my hair was so long.

Nothing made sense.

Linda?

The next thought that I had was that I must be in a dream, and I would wake up soon and everything would be back to normal, or worse still, David would be standing over me ready to do nasty things to me.

One of my arms was attached to a drip. I couldn’t move it easily and I could feel a slight scratchy feeling in my arm where the needle was. The other arm was free though and I hesitantly put it under the crisp white sheet and felt down below with my hand.

Pulling up the hem of the nightie, my hand sought out my willy. It had gone and in its place was a moist slit!

I sharply pulled my hand away. My head in a turmoil.

Perhaps David had kicked me down there and had done so much damage that they had to remove my boy bits?

I nearly fainted at that thought, but then Mum came back into the room, and I couldn’t get used to the fact that she was wearing that nurse's uniform. Behind her came a doctor who came over to the bed.

‘Hello young Linda, finally decided to wake up, have you?’

‘I’m M…Mark, what’s happening to me?’

‘Hang on a moment, let me have a look at you.’

He felt around the back of my head, and I went ‘ouch’ when he touched the sore spot.

‘Sorry Linda, now lean back on the pillow and let me look at your eyes.’

He used an instrument with a light on it to look into my eyes.

‘That’s fine,’ he said after a moment, ‘now young lady, can you follow my finger?’

He moved his finger to the left and the right.

‘That seems fine. Well, Carol, I think your daughter will be ok to go home with you. Keep her on aspirins if and when needed. You can take out the drip now.’

He turned to me.

‘So Linda, l think that you have been very lucky. According to the x-ray you haven't cracked your skull and there are no signs of internal problems there. We kept you in mainly for observation and you are ready to go home. It’s Christmas Eve and you need to enjoy Christmas at home and not be stuck in this boring hospital. Your headaches should fade away soon. Regarding your memory, I think that you are very confused, and you have lost some of your memories too. Nothing unusual, it's called amnesia, and you should get your memories back soon. You’ve only been in here a few days, but I think, by the end of the week, things shouldn’t be so fuzzy for you and as I say, I think that you will get better sooner at home. Right, I have to go and see some patients that are really ill. Now Carol, the usual thing, if she gets sick or blacks out, get her back here straight away, but I don’t need to tell one of my senior staff nurses that, do I?’

She laughed.

‘No Stephen.’

‘Right, goodbye Linda and I don’t want to see you back here young lady.’

He smiled and left us.

I said nothing. I was confused, to say the least. I still felt that I was dreaming and that I would wake up soon. I suppose I was in shock about what was happening to me.

David could not have kicked my bits off, there was no damage or bandages down there and I had no pain.

What was going on?

Mum was saying things, but I couldn’t take them in.

I almost didn’t feel the needle being removed from my arm and a small plaster being put in its place…

‘…Linda, can you hear me?’

‘What? Sorry Mum, what are you saying?’

She looked at me with concern.

‘You still look very confused darling. And you always call me Mummy, not Mum; what’s that about? Look, let me get you your clothes. I want to get you home as soon as possible. Sister has let me off early today and that’s nice.’

She went over to the wardrobe and pulled out some clothes and brought them over to the bed.

‘Now let me help you sweetheart you are going to be a bit wobbly.’

I looked at the clothes on the bed. They were definitely not clothing that Mark would wear. They were girls-only clothes.

You might think that I would be very happy with what was happening to me, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I was confused, my head hurt, and I had convinced myself that I was having a dream and that I would wake up soon with David kicking the living daylights out of me.

Mum helped me to dress in a white blouse and cream jumper. I distractedly put on some white knickers. I felt strange wearing those knickers as there was a weird feeling of something missing. Then I realised what was missing, my boy bits. It would all take some getting used to. I was handed a petticoat and a knee-length brown skirt, and I put them on. Then I slipped on some thick long white socks. Finally, Mum put some black shoes on me and then we were ready.

‘Stay there a minute Honey, I need to see Sister.’

‘I need to use the toilet.’

‘Do you need help?’

‘No thanks,’ I replied, my face growing hot for some reason.

‘I won’t be long,’ said Mum as she went out of the door.

The toilet was in a small room next to my room and I went over and went in, shutting and bolting it behind me.

I obviously could not stand to go to the toilet now, so I pulled down my knickers and sat down.

And waited.

Then, I sort of relaxed down below and then I just went. I was surprised at the strength of the stream of wee falling into the bowl. It all felt so unlike anything I had experienced before. Using the Izal toilet tissue, I wiped myself, trying not to think too much about what I was doing. This was all so new to me and would take a lot of getting used to!

I stood up and pulled up my knickers. After flushing the toilet and washing my hands, I went back and sat on the bed, not thinking about anything other than the strange things that had been happening to me. My headache had eased a bit, and my sight was now clearer.

I still wondered if this was a dream or real.

I could not ever remember being in pain when I dreamt. But I was in a bit of pain now, especially in my head, although I was pleased that it was fading. I had felt that needle being pulled out of my arm too, a few minutes before. I thought about that for a moment and then I pinched the back of my hand.

‘Ouch!’

Well, that was painful enough!

I felt my ribs where David had kicked me the other day. No pain there. I pulled up the blouse and jumper and had a look.

No colourful bruise!

What was going on?

Could this be real or was it all going to be snatched away from me?

I tucked the blouse in my skirt again and smoothed down the jumper, my thoughts in a whirl.

Mum came back into the room.

‘Right, let's go,’ she said, smiling.

After putting on a red coat that fitted me perfectly, we left the hospital and walked a little way to where a taxi was waiting. Mum was holding my hand, which was a good thing as I wasn’t too steady on my feet.

It was cold outside and there was a small dusting of snow on the ground, crunching slightly as I walked along. I was very glad of my coat. Once again, I wondered if you could feel cold when you were dreaming. I didn’t know.

The feel of the petticoat and dress flapping slightly against my legs and my hair going into my face caused by the wind was strange, to say the least.

It was all so confusing. I just felt as if nothing was real, and I just couldn’t shake it off.

Mum had me get into a taxi that was waiting for us with its engine running.

She got in the back beside me as the taxi moved off.

‘How are you feeling honey?’

‘I don’t know, it’s all a bit strange as if I’m in a dream.’

‘A combination of shock and concussion can do that Love. Just relax, we’ll be home soon.’

‘Mum…I mean Mummy, what day is it?’

‘Christmas Eve, of course; remember, Doctor Hampton told you?’

‘Oh yes, so, when did I have my erm, accident?’

‘A couple of days ago.’

‘Tell me about it, please?’

‘You can’t remember it all? Not surprising really, you probably have gaps in your memory. Talk about calling yourself Mark, that’s a funny one. Although that is a bit strange because if you had been born a boy, we would have called you Mark. Anyway, we went to the carol concert and you sang beautifully…’

‘Why wasn’t the carol concert that evening and not Christmas Eve, as usual?’

‘Well, the vicar had to cover two churches this year because the vicar of St Martins is ill with all this flaming flu that’s going about. So, they decided that our vicar would do both carol concerts but on different days, just this one time. Anyway, as I say, you sang beautifully and your solo of Silent Night brought tears to my eyes and a few others too, I think. It was a pity that your father wasn’t there. He would have loved to see and hear you.’

My eyes pricked with tears at the thought of him. I missed my dad so much that it gave me a lump in the throat.

‘It is so nice that girls are, a last, allowed to join the choir and that there are two of you there now. Anyway, after the service, you left your bobble hat in the vestry. You went back for it and just slipped on some ice and knocked your head on the edge of a gravestone. You had us all worried for a while, but the ambulance came quickly and luckily, the injury wasn’t too bad. Now you look very tired. Why not shut your eyes? We will be back home soon.’

I was tired, and that was a bit surprising, as I had been unconscious for quite a while, and I would have thought that I had had enough sleep by now!

I yawned and then without thinking any more, I fell asleep.

‘Wake up Honey, we’re nearly home.’

I opened my eyes reluctantly. I hated our home with its peeling walls and drabness and situated in such a run-down area. It was funny though, at least I wasn’t wheezing, and my chest no longer felt tight.

I rubbed my eyes and then looked out of the cab window.

Then, my eyes went wide, and my heart started thumping.

Something strange was happening. The cab was going down the road where we used to live with its nice houses set back on the road with long, well-kept gardens. It was quite dark now and most of the houses had Christmas lights twinkling outside.

We stopped outside our old house and got out. I nearly told Mum that we didn’t live there anymore, but, with difficulty, I held my tongue.

After paying the taxi driver and wishing him a Merry Christmas, Mum opened the gate, and we walked down the path to our house.

I stopped dead.

Like the others in the road, our house had pretty twinkling lights around the windows and under the guttering.

In the bow window was the Christmas Tree I remembered that we used to have, it was fully decorated with balls and tinsel and had its own twinkling lights.

The front door had the Christmas wreath on it with its hollies and red berries.

‘Come on Linda, it’s getting cold. Let’s go inside.’

In a dream, I followed Mummy in - it seemed so nice and natural to call her that now - and it was lovely and warm inside. I remembered the previous year before my father died. It was such a happy time with all the family together including my sister. That was the last time that I felt anything like happy, even though I was so desperate to be a girl.

Looking around as we walked into the living room, I began to tear up. If this was the truth now and not a dream, I would give it all up in an instant to have my Daddy back and my sister home with us…

The fire was lit, and it was toasty warm as I took off my coat. It was so nice to be there. I was beginning to realise that all this might be true and not some sort of cruel joke on me.

‘Oh,’ said Mummy, ‘there’s a card for you on the mantlepiece. I wonder how that got there; do you want to open it?’

She handed it to me, and I sat on the chair by the fire and slit the envelope open.

Taking out the card, I saw that it was a brightly illustrated picture of Father Christmas.

I opened it out.

Hello Linda,

I listened to you. Believe what you see.

F.C xxx

Mum was looking over my shoulder.

‘That’s a funny one, I wonder what it means. I don’t recognise the writing. It’s probably your sister having a joke with you.’

I glanced back at the mantlepiece. The well-known photo of our family was there but with one difference. I was there as Linda in a pretty pale blue dress and my hair in an Alice band. We all looked so happy. I was thinking about that when I heard a cough behind me.

‘Hello Sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re back.’

I turned around.

There in front of me was the one person I didn’t expect, as large as life. I nearly fainted but somehow, I didn’t.

‘Daddy!’ I whispered.

‘DADDY!’ I shouted and ran into his open arms crying my eyes out not with sadness but so much happiness that I could almost burst.

As he held me in his strong arms, I realised then that this wasn’t a dream. This was real and wonderful!

After a long time, I let him go. He didn’t understand why I reacted to him like that, and I was not going to tell him. No one would believe how a boy called Mark with all those problems had changed into the happiest girl alive, with loving parents and a sister who was due back from university anytime soon.

Evidently, he had not been able to see me at the concert or whilst I was in hospital, as he had been away in Scottland on business. He was now a director of the company he worked for and not a commercial traveller. He came home as soon as he could to see me.

‘Sorry I wasn’t here for you Honey. I won’t be travelling as much in the future, and I’ll be spending a lot more time at home.’

I almost clung to my father for a while then and he didn’t seem to mind too much!

Soon after, things got even better!

Sarah came home and after greeting me enthusiastically we had a light tea. I was then sent to bed as Mummy said I needed my beauty sleep and anyway tomorrow would be Christmas Day and my birthday too and there might be a few presents for me.

I went up to my bedroom, opened the door and gasped.

My room was the same one as I had before we moved to the council house, but instead of a boy's bedroom, with pale blue walls and a few boy's toys that I never actually played with stashed in the corner, the room was all cream and pink. My bed had a white candlewick bedspread with pink flowers on it.

I gasped. My teddy was on the bed, I loved that teddy and it had gone everywhere with me. I went over and picked him up.

‘Hello Teddy,’ I whispered.

Looking over to the corner was a big dolls house, it was lovely and full of tiny furniture. I would love to play with that, but I was nearly 11 and I wasn't sure that I should at my age.

Then I giggled, I could do what I liked now.

There was so much more I could explore but, I was worn out. My head still ached a bit but after some aspirins, I felt a bit better. Mummy (I was so glad to call her that now) came up to my bedroom and carefully removed the bandage and said that I didn’t really need it any more as I had not broken the skin when I fell, apart from a small cut which was well on the way to healing. I just had to be careful when brushing my long hair.

Eventually, wearing a long pretty white cotton nightie with pink ribbons, I snuggled down to sleep with my darling teddy tucked in my arm, but before that, my parents came in to kiss me goodnight.

The light was switched off and I quickly went to sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night and then, with everything whirling around in my mind, I could not get back to sleep.

What happened to me was magical. The recent events that had caused me so much heartache had not happened. My Daddy was alive, my sister was as close as she had ever been to us and Mummy was a staff nurse, like before and not a factory worker who had been so brutally laid off just before Christmas. We still lived in a nice house and not that horrible council place that was full of dampness where I sometimes found it so hard to breathe with my asthma problem.

The horrible year I had experienced when I lost my lovely Daddy, had to leave our home, and all the other nasty things like being bullied by nasty David had never happened.

I wondered what else had changed. What would it be like at school? Was I popular with the other girls? Would David be bullying some other poor kid? How was it at school for me? Was I maybe the teacher's pet?

I shuddered slightly with that thought.

So many questions.

I breathed in deeply. There was no tightness in my chest. Had my asthma been magically cured too? I could not remember the last time I could breathe so easily.

I got up and padded over to the window, shivering slightly in my thin nightdress. Drawing back the curtains, I gasped.

There was a thick blanket of snow on the ground covering everything. Up above, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the full moon was shining brightly.

Thousands of stars twinkled in the sky. It was lovely to see.

I noticed a fox crossing the road, leaving small footprints in the snow and could hear the plaintive hoot of an owl coming from one of the trees.

I yawned. I was still so tired.

I left the curtains open and went back to bed and picked up Teddy.

Under my pillow, I felt around for the note and read it once again.

Hello Linda,

I listened to you. Believe what you see.

F.C xxx

I smiled.

I would always believe in Father Christmas.

Do you?

---

If you would like to know what happens to Linda next, please let me know.

---

Please leave comments if you have time. Oh, and if you can, please do the kudo-thingie... thanks! ~Sue