We took a taxi straight to our hotel and were soon fast asleep. Next morning, Jenny was up early, excited to see her children. She politely invited me to come along, but I declined, saying that it was her time with her children,and I would be quite happy resting in our room and trying on my new purchases. When she finally returned around one o'clock, I detected a slight smearing of her mascara which suggested she'd shed a tear or two on parting from them.

Our final train journey started at three o'clock, heading westwards toward the sun. As the old train rattled and rolled along the tracks I said to Jenny that I was so glad to have 'proper', albeit artificial breasts, at least for the time being, and I told her a story. Like most people in my position, I filled my bra cups with rolled up stockings or other material, but I never felt the effect was totally satisfactory. Then I had the idea of putting rice in the stockings to give weight to my bra and that felt far more realistic, but there was always the risk of an embarrassing spill., and now that the event was long past, this is a story I shared with Jenny.

I had always prided myself on having tea ready to put on the table when John came home after a hard day's work. After all that's what a wife should do for her husband, old-fashioned though it may seem to today's generation. On this particular day, John had just stabled his horse and gone to freshen up, and I had gone briefly outdoors for some reason when I was caught by an unexpected short sharp shower of rain which drenched me before I had a chance to run in under the verandah. My dress was soaked, so I hurried into my dressing room to remove it, quickly towel myself and run a brush through my hair before putting on a fresh dress, and hurrying back to the kitchen.

I appeared in the dining room with the main course just as John sat down, and we started to eat and discuss the day's events. It was a few minutes before I noticed something odd. My chest area was pushing against the edge of the table, something I was sure wasn't the case a few minutes earlier. I eased my chair back slightly and carried on chatting with John. A few minutes later, there it was again, my chest hard up against the table. I glanced down and it seemed to me my breasts were growing before my eyes. John appeared not to notice anything was amiss. I stuck it out for a couple more minutes, before, with a scarlet face I stood up abruptly and gasped.

“I'm sorry John, you'll have to excuse me.” and dashed out of the room to the safety of my dressing room. What I hadn't anticipated with the shower was that water had seeped through my bra, and we all know what effect water has on rice! By the time I removed the offending articles my 'breasts' were well on the way to Double D or bigger. I dried myself thoroughly, put on another bra, filled the cups with rolled up stockings and after checking that my face was approaching its normal colour, I demurely returned to the dining room and sat down.

“Everything alright, dear?” inquired John, and I assured him that everything was fine.

We carried on eating for a few more minutes, and then he looked up and with a perfectly straight face said, “So, are we having rice pudding for desert?”

I was glad we had the compartment to ourselves as Jenny rolled around with shrieks of laughter, and I couldn't help but join her.

The sun was getting low on the horizon when we arrived at Crane's Halt where Tom was waiting for us with his truck.

“Crikey, you two girls look like you had a good time,” he drawled, as he saw us alight with our suitcases and a couple of extra carry bags. Jenny leapt into his arms for a kiss, and then turning to me he said “And who's this glamorous girl you've brought back with you?”

“Oh Tom, you old smoothie,” I retorted as I kissed him on the cheek, but I was secretly pleased he'd seen the change in my appearance.

As he went to pick up my suitcase he pretended it was too heavy for him.

“Jeez, what have you two girls being buying, a load of bricks?”

“Just a few things so we look nice for our men,” I retorted, and he laughed as he effortlessly lifted it into his truck. We piled into the cabin and set off for the station, arriving there just as the last sliver of sun set behind the hills.

Such a contrast to my first arrival in Tom's truck. This time instead of standing aloofly at the top of the steps, John was immediately beside the truck and opening the door to help me down. He retrieved my case and bags, and we stood arm in arm as we waved Jenny and Tom goodbye. They still had an hour's drive to their home.

Then he held me at arms length and said, “I don't know what they did to you in Brisbane but you look absolutely amazing.“

I blushed of course, but I was so pleased that my man could see the difference in me, even if he couldn't exactly put his finger on how I had changed. Then he picked up my case, and like Tom, pretended to stagger under the weight.

“My, you have been having a good time.”

I felt bad and said “Oh John, I'm so sorry, I went a bit mad. I'll take most of it back on my next trip.”

“Well at least let me see the fashion show first,” he said.

Over supper, I gave him a detailed account of our trip, what the doctor had said, and how encouraged I felt, and of course my new breasts and beauty treatment. Well my account wasn't totally detailed as I omitted the 'dummy spit' outside the beauty salon, as I still felt so ashamed.

Later still, John sat in his chair and watched me do an impromptu fashion parade of my purchases.

“I'll take some back next time, I promise,” I said, feeling so guilty at spending all that money, but it was so typical of John that he replied. ”And deprive me of seeing how pretty you look wearing your new clothes?”

“You are such a sweet man,” I said “and I've taken advantage of your generosity, so I promise that on future trips I will be much more restrained.” I'm glad to say I kept that promise.

Later still, cuddled up in bed, surrounded by his strong arms, and after hearing his compliments about my new 'assets', I made up my mind and said in a small voice, “I have to honest with you. Something happened in Brisbane, John.” He looked at me with something approaching alarm or was it fear?

“It's not about us John,” I said hurriedly, and then I went on to tell him about my little tantrum outside the parlour.

“He started to laugh, which for some reason made me feel cross, since I'd been steeling myself to tell him about this 'big incident' and he didn't seem to take it seriously at all.

“What you did only proves that you are human like the rest of us. I thought for a moment you were going to tell me you'd met someone else, someone closer to your own age instead of an old man like me, and that you didn't want to live out here any more.

“Oh no, I never want to live anywhere else but here — with you!” I cried, flinging my arms around him. “This is my world and I love it. I love you.” Then stupidly I started to cry. He held me in his arms, rocking me like a child until I stopped. Later, I began to see the whole episode from his point of view. I really had blown it up out of all proportion in my mind.

“Darling,” I said “I've been thinking. Do you very much mind living with a drama queen?”

“Only so long as she's my drama queen.”he replied.

Later still, he showed me once more why he was and always will be the centre of my world.

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During my first two years in Australia, and indeed for many years thereafter, I kept up a regular correspondence with my parents back in England. These were the days before email of course, and even 'air letters' as we called them, took close to two weeks to travel between the two countries. Allowing time for writing back, none of us expected a reply within four or five weeks of writing. Years later I was to read my letters again when they were presented to me, carefully stored by my mother in chronological order in cardboard boxes. Rereading them was like a trip back into my past, and I feel for people today now that email has largely replaced the written word. How many of them are deleted, and insights to the past lost? Reading those letters, I could see how rapidly my early bouts of loneliness were replaced by love of my new country. Buried deep within the text I can also see my growing love for John, but did my mother see that too, or did she put my glowing reports of him down to youthful hero-worship?

My parents expected me to complete my two years in Australia and return to England, and with nine months to go, my mother was already enquiring when I would start booking my ticket on the ship. Not knowing how to reply, since by now I was quite sure that I would not live in England again, I chose not to reply to that part of her letter. Three months passed and now Mum was starting to get insistent, and I knew I could not put off a reply much longer. It was going to be difficult enough to tell her I intended to stay in Australia, but how could I approach telling her that the son she had waved off to Australian was rapidly changing into her daughter?

I spend nights lying awake trying to think of a solution that would convince my parents that I wanted this for myself and wasn't under the influence of John as an 'evil Svengali'. Then I had a brain-wave. My cousin Marie! If anyone could understand, she could. Surely she remembered our 'dress-ups' when I was a teenager, and the fun we had together? But could she explain to two very conservative parents the concept of transgender, which would seem totally alien to them? Perhaps they would think that I wanted to become some sort of Danny La Rue, probably the most famous drag artist and comedian of that era. I shuddered at the thought.

I had sent Marie a couple of postcards — the usual ones with pictures of koalas or kangaroos, and a brief note to say I was enjoying my time 'down-under', but now I would have to send her one of the most important letters of my life. So the following morning I sat down to write, frankly describing almost everything that had happened, but omitting the fact that John and I now shared a bed. She could probably work that out for herself anyway. John had asked to take a few pictures of me after I had returned from my first appointment in Brisbane, and I had had the film developed and some prints made at a shop which promised quick service. John wanted me to 'dress up' for the photos, but I was anxious that anyone who saw the photos in our album in the future would not mistake me for a 'drag queen', so instead I wore a simple cotton dress and minimal make-up, although I did curl my hair which had now grown quite long. It occurred to me that these pictures would serve to convince my parents if anything could, that I was quite serious about the path I was taking.

I asked Marie in the letter if she would be willing to visit my parents, explain my situation and show them the photos? Photographs were very different in those days, being black and white and usually quite small in size, but I hoped they would be sufficient to show my present appearance and that I was definitely not a southern 'Danny La Rue'! I knew it was asking a lot of Marie, since I also suggested she tell them of our 'dress-ups' as a way of convincing them that I had had feminine inclinations from an early age. I knew that they might blame her for allowing it to happen, and also for not telling them, so I suggested that she should say she didn't want to worry them at that time and allowed me to do it as a way of 'getting it out of my system'. I concluded by saying that I would give her four weeks, time to make up her mind what to do, and I would not hold it against her if she didn't want to get involved. Then I would telephone her to find out what had happened.

I re-wrote the letter several times, each time fine-tuning it and was about to start on my fifth version which I realised that I was now only doing so to put off the action of actually posting it. I put the letter in the envelope, together with the photos, and gave it to Tom when he called the following day. Then of course I had to wait. Because I couldn't count on the security of the telephone line and the possibility of someone listening in, I waited until my next visit to Brisbane to telephone Marie. It was early in the morning when I rang because it would be evening in England and I would most likely catch Marie at home. The operator took the number, and there were various clicks and noises on the line as I waited. Calling overseas in those days was a big deal and very expensive, so it was reserved for important occasions, and to me this was one of the most important I could imagine. Finally I heard the operator say 'Putting you through' and then I heard Marie's voice.

“Lesley, is that you? I can't believe we are actually talking, how are you?”

“I'm fine Marie, how are you?” I had to resist the temptation to say 'enough of the small-talk, we've only got five minutes' but perhaps she realised that because she did get straight to the point.

“Your timing is perfect because I spoke to your mother only two days ago.”

“Was Dad there too?”

“No he wasn't, but perhaps that's just as well. I get the impression he's even more conservative that your mother!”

I laughed. “You could say that. But how did Mum take it?”

“Well, she was shocked of course. First that you are thinking of staying in Australia, and of course by your news and the pictures. I must say you look very nice though, and of course I remember those fun times we had dressing up.”

“Do you think she will totally reject me?” I said urgently, her reply so important to me.

“I'm sure she won't, in fact they won't I'm sure. You are their only child no matter how you chose to live your life.”

“The difference now, though, is that while back then I was a boy dressing up as a girl, now, however I dress, I know I am a woman.”

“I understand that, Lesley, but it will be a tall order to convince your parents.”

“Well thank you for paving the way Marie. At this point I need to write them a letter and follow it up with a phone call to them. I can tell you though that I've never been more sure of something in my whole life, so even if they disowned me, although I'd be devastated, this is something I must do.”

“Will I ever see you again?” said Maire, and she sounded a bit disconsolate.

“I'm sure you will,” I replied. ”John really wants to see England. He still calls it the 'Mother Country', and I'm sure that at a suitable point in my treatment, together with the work on the Station here, we'll get over there.”

“It sounds an amazing place where you live,” Marie said wistfully.

“It is, and if you can ever get yourself over here for a visit, you know there's a bed waiting for you.”

At that point the operator interrupted to say we had thirty seconds left, so we said our 'goodbyes' and hung up, but before we did so I cautioned Marie to never mention my transitioning should she ever have cause to ring me at the Station. She sounded a bit shocked to think that people might listen in, but I assured her it did happen.

I sat looking at the phone for some time. Now it was time to write to my parents, and afterwards make that difficult phone call. I started on my letter the next day, and this one went through even more drafts before I was satisfied. In it I set out as clearly as I could what I now felt, both about how I wished to live my life and the fact I knew my future lay in Australia. I did not go into details about the surgery I hoped to undertake, nor about the domestic arrangements between John and I. I did not want to give them too much information to deal with that this stage. I included one more picture — in my opinion the one that brought out my femininity the best. I also told them that I would love to see them again as soon as it was possible, and that I would ring them once they had time to digest the contents of my letter. I was still shaking as I watched Tom's truck disappear in a cloud of dust, carrying my letter.

It was another month before I could make that phone call from Brisbane in the late evening. I confess I was calculating in that I timed it so that it was morning in England and my father would be at work, but my mother, a creature of habit, would almost certainly be in the middle of her housework. It wasn't that I was avoiding Daddy, but he was a dominant character, and if they were fighting over who should talk to me that would waste much of my precious five minutes. I also felt I might get a more sympathetic response from my mother and that would stand me in good stead. I went through the usual operator connecting procedure, my heart racing, and then suddenly, there she was.

“Lesley, is that you?” her voice quavered and then steadied as she continued,”Of course it is, who else would ring me from Australia?”

“Yes Mum, it's me,” I replied, and felt the tears well up, but I had to stay in control.

“Oh darling, it's so good to hear your voice, and I promise I won't cry this time.” This was in reference to my phone call last Christmas where I barely heard a word from her in between sobs, and then of course Dad had to say a few words, so it seemed like a wasted exercise.

“You've had my letter and seem my photos, Mummy (Mummy? Where did that come from?). I know it must be almost impossible for you to understand, but believe me, this is the real me now, and I could never go back to living the way I was.”

“You're right darling, it is hard for us to understand, but we will try.”

“I've changed in so many ways. I've grown up now. I actually manage the running of the homestead for John as well as doing the books and he says I do a really good job.”

“I know that dear,” Mum replied. “About a year ago, your father went to see Mr Jenner. We never really believed you went to Australia of your own accord, and finally, Joseph got the truth out of him about your 'indiscretion'.” I could feel myself blushing hotly. This was something I was never going to be allowed to forget.

“But that was me then, not the 'me' now.” I protested.

“We know that now, darling,” Mum went on, “Mr Brodie wrote a letter to Mr Jenner about a year ago, thanking him for sending you out there. He said you were efficient, organised, and totally honest, and he could not have asked for a better person to help him. He also said that you had voluntarily extended your duties well beyond what was required of you, and even managed the running of the homestead. Dad saw the letter.”

I was still blushing, but it was from pleasure now, not shame. I hadn't known about that letter John wrote, and I knew it dated from before our crisis when everything changed, so that had had no bearing on his thoughts at the time.

“You say you are going to live in Australia,” Mum went on “Does that mean we'll never see you again?”

“Oh, I hope not,” I cried. “John desperately wants to see Britain, so I'm sure we'll pay a visit. But it would mean nothing to me unless we can visit you.”

“I'm so glad,” she replied. “Just give me time to get used to the idea that the next time I see my child she will be my daughter.”

“What about Daddy?” I asked.

“You leave him to me darling, and by the way, it was clever of you to ring now while he's at work.”

My mother was no fool, and she was a determined woman. I had no doubt she would work on my father to convince him to accept me as his daughter.

I was blushing again. “I wasn't really to avoid him,” I said, “but we have so little time on this call and couldn't have said half the things we've said if two people were trying to talk to me. I promise I'll ring again one evening your time and talk to him too. Just tell me in a letter when he starts to come to terms with my news.”

We had our thirty second warning and made our 'goodbyes'. I told her I loved her, and she said she loved me. When I put the phone down, then there was time for tears, and I had no doubt at all that they were being shed twelve thousand miles away too.

After a few minutes I composed myself and returned to our hotel room where Jenny was reading a book. My tears were gone but there was no hiding the redness of my eyes.

"How did it go?" she asked, her face full of concern.

“As well as can be expected I suppose,” I replied “But I have hope it will turn out alright, I have to.”

To be continued.