Skipper! Chapter 31

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Skipper! by Beverly Taff

I'm afraid this is the last chapter for now. There is one short 'spin off' story called 'Martina's story' and I will post this in a few days once I've run through it to see that there are no contradictions with these new later chapters of Skipper.

Martina's Story was also written way back in 2007 (If I remember correctly.) So I'll have to read through it and cross reference it with Skipper!


Chapter Thirty-One

 

Sorry this is the last chapter but for now I've exhausted the vein of originality in this story. (Yes I know there is huge scope for 'other 'Spin off's' like martina's story but pleease. I need a break. I'm hoping the Sparkle weekend in Manchester will give me a boost.)

Finally I must say a huge thank you to you all for being so kind and thoughtful with your comments and especially a huge thank you to Angharad for Bike, which inspired me to come over from Fictionmania. Don't ask how or why, cos I don't know.

I have not left Fictionmania indeed I have to return there shortly to fulfill my obligations to finish Sissy Farm. Fortunately I'm retiring from my day job in June of this year 2010 so I'll have more time to write if my house-boss will let me. (She says she's got a list of jobs as long as, -!)

Well that's enough of me carping on. ( I should really start a blog, but what the heck. I do enough wingeing.)

Here is the last (for now.) chapter of Skipper.


Both ex mother and daughter stared at each other as each tried to determine in their own minds why the other was attending the hospital. It was Chrissie’s ex mother who broke the impasse.

“What are you doing here?” She asked her daughter as Chrissie was lifting the scooter’s pillion box to remove the breast milk.

Chrissie resented the woman’s assumption that she had some sort of right to know, but she had also been thinking a lot about reconciliation in the ensuing weeks of nursing her babies.

Motherhood, however it is come by, often causes mothers to look at their children and wonder where their babies have got certain features and mannerisms from. Chrissie had already noticed that her baby son adopted an ear tugging habit that had always reminded her of her detested father. It had taken Chrissie several counselling sessions with Sandie, and some input by me and Jane to help her come to terms with it. Now after nearly six weeks of affection and intensive input by her adult supporters, Sandie, Jane and I had helped Chrissie come to terms with her sons’ genetically inherited habit. Eventually she had come to see the gesture as something to be held in affection. We adults relaxed gratefully when she finally took her son and cuddled him then kissed him as she actually smiled when he pulled his ear.

Sylvia was also curious about the habit and when Chrissie told her about her father she was intrigued. They had talked often about trying for reconciliation.

The unexpected meeting outside the gynaecological block proved to be a happy accident as Chrissie considered telling her ex mother the news about the twins. Firstly however, she kept her ex mother hanging in ignorance.

“I’m delivering breast milk to the baby unit.”

“Oh. Got a job have you. You could have done better than a delivery boy. You used to have a good head on your shoulders.”

Chrissie fumed at the slur and almost cut short the meeting there and then until she realised her mother had actually paid her a back-handed compliment.

“I used to have, -?” Chrissie snapped back. “And why would I still not have a good ‘head-on-my-shoulders’?”

“Well look at you, delivering milk like some pizza boy.”

“Boy mother? Why d’you say boy. I’m a girl now, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“You’re still a boy.”

“No I’m not, I’m a girl, I’ve had the operation and I’ve got a new birth certificate to prove it.”

“What!” Her mother gasped. “Why you, you, - You treacherous little bastard.”

“I see you haven’t changed much then. Still the bigoted bully!”

At this point as voices started to rise, the paediatric houseman was coming into work and spoke to Chrissie.

“Are you okay love?”

“Yeah fine thanks doc, this is my ex mother, the bitch that bore me and broke me.”
The paediatrician stared at Chrissies’ mother and asked.

“Is there a problem madam? This young lady is busy.”

So saying the houseman turned to Chrissie and said,

“You’d better take your milk up love; I know they’re rather short. In fact if you really want to help the sister, perhaps you might give some milk while you’re there. They’ve got a baby with complications and the mother’s got no milk. They’re desperate.”

For a moment, Chrissie’s ex mother stared in stupefied silence before she found her voice and turned on her daughter again.

“What!! What d’you mean your milk?”

“Yes! It’s my milk. I’m nursing my children and I’ve got milk to spare. See these. These are breasts, see! They’re real.”
So saying, Chrissie angrily tugged her teenaged breast out of her bra and gave her nipple a squeeze. Her milk shot out over her mother’s face and her mother squealed in shock.

“Stoppit you little cow!”

“Yes. That’s what I am mother, - a cow. A milk cow, see!”

She squirted another shot of milk and the houseman intervened.

“Stoppit Chrissie, you making a spectacle of yourself. Beside's you’re wasting precious milk.”

Chrissie suddenly came to her senses and nodded apologetically towards the young doctor. Despite being heavy with milk, Chrissies’ breasts were still very firm and attractive. It had been a very provocative act. Her ex mother just stood gob-smacked.

Having concluded that there was little chance of any reconciliation after her angry display; Chrissie turned on her heel and stormed into the maternity block. It was left to the young paediatrician to explain to her ex mother who was more curious than angry now that her daughter had stormed off.

“How come she’s got milk?”

“And who exactly are you?”

“I’m her mother. Her real mother!”

“You mean her blood mother.”

“Yes! Precisely that! That was my son!”

“Well I’m glad you used the past tense. That young lady is Chrissie Taff.” She lives at, - no, I shouldn’t be telling you that. “

“Oh don’t worry. I know exactly where she lives. But why has she got milk.”

“She’s feeding her own babies.”

“Babies!! What Babies!!?”

“Well that’s all I’m prepared to say. Medical confidence you understand. If you wish to find out more, you’ll have to speak to your daughter. She’ll be finished in the maternity block in about an hour if she delivers her usual quantity of milk.”

“Dam! I want to speak to her. I don’t know how long I’ll be stuck in the gynea block”

“I could pass a message to her. I’ll be seeing her in the maternity unit. I’m sorry that you won’t be allowed inside because of the security arrangements; baby snatching you understand." She might be persuaded to wait in the main reception area. Would you like me to try and persuade her?”

“Oh please! Could you? Whose babies is she feeding?”

“I’m sorry, that’s not for me to divulge. You’ll have to speak to your daughter.”

Having been forced into an information straight-jacket, Chrissie’s ex mother could only hope that her wayward ‘son’ might deign to wait for her as requested. She fretted all through her gynaecological exam then rushed to the reception area where she was desperately relieved to see her child sitting with her back to the door, nursing a fruit juice. For long seconds she took stock and studied her only child; - there was no doubt that her son was now a girl and the older woman was scared. Eventually she declared herself to Chrissie.

“Christopher?”

The girl turned around unsmilingly.

“It’s Chrissie, - mother. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Well, yes, - it is, but why, how, and the milk, what’s that about. Whose child is it?”

“It’s my child. Or rather they are my children, twins, one of each; your grandchildren!”

“But how!!? Even if you had the operation you can’t conceive!”

“No, but I can inseminate. I was physically a boy once. Not a happy boy, not a boy inside my head, but still physically a boy as you and the authorities constantly tried to remind me.”

“What d’you mean? Inseminate? Inseminate who, what?”

“The doctors gave me that pleasure. They took my sperm before I started transition. This was to give me options in later life. Then they put it into the sperm bank and when I was old enough to look after babies, a lovely girl agreed to have my babies for me. She and I both breast feed our twins.”

Chrissie’s ex mother sat thunderstruck for long moments as she digested the news.

“Your sperm?”

“Yes! My sperm!”

“So you’re the father!”

“If you put it like that, - yes. They’re still my babies though. I’m nursing them as their mother and I’ll be adopting them later on. Well technically I don’t have to adopt them; they’re mine anyway; my blood! Nobody can ever take them away! Not you, not that horrible man, not anybody!”

Chrissies’ ex mother sat silent as she tried to digest the avalanche of information. Chrissie sipped her juice and watched her mother like a hawk as she nervously sought the slightest nuance of a threat or aggression. The silence became oppressive but Chrissie sat tight. If there was to be any hope of reconciliation then Chrissies’ ex mother, the offender in Chrissies’ eyes, would have to make the first move; take the first reconciliatory step. Chrissie continued sitting tight as her ex mother shifted uncomfortably. Finally she leaned forward.

“Can I see them?”

Chrissie studied the woman who had once been her mother. The careworn features and the unkempt hair told its own story. It was obvious that the woman took little pride in her appearance anymore. The woman stared contritely at the juice in Chrissies’ grip as Chrissie turned the glass slowly in her hands until she finally caught the womans’ dull gaze of resignation.

“Why? D’you think you’ve earned the right?”

The woman looked up tearfully and wagged her head as she whispered, nay choked out an almost inaudible ‘no’.
Chrissie nodded slowly as the bile rose in her throat to bring the bitterness to the back of her tongue.

“No. I don’t think so either.”

The woman looked up and glanced guiltily then turned away again as she stood to leave. Shoulders slumped and head hung low the very epitome of dejection and defeat. Chrissie clenched her jaw as she spoke with a brittle timbre to her voice.

“Wait! We haven’t finished!”

The woman hesitated then turned again to reveal the tears that now ran freely down her cheeks. For the first time, Chrissie felt a faint twinge of remorse.

‘Was it right to blame this woman entirely?’ She asked herself, ‘or did the blame lie with the brute back home; -the beast that had beaten Chrissie whenever he discovered her cross-dressed.’

As the woman stood hesitantly Chrissie spoke again.

“Sit down. We’re not finished yet.”

Hope flickered in the woman’s eyes and she rejoined Chrissie at the table.

“D’you want a cup of coffee or something?”

“Yes please,” replied the woman desperate to try and continue the contact with her child. “I’ll get it.”

“No. I’ll get it. I’m not some sort of charity. I only ride the scooter because I’m too young to have a car licence. I’ll get them. D’you want a pastry or a cake or something?”

“A pastry would be nice, please,” the woman mumbled.

Chrissie rose up gracefully and the woman’s eyes widened at the effeminate grace of Chrissies’ movement. Then her eyes followed her child across the restaurant to the service counter and she realised that her child was truly a girl and a very graceful beautiful one at that. When Chrissie returned with a tray of delights, the woman readily recognised her own sisters’ beauty. Chrissie had all the grace and good looks of her aunt. The woman’s throat choked up as she recognised the family line.

‘Here was no boy anymore.’ The young woman now sliding gracefully into the opposite seat was 'all woman' despite her tender years. And her clothes were not cheap rags. The girl was smartly dressed considering she had arrived by scooter.’ Chrissies’ mother began to wonder what had become of her only child since the separation. Obviously somebody was supporting the girl!’

She checked herself mentally. ‘Had she just thought of her son Christopher as a girl?’ Then she realised she had.
As Chrissie served out the cups and plates off the tray, her mother reached out tentatively and touched her lightly on the wrist. Chrissie let it stay there as she put the tray down and took her seat. Her mother looked up with more tears.

“I’m so sorry Christo, - Chriss, - Chrissie. I’m so, so sorry!”

“Well that’s a start. I accept your apology.”

Her mother stared at her and drew a nervous breath.

“God can play some cruel tricks. For you to have been born a boy, and then feeling forced to become a girl.”

“No mother! I was born a girl and forced to live as a boy. That was the cruelty. Nobody would listen. You wouldn’t listen, he wouldn’t listen; even the school wouldn’t listen! This is the way it is. This is what I am. This is what I was born as, a girl see! I am a girl, I was born a girl! If there is such a thing as God, and I’ve got my doubts! Then he gave me the wrong plumbing, the wrong bits. Worst of all he denied me from ever enjoying the one thing I can never do and that’s bear children. If there is a god then how come he can make such cruel mistakes? That’s what makes me an unbeliever. I spit on your faith and your beliefs. I cannot ever forgive what you and that detestable man did to me! And how could any god be so cruel as to give me boys’ plumbing and forever deny me the chance of true motherhood?

Fathering them from my own frozen sperm was the next best thing. The twins are my children, my blood, and that makes them your blood. If you ever want to see them though, you will have to mend your ways. No more bigotry, no more censure, no more condemnation! If I can change this one thing in you, I will have moved mountains. If not, you will never see them ever. He will never see them for I know nothing will ever change him.”

She stared sullenly at her ex mother with eyes as expressionless as pebbles. Chrissies’ mother was at long last beginning to recognise the depth of hurt behind her daughters’ eyes and that hurt was beginning to translate. The mother swallowed nervously; if she did not somehow surmount her daughter’s bitterness then all would be lost in that single vital moment that hung like the sword of Damocles. She debated reaching out and hugging her daughter but she was too afraid that this might precipitate some awful rejection. Some final ‘casting off’ that would signal permanent separation from her grandchildren. Frantically she searched her mind and heart for a way past the impasse but it escaped her.

Chrissie looked at her, waiting for some indiscernible sign that this woman, this woman who had so rejected her and condemned her, might have finally turned a corner but it didn’t seem to be there. Somehow the woman still seemed incapable of making that single vital movement, a hug maybe, or at least reaching out somehow to indicate a start. Chrissie bit her lip as she wondered if she might dare speak or would her hurt crack her voice and betray her weakness. But it seemed that her mother was every bit as paralysed. Chrissie took a deep breath and took the plunge.

“Did you ever love me?” She asked.

“Of course I loved you.”

“Then when did it stop; why did it stop?”

“When we felt betrayed, when we finally realised you wanted to be a girl and there would never be any grandchildren, when we realised that whatever dreams we might have had, were dashed on the stones of your approaching, intended infertility.”

“Infertility? Is that all I was to you, some sort of sperm machine that you created just to further your own ambitions, what did you have ambitions of? Dynasty! Empire! Is that all that was of interest to you, what was between my legs? Never mind what was between my ears, never mind what was in my heart, was I really just a cock and balls to you?”

“No! No! That’s a wicked thing to say! You were our son! Every parent hopes for grandchildren!”

“What! To the detriment of their children!”

“But you were our only child! There was no other that could provide us with grandchildren. When we finally realised that you were determined on becoming a girl, of removing all hopes of fathering children, what did you expect us to do?”

“I didn’t expect you to hate me! — To beat me, to bloody well kidnap me! What the hell did you intend to do with me?”

“That was your fathers’ idea. You’d have to ask him.”

“Bloody hell mother! You were there as well. Why didn’t you warn us if you disagreed?”

“How. I didn’t know your telephone numbers, I didn’t even know where you where. Your father planned it all, he found out where you were staying but he wouldn’t tell me. Maybe he knew I might forewarn you.”

Chrissie hesitated. ‘May be that bit was true, it had always been her father who dominated the family, who bullied him as a boy and hectored his mother if she tried to moderate.’ Chrissie remembered the forced participation in football games, rugby games, cricket matches. As she thought back to those wasted, lost childhood years, Chrissie had second thoughts. ‘Maybe her ex mother wasn’t that much to blame.’ ‘Could there really be a chance of reconciliation?’ Would she have to split her ex parents apart to at least recover some parental affection or love?’

She studied her ex mother thoughtfully.

‘Was it worth the effort and the risk?’ Chrissie asked herself. ‘Would her ex mother’s happiness or indeed her life, be in peril if she did become reconciled without that man; that beast’s consent?’

Chrissies’ mind was in turmoil as she sat undecided until she finally decided to ask advice.

I was in my study doing some paperwork while Sylvia sat opposite me in the ‘saggy-bag’ chair and enjoying the sun in the bay window whilst idly nursing her and Chrissies’ beloved, sleeping twins. The phone interrupted my concentration.

“Hello. Rosy Cottage”

“Mum, It’s Chrissie, I’ve got a question.”

I could tell my daughter was stressed by the tone of her voice so I switched the ‘speaker phone’ on for Sylvia’s benefit. There were absolutely no secrets between Sylvia, Chrissie and me.

“Go on darling. Sylvia's with me. Are you still at the hospital?”

“Yes. They were short of milk and there was an emergency so I gave them some extra, my breasts are dry now so can you ask Sylvia to do the next feed for both of them.”

Sylvia nodded and I conveyed her agreement. Chrissie then continued.

“Mummy, I’m in the hospital restaurant with my ex mother.”

I let the pregnant pause endure before Chrissie continued.

“No mummy! There’s no danger, she’s alone. I’m sharing a cup of coffee.”

If she was sharing coffee, they were obviously talking so I asked.

“Have you told her?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She wants to see the twins.”

“She can’t come here. There’s the court order.”

“Can you bring the twins down here?”

“What now?”

I heard Chrissie talking to her ex mother then she returned to the phone.

“She says she can come as close to Rosy Cottage as is allowed.”

I glanced at Sylvia who nodded vigorous agreement. Sylvia was really keen on reconciliation for Chrissie after experiencing her own delicious family reunion.

“Why doesn’t Chrissie take her ex mother to Janes’? “ Sylvia suggested. “There’s no court order affecting the farm and I was going down there later to pick up Baby David anyway. Jane’s had him down there since last night, she dotes on him. Chrissie and I were taking all the children to see Billy at college. He’s missing them and Chrissie so he wants to see them again.”
I smiled knowingly and Sylvia grinned.

“Yes, I know, he’s really missing Chrissie but it’ll do him no harm to realise he’s got fatherly responsibilities.”

“Where do you stay when you’re in Cirencester?”

“An old school friend of Sians’ has a farm down there. She married a local farmer. We met when Jane took Billy up to college the first time. Sian had some business trading horses up there and she carried some of Billy’s stuff in her Landrover. When her friend discovered that we needed accommodation, she left an open invitation. I’ve stayed there several times since then.
It’s a nice place.”

Then Chrissies’ voice on the phone brought me back to the matter in hand.

“So what’s it to be mummy?”

“If you’re happy, ask your ex-mother to follow you up to Jane Turpins farm. Sylvia and I will bring the twins down there.”

“That’s a good idea; Sylvia and I were going there later anyway.”

“Yes, I know the plan; you’re going to see Billy.”

“Sorry, I meant to tell you but I missed you this morning before delivering the milk.”

I grinned. Chrissies’ going to Cirencester did not bother me and it was easy to miss each other at Rosy Cottage when things were busy. Although she was only 16, Chrissie was for all practical purposes an emancipated adult. With the arrangements sorted, Sylvia and I dressed the twins and popped the easy mile down the lanes to the Turpin farm. Jane met us at the gate with Baby David and Sylvia explained to her before taking the twins into the house and cuddling David.

“Are you happy for the woman to come here?” I asked Jane as we waited by the farmyard gate.

“That man’s not with her is he? Harry’s gone to market.”

“Not as far as I know. Chrissie didn’t mention him. I’ll check.”

I phoned Chrissie again and sighed a soft sigh of relief. Chrissie believed her ex mother to be quite definitely alone. Eventually we heard the urgent howl of Chrissies scooter followed by the more normal sound of her ex mothers’ car. At the farm gate we briefly checked the car out and the woman obviously resented our distrust. She frowned guiltily but I was not risking anything. Eventually Jane and I were happy to open the gate and let her into the farmyard. She parked by the old pig-sty block and cautiously emerged from the car. Jane advanced circumspectly while Chrissie leapt off her scooter and slipped past to attend to the twins.

“Good morning, I don’t know your name. Come into the house.”

“It’s Mrs Williams, Mrs Ruth Williams.”

“Very well Mrs Williams, my name is Mrs Jane Turpin, this is my farm.

Chrissies’ ex mother followed Jane into her kitchen while Sylvia rejoined me carrying Harry's shotgun. I didn't blame her. Briefly, we kept a wary eye for any uninvited guests emerging from the car boot or some such hidden place. We paused for a minute or so then having satisfied ourselves completely that nobody else was in the car or following in another car we followed into the Kitchen where Sylvia hid the gun somewhere handy.

We entered to find Chrissie sitting Madonna-like on the drawing room settee with her twins while her ex mother was staring disbelievingly. Jane was putting the kettle on for tea while Baby David tugged her skirt hem and stared solemnly through the door into the drawing room. Tears were beginning to gather in the womans’ eyes. I joined Jane at the work top while Sylvia joined Chrissie on the settee and took one of the twins as Baby David toddled gleefully towards his biological mother. The woman turned to me as the obviously older woman in the group.

“Might ask what the set up is. Chrissie’s explained some but I don’t know; I just don’t get it.”

I explained how everybody was related and she eventually settled uncertainly in one of the drawing room armchairs as Jane appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. Chrissies’ ex mother turned to her daughter.

“And you’re going to marry her son as a girl and become his wife?”

Chrissie shrugged and nodded as she answered monosyllabically; “Yes.”

“Will I ever be allowed to see the children?”

“Provided he isn’t around; yes.”

“You mean your father.”

“My ex father.”

Chrissies’ ex mother frowned before remarking.

“All he ever wanted was a grandson by you, somebody to carry on the family name.”

“Well you can tell him he’s got his wish.”

“But that’s not fair Chrissie. When he finds out he’ll be desperate to see him.”

“When he finds out? — Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

“He’s bound to find out.”

“No he’s not; the only person who’s ever likely to tell him is you.”

“But don’t you think he has some sort of right to see his grandchild?”

“Don’t you mean grandchildren? He’s got a grand-daughter as well you know.”

Chrissies’ mother did a double take. She had unconsciously revealed the fundamental element behind Chrissie’s childhood paternal abuse. Her father only wanted sons; sons to carry on the family name. He had the same mentality as a Chinese peasant or a Wahabist Muslim. Women were deemed lesser beings of no account. When Chrissie had revealed her transgendered condition her father had become totally unbalanced by his own embedded prejudices. Jane and I simultaneously recognised the issues and exchanged knowing glances so I moved to address the impasse. Basically Chrissies’ ex mother needed to understand that until Chrissies’ father resolved his sexist issues there was no way he would ever be allowed to see the twins. I never ever thought I would ever hear myself saying what I said next.

“Mrs Williams, may I call you Ruth?”

She nodded as she turned to listen.

“Very well, Ruth then. I believe your husband is going to need some sort of intensive therapy to resolve his sexism issues. What’s more, you seem to have somehow been infected by his views by somehow going along with his issues. I can assure you that Chrissie will never allow your husband to see the twins if he does not somehow address his issues. Both the twins are equal in this house and Rosy Cottage. Indeed all and everybody is equal both here and in Rosy Cottage regardless of sexuality, gender, transgender or creed. If your husband cannot come to terms with this he will not be allowed to even approach the children anywhere or anyhow.”

“What authority have you got to say that?”

I glanced across at Chrissie who immediately flew to my assistance as rage danced in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare question my mother’s authority! She’s my mother now, not you. You’re only a guest here and you’ll only ever be a guest in my life even if I live to be a hundred! You’re my ex mother and never forget it.

Ruth burst into tears.

“That’s horrible, we were only doing what we thought best.”

“What!!” Shrieked Chrissie, “you thought beating me; - beating me almost to death! - you thought that was what was best?!!”

“Well; no; not that, but we didn’t know, - we didn’t understand.”

“So what you don’t understand you try to destroy, and that includes your own daughter, your own flesh and blood! — As was.

Well do you understand now?”

“Yes.” Ruth sobbed. “I do now.”

“At long last!” Chrissie sighed. “At long bloody last!!”

“I think I’d better go then. Will I ever be able to see them again?”

“You’ll stay right there, or rather right here,” Chrissie declared, “you haven’t even held the little mites yet!”

Ruth’s eyes widened with surprise.

“You mean, - I can, -?”

“I didn’t drag you all the way out here just for you to look at them. I was trying for some sort of, - some sort of, - connection, or re-connection. If only for their sakes. Isn’t that what you want?”

Ruth let out a wail of relief and flung her arms around Chrissie. Words ended in an embrace that would have done credit to a polar bear. Then to my surprise and relief, I saw tears slowly, - ever so slowly; start to form in Chrissies’ eyes. Now there was a rare event.

I glanced at Jane and Sylvia and motioned my head. Sylvia took David’s little paw and we retreated to the kitchen while silently closing the door behind us. It was lunch time before Chrissie emerged with her ex mother each holding a twin in their arms and I was relieved to see that Ruth was holding her grand-daughter.

Chrissie smiled as she gently massaged her breasts and turned to me.

“Feeding time I think mummy, I’ve got milk already. How about you Sylvia?”

“I fed them just before you arrived. They emptied me then so they won’t want much.”

“Oh this isn’t for their benefit. This is for their grandmothers’.”

Ruth glanced around the room at all of us and smiled wanly.

“Do you mind? I mean she’ll be exposing her, - her bre, - her breasts.”

We all shrugged as Jane replied. “We’re all girls here Mrs Williams and we’ve seen it hundreds of times. Both girls feed them here every time they come over and that’s once or even twice a day if not overnight. This is their second home!”

“Soon to be my first when Billy and I get married.” Chrissie added.

“Well yes dear,” Jane agreed, “of course it will. So go on Chrissie, get on with it.”

As she spoke Jane unthinkingly reached up to take some sterile wipes from their box and handed them to Chrissie. I smiled, this single act alone served better than any other to emphasise the relationship our two families had. Chrissie and Sylvia kept as much mothering apparel at Jane’s farm as they did at my cottage. Outside in the back garden Jane had rows of towelling nappies airing in the breeze on the line between her own fruit trees. Exactly the same sight would have greeted anybody entering my orchard. There was baby stuff everywhere and this served only to emphasise the depth and quality of baby care available. None of our children wanted for love and care, all ten of them plus a blossoming teenaged mother were assured of support and love.

Some days later I had cause to reflect on this when by a happy accident I ended up with only Chrissie to help me as I cared for the whole tribe of kids.

Fortunately Jenny, Beatrice, Chenille and Martina were able to help provide the logistics to push the prams and buggies of James and Belinda, Patricia, David and the twins Ruth and Michael. That shopping trip to Poole turned many a head but always in admiration for the older girls behaved impeccably with the toddlers and Chrissie could not have been more proud as she wheeled her double ended pram. In town, at the market our arrival caused chaos as we met up with Sylvia, her mum, sisters and nieces. Sylvia had come to town earlier on other business.

As I took my appointed pride of place dictated by everybody, Chrissie slid up to me proffering her mobile.

“Can I phone my mum, - my ex mum? She’d absolutely love this.”

“Are you sure now Chrissie; she’ll not bring your father will she?”

“She better hadn’t.”

I nodded assent, it would have been cruel not to invite the woman and here was a fantastic opportunity to reinforced Chrissies’ reconciliation with her ex mum. An hour later, Ruth turned up flustered and stressed after a desperate race from Bournemouth. She had wanted to arrive before we ate but we had delayed our lunches until she arrived. Grateful for our indulging her, Ruth could not have been a better guest.

As the frenzied chatter rose to a crescendo I could not help but sit back silently and reflect on my good fortune, then I reflected on my sad ambitions of those few short years ago.

‘Wither now, the cynical, grumpy, grumpy old tranny sea captain?’ I asked myself.

Sylvia caught my reflective gaze and smiled as she nudged Chrissie.

“Penny for your thoughts Skipper?”

I smiled back. Only Angie my wife would normally enjoy the right to call me ‘Skipper’ but on this one occasion I was blissfully happy and relented as I replied smiling.

“They’re worth a sight more than a penny darling.”

“I’ll bet!” Chrissie added as she followed my gaze around the throng of children.

Then without a ‘by-your-leave’ or any other permissions, she shouted over the tumult.

“Everybody! Let’s hear it. Three cheers for Skipper”

A high pitched chorus erupted over the gathering as women and children bellowed their affections. I couldn’t contain my tears as I reflected.

‘Yep Skipper. You’ve come a long way old girl for a transvestite who was once terrified of being accused of paedophilia; you've come a hell of a long way!.

The End.

(Well for now at least.)

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Comments

It comes to an end

Well for now at least! ;)

I must admit, this new and improved version is much more delightful than the original, if darker at times. And even if it skipped from concentrating on Skipper to the entire crowd of Rosy Cottage. :P

Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

Thanks Bev

Frank's picture

What a wonderful tale! I look forward to you posting older and newer stories when you have the time...but can't wait!

{{{HUGS}}}

Hugs

Frank

I Have Enjoyed this Story

...so much! I have looked forward to each chapter. I have laughed... I have cried... I have loved the characters! Thank you so much for a wonderful story.

Diane

Thank You for a Great Story

I just recently started reading this series and say I have enjoyed the story immensely. The depth of the characters is very rich and full. Thank you for such a wonderful story!

Thank you so Much

Miss Beverly,

Next time please add a note at the beginning that tissues will be required. A wonderful end to a wonderful tale.

I would recomend that upon reading this chapter everyone go back and read the first two to three chapters to truly understand and reflect upon the last sentence.

I look forward to your next story.

As always,

Dru

As always,

Dru

End of a Book

Beverly; This has been one great story and maybe someday in the future you'll give us an updated Book Two to this great story. Loved It! Richard

Richard

Thanks a zillion ...

smackeroos and hugaroos to you. Who! Hoo!!!

Hello Miss Beverly! ^____^;-D

Thank you for the story embellishments. You filled in the blanks and holes very good. There is no need for any more Spackle on the walls here. The Rosy Cottage is humming, neighing, crying, laughing, screaming, giggling along merrily.

But there is a new problem I foresee. The population boom and where to put the kids when they grow up and get bigger. The only room I see is when the older kids graduate from school and move out, the younger ones will take their rooms. Then there is the matter of the Great Grand Kids for the next generation and the next generation and the next generation....

Egads! The Rosy Cottage is not a retirement home for Beverly its a love machine estate mansion! giggle...

Have a great week Miss Beverly. Just take your time to recuperate and get your energy restored. That goes the same for everyone here in BC universe!

Rachel

Truly a wonderful story,

Truly a wonderful story, even with the madness created by Chrissie's ex-father and ex-mother. It was rather nice that Chrissie was able to at least have her ex-mother come around and actually start treating her daughter as a true daughter. To the Skipper, I wish 'fair weather, good winds, and God-speed' in all her future endeavors and lots of well wishes to each of her extended family members, new wife and close friends, both Christian and Muslim alike. Jan

Wonderful Rewrite of a Beautiful Story

Beverly,

Your original Skipper was such a beautiful story that I could not imagine how you could make it any better but you did. Thank you so much for writing this story and making my life, and I'm sure many others, so much richer for having read it. I know you have concluded the story but there is one question I wish you had answered in the conclusion. Did Beverly share in the nursing duties with her newest daughter as she did with her other children, James and Belinda? Maybe this can be answereed in the re-posting of "Martina".

From one old sailor to another may you have "fair winds and following seas" for you certainly deserve them.

Lots of love and hugs,

Sarah Ann

I'm sorry Beverly

I cried in this one and possibly last chapter.

A beautiful ending!

Hope you have a great break.

LoL
Rita

Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)

LoL
Rita

Many Thanks

Beverly,

I want to thank you for this magnificent story. I must confess, my week was incomplete without another episode of "Skipper." My week was doubly blessed when through whatever agency two episodes appeared in the same week. Of course the opposite needs not be addressed.

I look at your fictional character and only hope and pray I might find such contentment when my transition if complete. I know it's fiction, but your characters had a life of their own. You beautifully maintained your story line and continuity while giving each character their own voice.

Thank you for such a triumph in writing.

With respect and admiration,
Beth

I was sad to say goodbye

to Beverly (hope its only temporary), After 31 episodes i feel i know her really well, So not having another chapter to read will seem a bit strange at first, But life goes on, And if you feel you need a break from Rosy Cottage Beverly, Then that's good enough for me.

Loved the way Chrissie showed her mother how wrong she was in her treatment of her son when he had told her how he felt, And i must admit at one point i thought Ruth was going to be sent away without ever meeting her grandchildren Thankfully though Chrissie showed the compassion that she had not been shown, So at least one of her ex-parents has got to see her grandchildren.

Will Chrissie's ex-dad get to see his grandchildren....Well maybe that is a question that Beverly will answer when (if as i hope) she writes some more stories of Rosy Cottage.

Love your writing Beverly, And yes i know i don't always comment, But i always read and enjoy your work, Thank you so much for sharing it with us.

Hugs and Votes

Kirri

skipper

well done. few spots dragged but overall i give it a ten. lets see more stories in this vein.
robert

001.JPG

Skipper! Chapter 31

This chapter reminded me of Melissa Dawne Northe and her Tragedy Of The Spirit. Me, I will NEVER comprehend how parents can choose to betray their children.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Thank you!

Thank you for this wonderull story that has left me repeatedly with eyes burning for tears.

Jessica

Excellent

I really like this version. You have out done yourself agian.

James

It's even wonderful the second time

I read this years ago and then forgot about it. I found it from your recent postings and decided to reread "The Skipper." I remember parts but this reading took me places that I didn't go before.

I really love your work, Beverly. I am apparently one of over 2600 readers. You do good work.

Much Love,

Valerie R

What an ending! A bit misty,

What an ending! A bit misty, least I am.

Thank You Beverly Taff

Karen

“Everybody! Let’s hear it. Three cheers for Skipper”

waif's picture

Well done, Miss Beverly. Well done, indeed!

waif

Be kind to those who are unkind, tolerant toward those who treat you with intolerance, loving to those who withhold their love, and always smile through the pains of life.

Thank you

Thank you for this tale.
Stayed up all night to read it :)

Skipper

Jj's picture

Great story, sad to finish it but understand that covered most of the real issues. Well done

Sorry this is so late

I know you long ago finished this story line, and I wish I could have been here to support it all along. I am, as always, astounded by the quality of your writing. I am saddened, however, that I have reached the end of this part, as it means I am ever so much closer to running out of your stories to read. Hopefully I can keep up with the tissues I seem to need so often.

Buried Treasure!

I read this one when I first discovered BC and enjoyed it, but didn't bookmark it. Time and an aging memory erased both the title and author, so I am very glad to have found it again! This time it's safely bookmarked on my computer, which has a far better memory than I do.