Part 1

My brother, Charles and I were born just twenty minutes apart. We were, so my mother was told, identical twins. So, it proved, as we grew. We were the same height, the same weight, looked the same, had the same likes and dislikes.

In school we were impossible to separate, the teachers getting us to wear badges so that they could tell which one they were speaking to. That wasn’t totally successful, as we would swap badges in the playground, or toilets, just to see what would happen. The crazy thing was that, although we were on opposite sides of the class, we would always get the same marks for the same answers in every test we did.

I don’t know how she did it, but our mother could pick us, we thought it may have been by smell, or something. Experiments with underarm spray didn’t faze her, even a squirt of our sister’s perfume wasn’t good enough to defeat her uncanny skill. Our sister, by the way, was born two- and a-bit years before us and was an integral member of our little trio. Or, should I say, we were her sidekicks.

I suppose that I had better introduce myself. I am Thomas Gaynor, and my brother is Charles. Our sister is Angelica. The male line of the family is littered with Thomas and Charles as the Christian names, as we can trace our line back a few generations. What’s more, it all happens in the same part of the countryside, near a cluster of houses called Wambrook, near Chard.

An ancestor, Thomas Gaynor, had acquired some twenty acres of land back in the mid- nineteenth century. At that time, he had used manual labour and horses to farm the land. Sometime, towards the end of that century, he had bought a pair of Fowler ploughing engines, which allowed him to till the fields without needing the horses. These traction engines had an underslung pulley wheel which dragged the plough across the field, from one to the other, then they moved one furrow over and the plough went back to the other side.

He had two sons: Thomas and Charles, with Thomas dying of a lung infection. Charles carried on farming the land, and then enlarging the holdings due to neighbours losing their sons on the fields of France. By the time his eldest son, Thomas, took over, the farm was close to three hundred acres, and was using rudimentary tractors. I can see a few eyes glazing over, stay with me, I’m trying to explain how a family evolves.

My grandfather, Charles, found the Fowlers in a shed, gathering dust and chicken poop. He wasn’t a farmer, more a tinkerer of the mechanical world. He had become the farm mechanic and kept the old Fordson tractors going. In the late thirties, the two brothers sat down and divided the holdings. Thomas keeping most of the acreage, with Charles keeping around twenty acres, which included one of the farmhouses and the land with the sheds. They arranged that Charles would provide the engineering skills if Thomas provided farm produce. This was all put on hold when the Second World War broke out. Thomas stayed at home while Charles went off to war.

My grandfather didn’t talk much about his war, so I was told, only that he had been captured and spent over three years as a prisoner of the Japanese, working in a coal mine in Fukuoka. He died, in the mid-sixties, of a massive and unusual cancerous growth. My father swears that the Americans killed him, as the coal mine was halfway between Nagasaki and Hiroshima. He says that the coal heaps diverted the blast, but he doubted that radiation works in the same way as wind.

By that time, my father was in his late teens, and had caught the mechanical bug. Grandfather had been a supply sergeant in the Engineers, so had lots of contacts when he came back. He had partially restored the two Fowlers before he left, and had rebuilt the shed, more than doubling the size. He then built another shed to house the pair of pre-war Burrell Showman’s traction engines that he had picked up, for a song, in the early fifties. By the time he died, he had bought ex-army trucks and had started a small trucking business, known as Gaynor Transport. My father continued the business, with a good team of ex-military drivers, and the company slowly grew. He was able to buy a pair of surplus army tank transporters, and, by the time he married, was taking the traction engines to various shows that were starting to spring up.

In the same period, so my Uncle Tom told me, his father had changed the farm from a cropping operation to a mixed produce one. It now had cows and a milking shed, with a cheese making section. Uncle Tom had introduced sheep, chickens, and goats, with some of the acreage carrying livestock, some for feed, and the rest with flowers, herbs, vegetables, and the like. He had built a farm shop next to the road and was doing very well, with Auntie Jean opening an organic café.

All of this leads me to where I am, today. I grew up, roaming among the trucks, gazing at the traction engines when they were fired up, loving the sound of the steam whistles, and staying well clear when they were on the move. My brother and I would go over to the farm and help out with the animals, while my sister would be helping with the cheese making and the café. How the three of us found time to go to school, I don’t know, but we went, and all of us were good students. I suppose a diverse knowledge helped, as some of the other kids had never even figured out that you need a chicken, somewhere, before you could scramble the egg.

Some of the things that we had to thank my grandfather for was a row of four Nissen Huts, more army surplus. One was a canteen and washroom for the truck drivers, one was a store for spare parts, one was the business office and cleanroom workshop. The last was our playhouse. It was also where Charlie and I have our bedrooms, one each, with a shower room. Angelica slept in the farmhouse. Much of one end was an open space, and it was here that the foundation of our adulthood was created.

By the time we were in second year at High School, Angelica was nearly sixteen, and totally enraptured by music and dance. She had a couple of best friends that she would spend time with, talking about music and boys, boys, and music. Charlie and I would spend some of our time helping Dad with the work on the traction engines, but, usually in the evenings, we would help Angelica with her project. She had developed the idea that she could be a singing star, like the other young girls in the charts.

We had borrowed a set of speakers from the roundabout that Dad was restoring, and we had a cheap amplifier and microphones. Angelica was a good singer, and the two of us could do reasonable back-up. She would get her cassette player and a tape that she had made of all the top hits that she wanted to sing, as well as some older songs. She was well into the Spice Girls, Shaia Twain, Destinys Child, Cleopatra, Steps and Honeyz, with a dash of Siouxsie and the Banshees.

Over a few months, we helped her develop a stage presentation. Both of us guys were reasonable dancers, and, between us, we put together a show that lasted about half an hour. The next thing she did was to drag her best friends into the act. Lucy and Janine were around the same size as Angelica and were good dancers from the outset. It took Charlie and me a week to teach them the steps that the three of us had worked out. I danced alongside Lucy, while Charlie danced alongside Janine.

Once they had mastered the steps, they then worked on the backing vocals. Angelica had a boyfriend, Archie, who was good with audio, and he had reworked the backing tape to filter out the vocals, which meant that the three girls could be the singers. He came around, one Saturday afternoon, with a tape recorder and video camera, recording the full show for them to watch later. After that, the six of us went out to a teen dance in Chard. Dad drove us over and promised to be outside the hall at ten.

That evening, I danced with Lucy, two years older than me, and even got a kiss. I have to tell you that both Charlie and I were a bit tall for our age, and could pass for fifteen, with ease, so we didn’t look, or feel, out of place with the girls. I should rephrase that last bit. We were as tall as a fifteen-year-old girl. After that evening, we both had girlfriends, of a sort. It was more that we helped them develop the stage show by being supportive.

Although Dad would take one or two of the traction engines to the various rallies, there was one event that he worked hard to be at. This was the annual Great Dorset Steam Rally, now being held near Blandford Forum, on a six-hundred-acre site. For 1999 we were going all out. We would have both Fowlers, set up to give a ploughing demonstration, and both Burrells, completely decked out with new paint and the dynamo-powered lights. One will be driving the Prancing Horses merry-go-round, which would get its speakers back.

The two Fowlers would fit onto a low loader, pulled by a modern truck, and the two Burrells would each have a tank transporter. The Horses would fit on an articulated lorry, and the rest of us would go in a small convoy of cars, with the caravans hooked up. This was all needed, because the show went for five days, in late August, and was huge. They usually got more than thirty thousand a day through the gates, and it included working horses, tractors, agricultural machinery, a funfair, a market, autojumble, classic cars, and the best as far as Angelica was concerned, live music. Dad had pulled a few strings, and the three girls were set to open the Thursday evening show. We were to leave on the Tuesday morning, to give us time to get set up before the gates opened on Wednesday.

Of course, you’ve guessed it! On Saturday evening, we got a phone call from Janine’s mother. The two families had been in Wales, on a hiking trip, when Lucy had stumbled in a rut, turning her ankle, and fell against Janine, who fell over onto a rock. Lucy was now nursing a severely swollen ankle, and Janine was just out of the hospital with a cast on her arm. Angelica was devastated.

In order to placate a sobbing daughter, Mum looked at the two of us and asked how much of the routine we knew. We, having helped develop it, knew it well. Mum ordered Angelica to go and fetch the outfits from her room, where they were all stored with the underwear and accessories, because, she ordered, “You boys can do this for your sister. You know the steps, I’m sure that you’ve seen the girls do it often enough to sing the backing. Angelica is going to get her time on the stage. Got that!”

What could we say, but “Yes, Mum.”

That evening, Mum stayed with us in Angelica’s room as we tried on the stage outfits. They fitted, and the bras were already padded as the two girls weren’t that well developed, yet. The only things that would have to change was the shoes, as we both had feet a couple of sizes bigger. We were allowed to get back into our own things and sent off to get a good night, as Sunday would be the start of the change, from being the two sons, to being two daughters.

When we were safely in our hut, I asked Charlie what he thought about all of this.

“Tom,” he said, quietly. “This is something I’ve thought about for a couple of years. I think I want to do this, but I’m afraid of how it will turn out. Will we get laughed at, or, worse, get rotten tomatoes thrown at us. I love Angelica, but she is more of a shining example of what I’d like to be. What about you?”

“Charlie, you know that there’s nothing that you want that I don’t think about. Like you, I’m afraid of what may happen on Thursday evening. All we can do is be the best Lucy and Janine we can be, for our sister.”

On Sunday morning, at breakfast, Dad told us that he wasn’t too happy about what Mum had planned, but would go along with it, as long as we could show him what the show would look like, as neither parent had seen it. We were to run through it, without the outfits, to prove that we were not bringing the good name of Gaynor into disrepute.

He helped reclaim the speakers and set them up in the hut. We tested the microphones and the cassette player for sound, then wound the tape back to before the first song. It was, I realised, ironic that the first song was “Man, I feel like a Woman” by Shania Twain. We had chosen it for the good intro, lasting long enough for us to all start at the same time. Angelica liked it because it set the tone for the whole show.

Mum and Dad sat on chairs in front of us and we did the show. I know that us boys were a little rusty, having left it to the three girls some weeks before, but it only took a couple of minutes before we were grooving along, Our voices hadn’t broken yet so there were times when we sang in good harmony. At the end of the set, we stood, and Mum came to us and hugged all three of us. Dad just nodded and then said that we were great, and that he had no worries about our performance, just that us boys couldn’t look like a couple of teenage girls. Mum glared at him and told him, in no uncertain terms, that when she had finished with us, he had better be prepared to treat us like his daughters.

From that moment, the plan was put into motion. Mum called her friend at the salon she would go to for special occasions, getting us in before normal opening time on Monday morning. Angelica raided her wardrobe for two outfits that would be good for us to wear on Monday, when we would shop for two pairs of shoes that fitted the stage outfit, in a size that we would be comfortable with. After lunch, we were sent to the main bathroom, where Mum had run a sudsy bath. One at a time, she got us soaked and washed, then we had to stand while she went over our bodies with a safety razor. We had our hair washed twice, with much better shampoo than we had ever used, followed by a double conditioner.

One of the main things that made us three children stand out from the rest of the family is that all of our relatives are dark haired, while we took after Mum in being strawberry blondes. We wore our hair to below the ears, as was usual among lovers of the popular artists of the time. After we emerged from the bathroom, we were dressed in the stage outfits that Angelica had chosen. When we looked in a mirror, the three of us looked like triplets. I looked at Charlie and he had a big grin on his face. I knew, now, what was making him smile because I felt a little of the same.

From that moment, I was to be called Lucy, while my brother was Janine. Dad had sent the organisers a little bit of information about the act, so we had to continue the pretence. The stage outfit was a short dress, in silver, with fringes that would swirl as we moved. We went back to the hut and went through the show again, for Mum and Dad. We did it barefoot, to all be on the same disadvantage, and doing it in a dress made it totally different. Angelica was better, and the two of us were more girly in our movements. Dad was much happier.

The rest of the day, we wore the outfits that had been picked for Monday, learning how to walk, sit and act like teenage girls, with Angelica leading us and with Mum only chipping in when she saw something glaring. We had our evening meal, while being shown how to eat slowly and with smaller bites. The more we learned, the better I felt about myself. When it was time to go to bed, Angelica gave us a nightie each, telling us that until we got back from the Rally, we would have to stay in character.

When we were safely back in the hut, we did something we had never done before. We hugged and kept it going for a while. It felt good. When we parted, Janine was the one looking at me.

“How do you feel, now, Lucy?”

“I’m still trying to work out why this feels so comfortable, Janine. I never want to have to wear scratchy clothes again. Do you think that we’ll be able to continue this after the weekend?”

“We’ll just have to play it by ear, sister, we just have to get Thursday evening over, and then stay like this until we get home again. I hope we do enough with the show so that Angelica can move forward with her singing. I do know that there will be some good bands there on the Friday and Saturday, no doubt with their usual entourage. You never know, there may be a talent scout there.”

Monday morning came too quickly, I just didn’t want to get out of bed, luxuriating in the feeling of the nightie against my smooth skin. We were roused by Mum, given a light breakfast, checked that we had dressed properly. At the salon, the three of us were worked on by Mum’s friend, Sarah. Angelica was first and didn’t take as long as the two of us, seeing that she was already looking good.

When the two of us walked out, we had properly shaped eyebrows, pierced ears with studs, new nails, and hair extensions that matched the length of our sister. We all had matching make-up and Mum had a bag of products that she should use on us over the next week, to maintain the look. We then went and looked for matching shoes that followed the silver theme for the show, as well as two more pairs of what Mum called Mary Janes for normal wear, and a cheap pair of boots for getting around the showground. The girl in the store didn’t twig that we were boys, so Mum took us to buy some of our own underwear. Knowing our sizes, we didn’t have to try anything on.

What we did try on, however, was jeans and tops that we would travel in and wear around the Rally site. I was starting to think that this was a lot of money to spend for just a few days. I mentioned it to Mum, and she snorted.

“Lucy, love, the two of you are taking to all of this like a duck to water. Do you really think that you two can go back to normal as soon as you get home. Look at Janine, there’s no sight of Charles there, and this is only the first full day in a skirt. If that show of yours goes down well, you may be asked to repeat it on another night. You realise that there may be scouts down from London. There will be several hundred watching you, if not thousands. If you’re as good as I’ve seen, there may be a future in it for all three of you. I have to say that I’m excited for you all, especially for Angelica. This weekend could make her dreams come true, or it may just shatter them. We don’t want that to happen, now, do we?”

Tuesday morning, we were showered and, in our tops, and jeans, with knee-hi stockings and the Mary Janes. Mum spent a little while getting us made up, then we were off. First though, we were introduced to the other drivers as Lucy and Janine, Mum telling them that Tom and Charlie were staying over at the farm for the weekend.

We were in one Cruiser, with Mum driving, and the caravan had all of our clothing and show outfits in. It was to be where the three girls would have been sleeping but would be our home for the weekend. Mum and Dad would have the caravan that Dad was towing, now able to stretch out without needing space for two boys. Archie rode with him, his tent packed in the back. The truck with the Prancing Horses had a caravan for our guys hooked on it. It was quite a convoy, with the three big low loaders, a truck and two Cruisers with vans behind.

The trip threw up a number of firsts. It was the first time we went into the ladies with Mum and Angelica, and needed to be told that we would not be welcome in the gents, although Mum did say that we may be more than welcome there, given the looks we were getting. It was the first time I had a door held open for me by a guy with a big smile. It was also the first time we were both referred to as love and miss, by perfect strangers. That was something that we became more used to as the weekend wore on.

When we arrived at the Rally site, I just had to gasp. It was huge and already crowded. We were guided to the parking area, where we all lined up the trucks, with Mum and Dad going over to the edge of the field, where other caravans and tents were already set up, next to an amenities tent and a row of portable toilets.

The merry-go-round was the first item unloaded at its site. We all helped to get it set up and wiped over all the horses. Then the two Burrells were fired up. When they had a head of steam, they were backed off the transporters and driven to their display area, where one was connected up to the Prancing Horses, the electrical connections made, and the ride was tested. It was a magnet for all the kids already on site, so Dad ended up running the ride for an hour, with us three girls helping the smaller kids get up on the horses.

The other guys got the Fowlers fired up on Wednesday, and driven to where the ploughing demonstration would happen, over the next few days. Of course, all four boilers had to be allowed to cool, and then the ash removed. They would get new firewood and coal every morning. I watched as wonderful traction engines arrived, along with classic cars. The display area filled, and I knew that there was no way I would be able to have a good look at everything. It was huge already, and it looked as if more arrived through the day.

By Thursday morning, the place was packed, even without the public in. Mum brewed up breakfast after we had all used the shared toilets and showers, taking care not to give away our secret. We spent the day wandering around the place but not seeing it all. The four of us spent quite a while in the market, where Janine and I bought a couple of flashy, but cheap, rings. It was odd, having to delve into a handbag to find a purse to pay for our purchases. We ate food that wasn’t good for us but tasted great, and we did everything we could to stop the butterflies that were starting in all three stomachs.

At six, we were back into the caravan, getting ready for our small part in the show. Archie went off to the stage area to make sure he could use the sound system. The real Lucy and Janine had arrived, one in a moon boot and the other in a cast and a sling. They told us that there were a few others, from their class, that they’d seen, so we may have a fan base in front of us. Of course, they would be thinking that the Lucy and Janine that were singing were the real ones. We made sure that we were all correctly dressed, and Mum accentuated our make-up.

When it was time to go, we put on coats to hide the stage dresses, group hugged and walked to the stage area. We were fitted with radio senders that we had to put on under our dresses and did a quick sound check with the cordless microphones. We then took our places behind the wall of speakers to wait for our cue.

The announcer welcomed everyone to the rally and to the evening entertainment, starting with, he said, the debut performance of “Gaining Traction!”

Marianne Gregory © 2024