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Dear Auntie Helga, I would like to thank you for stepping into the breach after the sad passing of dear Susan. I know we will all miss her kind comments and advice. The theme of petticoat discipline brings to mind an experience I had back in the 1950's when I lived in England. It wasn't discipline exactly, but it certainly felt like it at the time. It happened one morning in 1956, when I was aged 12, and my mother and I were visiting a lady friend of hers who lived several miles away. Mrs. Turner had a 14 year old daughter called Susan, with whom I used to get on quite well, so we had no difficulty in amusing ourselves while our mothers chatted. Mum and I had planned to go into town for lunch and then to the cinema that afternoon, but when the time came for us to leave we found that it was pouring with rain. We didn't have our raincoats with us, so Mrs. Turner offered to lend us something to keep us dry. She lent Mum a beige poplin raincoat and an umbrella, but in my case, Susan suggested something far less to my liking. She and I both had a mischievous sense of humour, and while her mother pondered what I should wear, Susan glanced at me for a moment and said 'What about my school raincoat?' Looking at me with a mischievous grin, she giggled and took her raincoat down from the hallstand. I thought she was joking for a moment, but I was horrified when Mum said 'Oh thank you Susan, that will keep him dry.' 'What!' I exclaimed, 'Me wear a girl's raincoat? No way, I'd rather get wet thank you.' But Mum was adamant. 'Oh don't be so silly Michael' she said impatiently, 'You'll get absolutely drenched in this downpour without a coat, now for goodness' sake put it on.' When Mum used that tone of voice I knew that further protest was pointless. It was hardly surprising that I was reluctant to wear Susan's raincoat though. She went to Sion Convent Girl's School, and her regulation school raincoat was specific to her school only. It was a light grey rubberised cotton mackintosh, with a buckle belt threaded through two keepers sewn onto the sides of the waist. Appropriately for a girl's mackintosh, it had an attached hood with a maroon lining, and inside the hood were two tie tapes for fastening the hood in a bow under the chin. Like most girl's mackintosh hoods at that time, the back of the hood at the crown of the head was cut straight across. Susan could of course tell what I thought of the whole idea, and grinned with amusement as she held the mac up for me to slide my arms into and pulled it up onto my shoulders. She buttoned it up to the neck, slid the belt through the plastic buckle, and tightened it around my waist before threading it through the belt keeper at the side of my waist. Mum looked at me with a nod of approval, and Susan grinned with amusement as she pulled the hood up over my head. She crossed the tie tapes and tied them in a bow under my chin before giving the hood a final tug forward. I stood there, blushing crimson with embarrassment, and no wonder. There I was wearing what was clearly a girl's mackintosh, with sleeves that came down well over my wrists and a hemline well below my knees. I saw myself in a full-length mirror and felt as if I looked like a proper little schoolgirl. Then as if that wasn't bad enough, Susan suggested I should also wear her black shiny rubber boots as well, and again with the approval of our mothers, I had to remove my shoes and squeeze my feet into them while Mum put my shoes into her bag. Susan looked at me and had a fit of the giggles, saying that I looked just like a Sion girl. When you're a twelve year old boy with a soft complexion that's hardly surprising, and because I was wearing shorts, there was nothing to indicate that I wasn't wearing a dress rather than trousers. Ready to brave the elements, Mum and I said goodbye, and stepped out into the rain. Blushing with humiliation, I walked along the wet pavement with Mum, fervently praying that none of my friends would see me dressed like that. After a few minutes we turned into the main street of the town, and it was then that I noticed three girls wearing Sion Convent school mackintoshes with their hoods up walking towards us. They looked at me, naturally expecting to meet one of their classmates, but when they came closer and realised that it was a boy wearing one of their raincoats, they burst out laughing. Much to my embarrassment they asked Mum why I was wearing one of their school raincoats, and she explained the situation. They knew Susan of course, and kept giggling while I stood there blushing crimson with humiliation. One of them even suggested that next time I should wear their complete school uniform as well, because it suited me. Boy was I embarrassed. Mercifully the conversation soon came to an end, and accompanied by some final teasing comments and a few more giggles from the girls, Mum and I continued on our way up the main street until we reached Lyons Corner House, one of a large chain of old fashioned cafes in the UK at that time.. We went in, and Mum unfastened my hood and arranged it hanging down my back. To me this was even worse. With the hood up, my face had at least been slightly obscured, but now it was clear to every onlooker that I was a boy wearing a girl's mackintosh, and I groaned inwardly as a couple of people looked at me, grinned, and said something to their table companions. It was obvious that I was the source of amusement. We stood in the queue with our trays, filling them up as we moved along. Mum paid the cashier at the end of the food counter, and we looked for a table. We sat down to eat, and I felt that everybody was staring at me, even though they probably weren't. I wanted lunch to last forever. Anything to delay having to go out into the street again wearing Susan's school mackintosh. But the time soon approached for the afternoon matinee showing at the cinema, and we stood up from the table. Then I had a stroke of luck. I looked out of the window and saw that the rain had stopped, so I asked Mum if I could take off the mackintosh. She agreed, and I gave a sigh of relief as Mum helped me to take it off, but insisted that I carry it over my arm. We left the cafe and walked through the town centre to the cinema, and I still felt self-conscious carrying a girl's raincoat, as it was obviously me that was wearing it. Still, that was a million times better than having to put it on. It was only a five minute walk to the cinema, and here I at least had 3 hours' respite from this humiliation that would have embarrassed any full-blooded boy. We went in, and I had the pleasure of temporarily retreating into the world of ancient Rome. I think the film was Quo Vadis? Absorbed by the film, my respite hardly seemed to last any time at all, and when the lights came up at the end we stood up and walked out into the cinema foyer. My heart sank when I saw that outside it was once more pouring with rain. I knew what that meant, and sure enough, Mum insisted that I put Susan's mackintosh on again. She took it from me, and fastened me into it before pulling up the hood and tying it on securely under my chin. There were several children close by to watch my humiliation, and the girls in particular giggled as they saw my mother buttoning me into a mackintosh similar to the ones they were wearing. I blushed crimson as I peered out from under the hood, trying to ignore their amused stares. We set off through the wet streets to catch the bus home, and while we stood waiting at the bus stop, I was acutely conscious of the grins from several passers by as they recognised me as a boy wearing a girl's mackintosh. The bus arrived, and I had the uncomfortable experience of sitting conspicuously at the front of the bus facing inwards in full view of our amused fellow passengers. But eventually we reached home, and as soon as we were indoors, Mum mercifully removed the wet mackintosh and hung it up to dry in the kitchen. At least that was nearly the last time I had to wear a girl's mackintosh. I say nearly, because a few months later I lost a game of forfeits and was taken out for a walk wearing Susan's complete school uniform and mackintosh by her and two of her school friends. One of them was the girl who'd suggested I wear the whole uniform when my mother and I had encountered her in the street, and she hadn't forgotten it. Girls really can have a wicked sense of humour sometimes, especially at that age. Yours sincerely, Michael E. Thank you for your letter Michael. Your experience proves that even something as simple as a girl's mac can be effective in taming a young man's aggressive tendencies. Auntie Helga |