Peter and his mother
visit family who live on the edge of Dartmoor two or three times each
year. Sometimes they go at Easter, sometimes at Whitsuntide and often
in the summer holidays too, but they go every year for Christmas.
Peter and his mother, Gail, travel from their home in Cambridgeshire
the night before Christmas Eve and the very next day there's blizzard
conditions sweeping the entire south of Britain. Xmas travel is
disrupted and for the adults it's a huge inconvenience, but for the
kids it's very exciting because they can have snowball fights, go
sledging and build snowmen... but typically for British snow, it soon
melts and the roads are declared passable for their return journey to
Cambridgeshire on the day after Boxing Day. There are however more
snowstorms forecast overnight so they set off in good time in order
to reach Cambridgeshire before sundown.
The Christmas number
one single Don't You Want Me blasts through the car's crackly
little radio as the leave Dartmoor behind. The car is packed with
their cases and Christmas gifts and both Peter and his mother are
looking forward to returning home after four nights away.
Unfortunately the blizzards come much earlier than forecast and with train travel disrupted, they end up stuck for almost and hour in a jam on the eastbound M5 motorway. Once through that it was plain sailing through Somerset but as the snow begins to fall once more, reports of heavy blizzards over the Wessex downs come over the radio. The M4 motorway is closed and many trunk roads are at a standstill and in a bid to keep moving in a generally east and northerly direction, they find themselves driving some very remote roads for what seemed like hours. Gail, Peter's mother, is worried but remains optimistic. Peter is excited by the giant snowflakes that fall quickly all around. The snow seems to ease off and following the little compass on the dashboard, Gail manages to navigate the narrow lanes in a generally homeward direction, although she has absolutely no idea where they are. At a cross roads is an old wooden pointer sign which states that Banbury is fifteen miles away and Gail is confident that they're heading in the right general direction.
But the snow is thickening and soon it's worse than before. Peter begins to get worried as darkness begins to fall. It's definitely a blizzard now and it's difficult to tell where the road meets the verge. His mother drives at a snail's pace, concentrating intently. “If we stop now we might not get started again.” she feared. Peter kept quiet so his mother could focus on the hazardous conditions, but inevitably they get stuck in a snow drift. “Oh blast... now what are we going to do?” she growled.
“There's a house up there on the hill.” Peter noticed. “But it's miles away.” he said, peering at the distant light. His mother thinks it's no more than a few hundred yards but trudging through the deep snow in the fading daylight is hard going and after ten or fifteen minutes, they eventually approach the remote cottage perched high on the hillside.
“I hope someone’s in and they've not just left a light on.” Peter said as they trudged up the lane.
“Me too.” his mother replied, her concern is evident in her shaky tone. “Otherwise we'll be stuck in the car overnight.”
“If we can even find our way back to it.” Peter said, looking back and seeing nothing but a white-out.
The lady of the house is startled to hear a knock at the door on such a bleak evening. She covertly peers out of a window and seeing a woman and a child covered in snow, she rushes to the door and opens it. “A pair of yetis!” she remarked. “Please come inside.” she said. “You both look freezing.”
“We are.” Peter's mother replied, teeth chattering as the lady shut the door behind them. “Thank you so much.”
“The weather's dreadful.” the lady said. “What are you doing out?”
“Our car got stranded and we saw your light... erm.”
“Oh I see. Come through to the lounge.” she said. “The fire's on.”
“We don't want to impose...”
“If you were I wouldn't have answered the door.” the lady said. “Now what's under this hood? A girl or a boy?” she quizzed, looking at the shivering child.
“A b.. b.. boy.” Peter stammered.
“My son Peter.” his mother said. “We were heading home after spending Christmas in Devon.”
“I see. I'm Lillian.” the lady said. “Where were you headed to?”
“Cambridgeshire.”
“Oh my! Well you won't be getting home today.”
“No.” his mother glumly concurred. “The forecast said it would snow overnight.” she said. “I'm Gail by the way.” she smiled, de-gloving her hand and greeting Lillian formerly.
“Oh you're freezing. I think you both need a nice warm shower starting with you young man.” Lillian suggested since he was so cold he could barely speak.
“Oh you're so kind.” his mother says. After a few minutes warming themselves by the fire, Lillian shows them to the bathroom and points out the bedroom they'll be staying in. “Oh you're so kind Lillian.”
“It's the very least I can do.” Lillian replied.
When Peter and his mother are alone in the bathroom he finally removed his overcoat and she notices something. “So that's why you insisted on keeping your coat on.”
“I'm sorry Mum. That's why I wanted to go back and get my bag from the car.” Peter mournfully replied. “I needed to go for ages and was hanging on... but as soon as we got out of the car it was so cold it just... went.” He gulped and frowned as any thirteen year old boy would having just confessed to wetting himself.
“Well if you'd told me we'd have got your bag.” his mother told him, sighing. “Now it's about a quarter of a mile away and we're not getting it soon. I'll have to see if Lillian can help.”
With his wet clothes bundled, Peter's mother finds Lillian in the twin room she's preparing for them. “I told him not to be too long.” Gail said. “And there's another little problem.”
“Yes.” Lillian replied. “I overheard some of that.” she empathised. “I do have plenty of clothes that would fit him.” she said, opening a wardrobe. “The only thing is...”
“Oh.” his mother said as peered at a wardrobe full of girls dresses. “Those all look far too nice for a boy.” she said, admiring the timeless styles which evoked memories of summer as child.
“Well between you and me, all of these dresses were for a boy.” Lillian said in a hushed tone.
“You're joking?”
“I have a nephew who was a troublesome brat as a child and to curb his mischievous ways, his mother would send him to me for the school holidays and I'd put him in petticoats for the duration.” Lillian claimed. “He's all grown up now and works as a lawyer and I'm very proud of him.”
“He was petticoated?”
“Yes. But I think it'll best if Peter believes these belonged to a girl. It's only until morning.”
“He'd be happier in pants.”
“I know but he wet himself so his pants will need washing.” Lillian replied. “Sorry but I couldn't help but overhear.”
“It's not your fault Lillian. You've been too kind already and he'll just have to make do.”
“Oh it's the least I can do.” Lillian insisted. “Why don't you choose him a dress and I'll find some knickers that don't have my nephew's name embroidered on them.”
“So it's true that petticoated boys had to embroider their names on their knickers?”
“Idle hands and all that.” Lillian smiled.
“Yes.” Peter's mother smiled as she admired the frocks and quickly chose one. “I'd best go check on Peter.” she said, placing a rather sedate dress on the bed.
“Oh Mu-um don't just walk in on me when I’m in the shower!” Peter whined when his mother entered the bathroom.
“Just checking in on you. Don't be too long because showers are expensive.” his mother said. “Now the good news is, Lillian does have a washing machine and some clean dry clothes that should fit you. The bad news is...” she paused.
“It's not a dress is it?”
“I'm afraid so.” his mother frowned. “I found one that isn't too pretty but they are all rather nice. They belonged to a niece who used to stay with her.” she told him.
Peter sighed long and hard. “Just my luck.”
“It's just until morning when your clothes should be dry and we'll be able to get back to the car.” she said. “You'll have to wear some knickers too.” she told him. “And I don't want you moaning and whining about it, especially not to Lillian.”
“I'm supposed to act all grateful am I?” Peter snarled.
“Yes young man, you are!” his mother retorted. “If it wasn't for Lillian we'd be stuck in the car in a blizzard and you'd be sat on a wet seat in wet pants. So you should be grateful for a clean dry pair of knickers, no matter how frilly they are!” his mother told him. “You've got two minutes left. Make sure you're clean.”
Peter hung his head under the torrent of water and muttered to himself. Getting stuck in a snow storm and having to seek shelter in a remote house was rather exiting for a boy Peter's age. It would have been a terrific story to tell his friends at school, especially driving through the blizzard and having to abandon the car, battling through the snow on foot towards the only dwelling around in the fading daylight, hoping for shelter and in literal fear of their lives. Peter imagined telling the whole story to his friends at school... but not the part where he had to wear a knickers and a dress because it was so cold that he'd pissed his pants.
A couple of minutes passed and Peter's mother returned telling him that he'd been in the shower long enough. “Lillian's downstairs making you a nice mug of cocoa.” she added as he wrapped a fluffy towel around himself. “And believe me it's the least prissy dress I could find for you.” she said, leading him into the twin bedroom.
“Mum that's really girlie!”
“Of course it is. It's a dress.” she told him, adding that beggars can't be choosers. Beside the dress is a girlie vest and a very frilly pair of knickers plus a slip and some socks. “The main thing is they're warm and they're dry.” she said.
“Hmm.” Peter frowned. His mother hurried him to dress because she wanted a nice warm shower too and his cocoa would get cold. It was a bit of whirlwind; knickers, vest, slip and an underskirt, plus some socks which are white and knee high with patterns in the knit. “This is so weird.” he said as his mother buttoned him into the dress. His mother told him it was only 'til the morning. “Will I have to wear a nightie as well?” he glumly presumed.
“You will.” his mother said. “Lillian's put one under your pillow.”
Peter glanced towards it. “It's not pink is it?” he said, spying a tiny slither of that colour.
“It doesn't matter what colour it is.” his mother told him. “Think yourself lucky we're not stuck in the car.”
“Yeah I guess.” he sighed. Once dressed his mother sent him downstairs. “Thank you for the clothes Lillian.” he bashfully said as the sweet old lady looked him up and down.
“Oh you're welcome. I'm sorry I don't have any boys clothes for you.” she replied. “But at least they fit.”
“Yeah.” he said, looking down at himself. “It's a very strange wearing a dress.”
“I'll bet it is.” she smiled. “And I know it's no consolation but you do look very nice in it.” she added, handing him a big mug of hot cocoa.
“Thank you.” he bashfully replied. They settled in the sitting room in front of the roaring open fire. Lillian dried his hair with a hairdryer, briefly drowning out the radio which played quietly in the background. Peter felt ever so prim as they made polite conversation; the skirt hung an inch or two over his knees which he kept bolted together and he kept finding himself smoothing the skirt over his lap.
Soon his mother came down wearing one of Lillian's skirts since her pants had gotten wet after the trudge through the snow. “Thank you for the skirt and tights Lillian.” she said. Lillian smiled and said she more than welcome. “How are you getting on Peter?” his mother asked. “Warm enough?”
“Yes thanks.” he bashfully said, smoothing his skirt.
“Your hair looks nice.” his mother commented.
“I blow dried it for him.” Lillian said, revealing an electric hair dryer. “You should dry yours too.”
“Oh, yes.” his mother smiled. “I'll do it upstairs if you don't mind.”
Whilst his mother was gone, a news report came on the radio and talked of the extensive travel disruption due to the adverse weather conditions; heavy snow and blustery winds have caused snow drifts blocking many roads and railway lines and is expected to continue for the next few days. “Oh dear.” Lillian said. “By the sounds of it you might be stuck here tomorrow night as well.” she mused. “At least your own clothes will be dry by the morning so you won't have to endure another day in a dress.”
“It's not so bad.” Peter timidly replied. “But I am looking forward to wearing my own clothes again.”
“I'll bet you are.” Lillian smiled. “Oh!” she remarked as the lights flickered and radio briefly cut out.
“What was that?” Peter asked.
“Probably just the weather.” Lillian said. “This has turned out to be quite the adventure for you hasn't it?”
“Yes.” Peter replied. He considered the blizzard and the closures on the motorway, the traffic at a standstill on all the A roads and making their way along remote country lanes and having to abandon their car and battle on foot through a blizzard. It was all very exciting and will be a great story to boast about at school. “But I don't think I’ll be telling my friends that I had to wear a dress and frilly knickers.” he bashfully added.
“That's understandable.”
“What is?” his mother asked as she entered the lounge.
Lillian recapped the conversation and mentioned the weather report on the radio. “You might be stuck here for a day or two.”
“Oh I hope not. We've already imposed on you enough.”
“Oh I don't mind. It's nice to have some company and I've got a well stocked pantry and freezer.” Lillian smiled.
“And even if we are still stuck, we'll be able to get to the car tomorrow and bring our things.” Peter added.
Lillian fed them with tinned tomato soup and cheese on toast. They watched some TV until Peter began to yawn. “You ready for bed love?” his mother asked.
“Yes I think so.” he replied.
“There's a nightie and some night knickers under your pillow.” Lillian said.
“Night knickers?” Peter quizzed.
“Knickers you wear in bed.” Lillian replied. "They're nice and cosy."
Up in their room, Peter stood patiently whilst his mother unbuttoned his dress for him. The nightwear had been removed from under the pillow and laid out ready. “Do I have to wear those knickers?” he asked.
“Yes you do.” his mother replied.
“But they're pink and even frillier than these.” he whined, looking down at his white knickers which only have frilly trim around the waistband and leg holes.
“It doesn't matter. We're guests and you'll be fast asleep anyway.”
Gail hung the dress on its hanger, keeping her back turned whilst her son changed out of his undergarments and into the nightwear. She turned and smiled and said he looked like Wee Willie Winkie in his nightgown. “Wee Willie Pinkie, more like.” he glumly yet jovially retorted. His mother tittered and told him it wasn't he end of the world. “I know.” Peter said. “It just seems a bit odd that her niece didn't have at least one pair of jeans or long pants.”
“She's probably about my age now and girls didn't often wear pants in the old days.” his mother told him. “And you'll be back in boring boy clothes tomorrow.”
“Boys clothes aren't boring.” Peter replied.
“No but... they're not really nice like this.” his mother said, thumbing the frilled Peter Pan collar of the dress he'd worn. “And you wore it well.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well you remembered to scoop your skirt when you sat and you kept it smooth on your lap and sat with your knees together. I even noticed you straightening your knee socks a couple of times.”
“One of them had a baggy cuff and kept slipping.” Peter claimed. “I must've looked like such a girl.”
“You looked like a boy in a dress and you wore it well.”
“I still look like a boy in a dress.” he said, looking down at the baby pink nightie
The next morning Peter wakes having slept soundly under numerous sheets and heavy blankets. His mother sleeps silently and soundly in the other single bed, also wearing a nightie Lillian gave her. His bed is beside a window and being as quiet as a mouse, he parts the curtains and peers out across the snowiest landscape he'd ever seen. It's no longer dark yet it's a good while off sunrise so the blanket of snow is an eerie shade of bluey grey. Skeletal trees stand out starkly against the frosty background. He tries to work out where the road might be and wonders if his mum's car might be seen, but it's probably underneath a snowdrift, he mused.
His mother shifts in her slumber. Peter glances over his shoulder and in doing so his gaze is caught by the dress he'd worn. It wasn't so bad for dress, he supposed, although it's very old fashioned; the style seen in old movies from the 1930s or 40s. He recalled his mother saying that he 'wore it well' since he scooped the skirt, sat with his knees together and kept tending his socks. He mused over how strange it would be if boys routinely wore dresses; maybe not everyday but just on the odd occasion such as a church service or a family function. Peter skewed his jaw and glanced down at himself. He remembered his mum saying that he looked like Wee Willie Winkie and considered that once upon a time it was normal for boys to wear nightdresses. He wondered if they also wore frilly 'night' knickers too but quickly deduced that they probably didn't. Unlike the knickers he wore under the dress, the night knickers have row after row of frills across the back. Their bulk is clearly visible on his rump. It must be so weird being a girl, wearing stuff like this all the time, he pondered... before reminding himself that his clothes are very old fashioned and girls these days wear far more mundane clothes.
He distracts himself from his effeminate attire with the view from the window and whimsically imagines living somewhere like this. There's not a single house in sight; just fields, hedgerows, dry stone walls, trees and the occasional barn. All the space in the world and not a single thing to do but play out and explore, he thought as he focused on a copse of tall naked beech trees, encompassed by a stone wall. As the twilight ebbed, more of the landscape was revealed and Peter again tried to find the road on which the abandoned car might be. The road was soon revealed by a distant vehicle appearing. It has flashing amber lights and Peter gets excited assuming it was a snow plough, but when it emerged out of the trees and Peter could see it properly, it was a just tow truck. “Mum.” he said, lowly and slowly as he watched the vehicle drive into the distance. “Mum.” he said, a little bit louder.
“Hmmm.” his mother sounded, slipping out of her slumber.
“I think the car's been towed.” he said as she slowly opened her eyes.
“What?” his mother groaned, still feeling sleepy.
“The car. I think it's gone.” he said.
“It's probably under a snowdrift.” she yawned.
“I think I just saw it on the back of a tow truck.”
“A tow truck?” she quizzed. “Our car?” she said as she sat up in bed, still clearly half asleep.
“A beige Austin Maxi.”
“And you're sure it was ours?”
“Well I'm not certain but it was the same colour and model.” he said as his mother hastily peered out of the window. “It's long gone now.” he told her, pointing out the row of trees lining the road he'd seen it on.
“I'll be surprised if a tow truck managed to get through all that snow, let alone tow a car away.” she commented since the snow fall is far worse this morning than it was when they abandoned the car.
“I'm just telling you what I saw.” Peter said. “I hope I'm wrong. Otherwise we're stuck here and all I've got is dresses to wear.”
“You've got clothes in the wash. They'll soon be dry.” his mother reminded him.
“Oh yeah.” he replied. He felt a great sense of relief.
“But it was quite nice seeing you in a dress yesterday. Was it as bad as you feared?” she asked.
“No it was OK.” Peter admitted. “It was nice and warm.”
“Well you had lots of layers on; vest, slip, underskirt plus the dress.”
“I could've done without the frilly knickers though.” Peter frowned.
“They are very frilly aren't they.” his mother grinned. “But definitely better than no knickers at all when you're wearing a dress.” she added. “Did you sleep well?”
Peter nodded. “Best sleep I’ve ever had.”
His mother smiled. “So having to wear a pink nightie and knickers wasn't so bad after all?”
“I could do without all the frills.” he said, twisting himself to look at his backside. “You can even see them through the nightie.”
His mother looked at his rump and smiled approvingly. “You look very cute.”
“I'm a boy. I'm not supposed to look cute.”
“Well that's a pity because cute suits you.” his mother smiled.
“Oh don't tease me.”
“I'm not. You said yourself it was OK wearing a dress.” she reminded him. “It'll probably take a couple of hours to get your clothes dry so you might have to wear it again for a while.”
“Hmm.” Peter responded.
“Are you OK with that?”
“I don't have much choice do I?”
“You could maybe wear a different one. There's plenty to choose from.”
“I don't think Lillian would want me wearing more of her nieces clothes.”
“Well we'll ask.” she smiled. “Come on, it's gone eight and we can't stay in here all morning.”
Peter slid his feet into a pair of dainty slippers that Lillian had provided and donned a baby blue quilted dressing gown with a round collar and lots of white lace trim. It bears little resemblance to a modern towelling robe, Peter thought as he tied the belt. “It's like we've stepped back in time.” he said, peering around the decades old décor and furnishings of the twin bedroom.
“It is a very quaint cottage.” his mother agreed as she donned a warm fleecy robe. “With lots of lovely things.” she said, thumbing the lace on his collar. Between their two beds is a dressing table from which she grabs an old oval hairbrush.
“Oh Mu-um.” he moaned as she pulled it through his hair.
“You've got bed-head.” she said. She began brushing her own hair. Peter loitered and nervously considered the prospect of spending the next few hours dressed in girls clothes. It made more sense to just wear the nightwear until his own clothes are dry, but he might have to wear the dress again and he has a feeling his mother might ask Lillian if he can try a different one.
They went downstairs where Lillian pottered around the kitchen. She seemed somewhat flustered as they politely greeted one another. Concerned, Gail asked if everything was OK and Lillian replied, “I've got some bad news for you.” She cast her empathetic eyes on Peter.
“It's the car isn't it.” his mother said.
“The car?” Lillian quizzed.
“Peter said he saw a car similar to ours on the back of a tow-truck this morning.”
“In all this snow?” Lillian remarked.
“Apparently so.” Peter's mother said.
“It's true.” Peter insisted. “I'm not saying it was Mum's car but it was definitely the same model and the same colour with loads of snow on the roof.”
“Oh dear!” Lillian gasped. “We'll I certainly hope it wasn't your car.”
“There's only one way to find out.” Peter said. “And I can't wait to go out in the snow!” he enthused.
“Ah yes.” Lillian shakily said. “About my news.” she cautiously began.
“Oh yes.. erm... it's not too bad I hope.” Gail said. “Can we help?”
“I'd best show you.” Lillian replied as she led the way past the pantry and downstairs loo. “My washing machine is in the lean-to which is a hundred years old and needs knocking down.” she said, leading them into the rickety frigid space. The washing machine sits below an electric tumble dryer with its door wide open. “I can only imagine, in that brief power cut when the lights flickered last night...” Lillian said as they peered into the open washing machine. “...that it stopped mid-cycle and your clothes have been sat in water all night long...”
Peter wasn't quite sure what he was looking at but listened intently to Lillian's explanation. “Is that ice?!” he realised.
“I'm afraid so. It's frozen solid and I've been trying to pry it out all morning.”
“So I really am stuck here with nothing but dresses to wear.” Peter sighed.
“Only if the car you saw was ours.” his mother optimistically replied.
“I'm pretty sure it was Mum.” Peter frowned.
“Well we'll have to go and look.” his mother said.
“I can't go!” Peter remarked. “I haven't got any clothes.”
“There's plenty of clothes Peter.” Lillian informed him.
“I know.” Peter frowned. “But they're all girl's clothes.”
“Well you'll just have to make do.” his mother said. “And you did say it was OK wearing a dress yesterday.”
“I know but I can't go out in the freezing cold and snow wearing a dress.”
“Of course you can. Girls wear dresses all year round.” Lillian said. “So long as you've got plenty of layers.”
“But I'm a boy.” Peter said. “I can't go out wearing a dress.”
“No one's going to see you because there's no one around, and even if they did they wouldn't know you from Adam.” his mother replied.
“And who wouldn't pass up a chance to play in snow like that?” Lillian said as she peered out of the frosted windows. “Come on lets get back to the kitchen... it's freezing in here.”
“Literally.” Peter groaned, glancing at the washing machine.
The adventure he could tell his friends is getting more and more bizarre; ...so not only did I have to wear a dress whilst my clothes were in the wash, the washing machine broke and the water inside it froze so my clothes were stuck inside a massive block of ice twice the size of the washing machine door... and Mum's car got stolen and we were stuck there for a week! There's nothing wrong with a bit of exaggeration and Peter knew they'd be home the following day at the latest. Even without a car there's trains, he hoped.
They enjoyed toast and marmalade for breakfast washed down with sweet hot tea. “I hope we're not eating you out of house and home Lillian.” Gail said. The amicable middle aged lady said that she's always well stocked in winter because there's always a day or two she'll be snowed in, and having lived through the big freeze in the sixties when the house was cut off for almost a fortnight, Lillian wisely keeps stock for a month. “So I've got more than enough to feed the three of us.” she told them.
“Do you have a car Lillian?” Peter asked.
“Of course. You can't live all the way out here without a car.” she said. “I'll show you.” she stated in a cautionary tone. Lillian points out a huge snowdrift at the side of the house.
“I thought that was just a small hill” Peter said.
“Well underneath that hill... is my garage, and inside my garage is my car and that won't be going anywhere before everything's thawed.”
“It'll be fine Peter.” his mother assured as she put her arm around his shoulder. “It'll be an interesting experience, dressing like a girl for a day or two.”
“It's an embarrassing experience.” he glumly said. Lillian cast an empathetic eye on the boy. “Not that I'm ungrateful.” Peter quickly remarked. “We're really grateful. You're being so kind to us.”
“Well the pleasure's all mine young man. It's nice having some company and I can only apologise for not having any suitable clothes for you.”
“That's OK.” Peter frowned. “I'll just have to cope until we can get home.”
“At least the clothes Lillian has are about your size.” his mother optimistically said.
“Hmm.” Peter frowned. “I'll just have to wear that dress again I guess.”
“That'll need airing for an hour and a day.” Lillian chirped.
“I've not heard that saying since I was a girl.” Gail remarked. She was momentarily transported back to her postwar childhood. Before everyone had a washing machine, clothes would be worn once and aired for 'an hour and a day' which saved constant washing by hand. Peter asked what it meant. “It means you don't wear the same thing two days running.” his mother told him. “You can choose if you want.” she smiled.
“Great.” Peter frowned.
“I'll put you some clean knickers out.” Lillian said as she tottered out of the kitchen.
“I'll clear up in here.” his mother said as she began tidying the breakfast table.
“Lillian acts like it's completely normal....” Peter said in a hushed, secretive tone. “...me dressing like a girl.”
“Well like it or not, you don't look completely abnormal. I think we tend to assume that boys would look silly in dresses but... you don't.”
“I thought I’d feel sillier than I do.” Peter replied. “And at least no one else is here to see me.”
“That's the spirit.” his mother smiled before suggesting he go and choose one whilst she's tidying the kitchen. “...then I'll come and button you in.”
“I'll choose one without any buttons on the back.” Peter said.
“I think you'll find they've all got buttons on the back Peter.”
“Really?” he quizzed. His mother nodded. “Hmm.” Peter frowned. “That was the worst bit... being buttoned in and buttoned out. Wearing it wasn't so bad.”
His mother grinned. “I couldn't keep still when Granny used to button me into my dresses. It drove her to distraction.” she chuckled. “The ordeal took twice as long as it would had I stayed still.”
“Hmm.” Peter responded. “Can I help in here?”
“I'm almost done now.” his mother said. “You go and see if you can find a dress you like.”
“I won't find one I like.” he grumbled.
“Well see if there's one that looks nice and warm.” his mother suggested.
Peter went upstairs. Lillian is nowhere to be seen but laid neatly on his bed is a pair of frilly knickers and a lace trimmed vest. Girls don't normally wear knickers this frilly but maybe they did twenty or thirty years ago, Peter mused. The thought of wearing someone else's underwear daunts him more than it being girl's underwear, but what choice does he have? Once they're on he can forget about them.
“Ah. There you are.” Lillian chirped as she passed the twin bedroom. “Is Mummy downstairs?”
“Err... yes.” Peter replied. She scuttled off and he opened one of the two wardrobes, fearful of what he might find. It was all women's clothes; mostly muted and mundane and clearly far too big for a boy like Peter. “Eugh.” he grimaced when he opened the other wardrobe. These dresses are clearly about Peter's size; all the colours of the rainbow arranged with dazzling randomness and a strong indication of plenty of frills and lace. He stood aghast for a moment. He couldn't decide whether to start at one end of the other or to just delve into the middle of them all.
“Lillian suggested I come and help.” his mother said as she entered. “Are these your knickers?” she knowingly said, smiling at the garments on his bed.
“They're not mine.” Peter whined, before conveying his displeasure at having to wear second hand underwear.
“Lillian told me that her niece only wore knickers that she'd embroidered her name on, so if there's no name, they're not second hand.” she said, picking up the panties. “So you've nothing to worry about.”
“Girls do some weird things.”
“You've got your name on the undies you wear for school.” his mother reminded him.
“Yeah but I didn't embroider it on them.”
“She probably didn't have a TV or video games.” his mother replied. “Embroidery was a popular pastime.”
“Yeah I guess.” Peter replied as he glared at all the dresses. “How do you even begin to choose one?”
“Well some of them are summery so those aren't suitable at this time of year. A lot of them are party dresses and you're not going to a party.” his mother said, quickly fanning through them at random and giving him a brief glimpse of each. “What you're looking for is a heavy fabric like this.” she said, removing a green plaid dress with a broad round collar made of lace. Peter didn't like it, specifically the collar. “We're looking for something that'll be nice and warm in the winter.” his mother said, adding that him being a boy he probably wont like many of them.
“Any of them.” Peter corrected.
“In that case it doesn't matter which one you wear.” his mother said. “Keeping warm is the main thing if we're going out in the snow.” she said.
“Do I have to go out?”
“You'll regret it if you don't.” his mother said. “Chances are it'll have turned to slush by teatime and I for one want to build a snowman.”
Peter conceded and they did got out in the snow. His 'just above the knee' woollen dress along with a petticoat and two underskirts, plus an over coat kept him cosy. On his legs he only wore knitted white knee socks which were surprisingly adequate and only his knees felt the brunt of the cold but even that was bearable. On his head he wore a bobble hat and woollen mittens kept his hands toasty and warm, and on his feet his own rugged winter boots which had dried out after their impromptu arrival during the blizzard the day before. “I didn't realise it was so far.” his mother said as they walked down the long winding lane. It's muddy cart ruts hidden under a thick blanket of glistening white snow. It takes twenty minutes to walk to where she thought they'd left the car, but a few corners later they found the spot where they'd abandoned it, marked by a snow free patch on the tarmac. “They must've towed it because it was in the middle of the road.” his mother realised. “I thought I’d pulled in to the side.”
“We couldn't see the road so you had no way of knowing Mum.” Peter said. “It's not your fault.”
“Well I am feeling guilty for not letting you grab your bag.” she told him. “I wish you'd told me why you needed it, then I definitely would have brought it.”
“It's my own fault I guess.” he said. “At least I've got something to wear even if it's not what boys normally wear.” he surmised.
“That's the spirit.” his mother smiled. Bashfully Peter smiled back. “Come on. Let's get moving. Your knees will be getting cold.” his mother suggested.
“I was just about to say that.” Peter remarked. They began to stride back along the snow covered road Only the tyre tracks of the tow truck and their own footprints have disturbed the thick covering of snow. “They warm up quite quick once I'm moving.” Peter said.
“Your knees?” his mother replied.
“Yes.” he said. “I always thought it was mean making girls wear skirts to school in winter, but it's not so bad really.”
“It's different when it's windy.” his mother said. “Nice warm tights make a big difference. It's a pity Lillian doesn't have any that'll fit you.”
“These socks are OK.” Peter replied, kicking out his foot. “Very girlie but definitely warm enough.”
“I think they're cute.” his mother commented. “Even with those boots.” she added. Not only do his bright white knee socks have a decorous pelerine knit, there's also an inch of frilly white lace around the cuffs. The overtly effeminate socks stand in stark contrast to his very boyish winter boots.
“They'd look better with girls boots.” Peter noted. “Mine are too boyish.”
“I never thought I'd hear you say something was too boyish.”
“Too boyish for my socks. Not too boyish for me.” Peter stated. His mother just smiled in response. They strode along the snowy road with a relatively brisk pace. It felt so much further from the where the car was to the end of the lane but in the previous day's blizzard they could see barely ten yards ahead so any sense of distance was guesswork at best. As they turned onto the lane that wavered up the hill to Lillian's remote cottage, Peter's mother came out with the most predictable statement by saying that it looked like a scene from a Christmas card. “It is very quaint.” Peter said. “Like we've stepped into another world.” he mused.
“A world where boys clothes and girls clothes are exactly the same.” his mother smiled.
“Something like that.” Peter concurred, chuckling nervously.
“Well enjoy it while you can. You'll be back in boring old boy's clothes once the washing machine's defrosted.” his mother said.
“How long's that gonna take?”
“Well it's a lump the size of a turkey and that would take a day to defrost.” his mother replied. “But once it's defrosted enough to actually get it out of the machine we can put it in the warm and it'll be a lot quicker.”
“So I'm gonna be wearing a dress all day long.”
“Mm hmm.” his mother confirmed. “You could maybe try a different one this afternoon.” she suggested as they trekked up the lane, each following a cart rut and dodging the frozen puddles of mud. “Part of me wants to see you in one of those party dresses.”
“They're far too prissy.” Peter grumped.
“I know but that's the whole point.” his mother said.
“They're not for winter though. That's why you chose me this dress.”
“I know but later on when we're indoors it'd be OK. It might even be fun.”
“For you maybe.” Peter said. “You like nice dresses.”
“You might too if you stopped thinking like a boy all the time.”
“I can't help that because I am a boy.”
“I know. And I know it must be awkward for you.” his mother replied as they trudged ever closer to the charming cottage. “But if you do let me put you in something nice, I might have to put some ribbons in your hair.”
“You're not exactly selling it to me.” Peter glumly replied.
They trudged up the remainder of the lane in relative silence. Peter listened to the sound of his boots crunching into the snow. He loves the way it feels as they sink through the frost, crushing and compacting under his weight. The layers of garments under his dress swish around and between his legs, keeping the cold off and only his knees can feel the chilly air, which is no worse than feeling it on his cheeks. Deplorable as his girlie white knee socks are with their fancy knitted pattern of stripes and snowflakes, they do keep the wintry chill off his calves and shins most admirably. “Are you warm enough?” his mother asked.
“Mm hmm.” Peter replied, sounding more than satisfied.
“My toes have gone numb.” his mother told him.
“We'll be home in a few... I mean, at Lillian's, in a few minutes.”
“You sound like you've settled in.” his mother grinned. “Would you like to live somewhere like this?”
“I don't know. I'd soon get bored not having my mates just down the road, and no cinema or a bowling alley to go to.”
“You'd have hobbies to occupy your time.” his mother replied. “Such as embroidering your name on your knickers.” she giggled.
Peter grimaced at the thought. “It'd be good in the summer. Exploring the fields and forests. Camping out and climbing trees.”
“Yes I bet it's lovely in the summer.” his mother replied, adding that it's lovely in the winter.
They reached the cottage and stomped the snow from their boots on the doorstep before pushing open the big wooden door. “Did you find it?” Lillian optimistically asked as they entered.
“No.” Peter's mother replied. “We found the bare patch of tarmac where I'd left it... right in the middle of the road which is probably why it got towed.”
“Oh dear.” Lillian said. “And with the phone lines down you can't even call the highways commission to find out where it is.”
“I can't see those getting fixed any time soon.” his mother huffed, helping Peter out of the woolly winter coat. “I'm sorry we're such a burden on you Lillian.”
“You're not a burden. You got stuck in the snow and you're in need of accommodation and that's one thing I've got plenty of.” Lillian stated as Peter unbuttoned his dark blue dress coat. “Were you warm enough Peter?”
“Oh yes.” Peter said. “I never imagined a dress could be so cosy when it's this cold.” he said. “I think it's all the underskirts.” he added, swishing his hips a little.
“Layering is the key.” Lillian proudly replied. “You should go and take a couple of them off now you're back indoors. In fact I'll come and see if we can find you some indoor shoes to wear.”
“There's those slippers.” Peter said.
“Slippers are for bedtime really, when you've got your nightie on.” Lillian said. “You can't wear them all day long because the soles would wear out.” she stated.
“Do you mind if I put the kettle on Lillian?” his mother asked, blowing warm air into her cupped hands.
“Oh of course. Don't ask. Just make yourself at home.” Lillian replied. “Come along Missy.” she said to Peter.
“Missy?” Peter quizzed.
“Sorry... it's the dress.” Lillian smiled.
A few moments passed before Peter returned wearing a pair of shiny black Mary Jane's with a stout two inch heel. “They certainly go with your socks.” his mother commented as Peter shyly presented himself.
“They've got heels.” he replied under his breath and seeming somewhat dismayed.
“I guessed as much when I heard you coming down the stairs.” his mother said. “Do you want a hot drink?” she asked. He nodded. “Well sit down. You're not on display.” she said as he stood sheepish and awkward by the kitchen door.
Peter scurried to the table, his heels clattering all the way. He scooped his skirt and sat and noticed his mother smiling at him. “What?” he asked.
“I know you won't like me saying it... but that dress does suit you.” she told him
Peter considered his dress for a moment and said it would be better without the lacy collar. “But there were worse ones I could've worn.” he added considering some of the other dresses in the wardrobe. “Which you'll probably think are the nicest.”
“Which means you know they're the nicest.” his mother smiled
“What's the nicest?” Lillian asked as she appeared.
“We were just talking about all the dresses in the wardrobe.”
“Oh he can try anything he likes.” she said. “It's nice to see them getting some wear again after all these years. I sometimes wonder why I bother keeping them at all.” she chirped. “But it's a good job I did.”
“It certainly is.” Peter's mother agreed, smiling triumphantly at her son. “Can I make you a hot drink Lillian?” she asked.
“Oh that'd be lovely.” Lillian replied. “I've got the fire going in the sitting room so why don't you go in there Miss Pe... sorry... Peter.”
“Easy mistake to make considering.” Peter's mother said as he gasped.
Bashfully, Peter said it was OK as he stood. He took his mug of coffee into the lounge, making sure he didn't spill any and paying very close attention to his elevated heels. They were noisy on the hard floor but silenced themselves on the carpeted sitting room floor. Peter put the cup on a coaster before sitting himself down. This time he consciously scooped his skirt and smoothed it on his lap. He couldn't help but observe the shiny black Mary Jane shoes on his feet, and he can't deny that they're perfect with his knitted white knee socks but he could deny that they're not ideal for any boy.
“That was a heavy sigh.” his mother said as she entered the sitting room. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“I was just thinking about what a pickle I've got myself into.” Peter told his mother.
“It could be worse.” his mother said. “And it's not your pickle. It's our pickle.”
“I know... but I should have said why I needed to get my bag from the car.”
“You were just embarrassed, which is understandable.” his mother empathetically told him.
“We're lucky that Lillian's so kind.”
“That's very nice of you to say Peter.” Lillian said as she joined them. “I'm only doing what anyone would have done.” she added, placing a plate of biscuits on the coffee table
“We can't thank you enough Lillian.” his mother said. “If there's anything we can do, any chores or...”
“Oh I'm sure I can find something for you to do, but you don't need to do anything for the time being. Just relax and warm yourselves up.” Lillian smiled. “Let's see if there's anything on the TV shall we?” she suggested. “Would you do the honours Peter?”
“Erm... OK.” he said, sheepishly standing and awkwardly stepping toward the TV in the corner with his skirt and petticoat swishing around his legs. He parted his fringe before pushing the big power button and waited a moment for a picture to appear. Lillian directed him the TV guide in the magazine rack and Peter bent to reach it.
“You should always crouch when wearing a dress Peter.” Lillian said as he grabbed the Radio Times. “So you don't flash your knickers.”
Peter gasped and blushed. One hand found the back of his skirt. “It's not that short.” he bashfully confirmed as he handed the magazine to Lillian. She smiled and asked if the TV Times was also in the rack and this time Peter crouched to reach it. Lillian thanked him. “You're welcome.” he timidly peeped.
Peter mother couldn't help but watch as he sat himself down, scooping and smoothing his skirt, keeping his knees together and acting genuinely ladylike. On the TV he watched Why Don't You..?, Go With Noakes, King of the Rocket Men and Nancy Drew before having lunch which was home made soup and home made bread which was so much better than the shop bought stuff he's accustomed to. Peter and his mother washed the dishes afterwards and his mother suggested they build a snowman and after that, he should try a 'nice' dress before watching an afternoon movie on the TV. “So long as it's not too nice.” Peter apathetically replied.
“You probably think the dress you're wearing is too nice.” his mother replied.
“It's OK, for a dress.” he replied. “At least it's not pink or flowery.”
“So anything so long as it's not pink or flowery?” his mother asked.
“I suppose.” Peter grimly agreed.
Lillian entered “There's a couple of lumps of coal and a carrot for the snowman.” she said, placing those on the table. “I'll find an old scarf.” she added.
“Oh thank you Lillian.” his mother said. “Do you think we'd be able to build it in the field so we can see it from the sitting room?”
“Ooh that'd be nice, and yes it'd be fine.” Lillian smiled.
“Is it your field?” Peter asked.
“No it belongs to Wychwood Farm.” she replied.
“That sounds like something out of a ghost story.” Peter said.
“It does a bit.” Lillian smiled. “You might want to put your boots on young man. Mary Jane's aren't ideal in deep snow.”
“I don't imagine they'd be much good in shallow snow either.” Peter replied as he looked down at his girlie footwear. “Are you coming out too Lillian?” Peter asked, noticing some ankle high boots on her feet in place of the usual house shoes she wears.
“Just to fill the coal scuttle and fetch some firewood.”
“I can help.” Peter offered.
“Thank you but you'd only get coal dust on your socks.” Lillian smiled.
Lillian bundled the metal coal scuttle and wicker log basket through the back door and once through, Peter's mother complimented him on how polite he's being. “Well we are guests.” Peter replied. And it's hard not be polite when I'm dressed like this, he thought to himself.
“We are. So you keep it up.” his mother smiled. “I can't help but wonder if... no it doesn't matter.”
“What?” Peter asked. His mother said it was nothing. “You think it's because I’m wearing a dress?”
“If anything I thought having to wear a dress would put any boy in a bad mood.” his mother replied. “I know you're not happy about it.” she added, sending him an empathetic smile.
“Well I've got to make do with what I've got, I suppose.” Peter replied. “Isn't that what Granny always says.”
“It is.” his mother said.
“I think it's warming up a little out there.” Lillian said as she returned with the coal scuttle and log basket. “So hopefully that block of ice in the washing machine might start to defrost.”
“I'd forgotten about that.” Peter's mother remarked. “I meant to keep checking.”
“I just have. No change I'm afraid.” she said, frowning at the boy. “I think you'll be stuck in a dress for the rest of the day.”
“That's OK.” Peter meekly replied. “I think I'm starting to get used to it now.”
“Good.” Lillian smiled.
With the kitchen tidied, Peter and his mother donned their outdoor boots and coats, hats and gloves and went out to build the biggest snowman either of them had ever built. The lambskin mittens and warm woolly hats keep them toasty and warm as they busy themselves making huge snowballs and stack them three high. They fill in the gaps with clumps of snow to create a tall proud body before putting its head on top. The coals and the carrot give it eyes and a nose and Peter finds a short bent stick to give it a smile. The finishing touches are the old scarf and flat cap Lillian had given them. Peter and his mother stand back to admire their creation. “I wish I had the camera.” his mother said. “No one will believe we built a six foot snowman.”
Lillian and Gail chatted about all sorts of things; work, family, holidays, etc. It was revealed that Lillian lived in Australia for a few years which made Peter's ears prick up. “Australia sounds exciting.” Gail said and Lillian said it was, but also very hot. Lillian had emigrated there in the 1960s but only stayed a few years before coming back to England where there's seasons to both enjoy and endure. “So have you lived in this house since you came back?” Gail asked.
Lillian nodded. “I wasn't quite prepared for the winters but with a little planning and preparation it's easy enough to manage.”
“Well we certainly weren't prepared were we Peter.” his mother jovially confessed.
“You can say that again.” Peter replied. “We're just lucky we found you Lillian.” he said, smiling at their host.
“We certainly are.” his mother agreed. “Are you sure it's OK if he tries one of the party dresses?” she asked.
“If he doesn't they'll just hang there doing nothing.” Lillian said. “You can wear anything you like young man.” she smiled.
Peter didn't have the heart to say that he didn't want to wear a prissy party dress. Instead he slowly sipped the hot chocolate and hoped that whichever dress came next wouldn't be too bad, but being a 'party' dress his hopes weren't too high. “Don't forget to leave your dress out to air Miss Pe... sorry, Peter.” Lillian said as his mother suggested they go and find something 'nicer' to wear.
“That's the second time she's nearly called me 'miss' Peter.” Peter commented as he and his mother reached the top of the stairs.
“Well it's an easy mistake to make I suppose.” his mother replied.
“I'm not a girl though... even if I am wearing a dress.”
“I don't think Lillian's mistaking you for one.” his mother told him. “I wouldn't worry.” she advised, tauntingly adding “Miss Peter.”
“Oh don't you start as well Mum.” he dourly replied.
“Under the circumstances it kind of suits you.” his mother grinned.
“That's the problem. I know it does.” Peter grimaced. His mother grinned and opened the wardrobe door. Peter gulped at the resplendent display of effeminate items within and found himself facing them for a several minutes whilst his mother unbuttoned his dress. “Surely normal girl's dresses don't have this many buttons?” he asked after few minutes of having his buttons undone one by one.
“These are decades old remember.” his mother said. “These days they'd just have a zip.” she added.
After being buttoned into a party dress and trying on some matching girls shoes, Peter said “It's weird that everything just happens to be my size.”
“Maybe we are still stuck in the car and this all just a crazy dream?” his mother replied, adding “I hope not.”
“Why?” Peter enquired.
“Because that would mean we're both unconscious, in a car, in a blizzard.”
“Oh yeah.” Peter realised.
“I think it's just a happy coincidence that you're about the same size as Lillian's niece was, and fortunate that she kept hold of her dresses all these years.”
“I wish she had a nephew instead.” Peter said.
A wry smile swept his mother's face but she didn't let him see it. Peter's mother did feel a little discomfort in deceiving her son but it's probably for the best. Maybe she'll tell him when they're on their way home that he'd been wearing boy's clothes all along... but would he believe her? “Shall we go and show Lillian?”
“I guess.” Peter apathetically replied. “I wont' have to curtsey or anything will I?”
“She's not the Queen.” his mother giggled. “Just be yourself.” she suggested.
Fearful of a torrent of glowing compliments from Lillian, Peter was quite relieved when she casually said it was a nice dress and that he'd found the matching shoes. “You sit yourself down. There's a film starting shortly.” Lillian said. His mother offered to make a hot drink and Peter sat staring at the TV, bewildered by the fact that he could see the frills protruding from his shoulders in the corner of each eye.
Not an hour goes by when Peter doesn't think If my friends could see me now and wonders how he'd even begin to justify his predicament to them. He imagined they were stranded in a strange village where the boys dress like girls and the girls dress like boys. He imagined all the other boys and in party frocks too; laughing and dancing, swishing their skirts as if it were completely normal. He imagined it were a place like Brigadoon and he and his mother are the only outsiders and have to learn to live in this strange new place. “You look deep in thought.” his mother commented.
“I was just thinking about Brigadoon.” Peter replied.
“Do you like musicals Peter?” Lillian asked.
“Some of them.” Peter replied, thinking of Willy Wonka, Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang and Oliver.
“There's a musical on next.” Lillian chirped. “The Slipper and the Rose.”
“Oh I love that one.” his mother cooed.
For almost two and half hours Peter sat through the most tiresome musical ever. He'd have much preferred Star Wars. Lillian was in and out as she was preparing some supper which they ate on their laps in front of the TV so Peter couldn't even avoid the romantic ending. At least Grange Hill was on afterwards, then K-9 but Lillian wanted to watch the Christmas circus and it being her house, Peter did the honourable thing and changed the channel. Being a variety show, the circus was a concoction of tedium, humour, magic, excitement and boredom. Come 7pm, Lillian suggested that Peter puts his night clothes on so his dress can get some air. “I've put a clean pair of night-knickers out for you.” she cheerily informed him.
“Thank you.” Peter timidly replied. Blushing, he scuttled out and his mother followed. “This is so embarrassing.” he quietly told his mother.
“Just pretend it's normal.” she replied. “Like we're in Brigadoon.”
“I keep trying to.” he assured as they entered their twin room. “Who even knew there was such a thing as night knickers.” Peter mused as his mother unbuttoned his dress. “And why so many frills?” he grumbled. His mother supposed that in the old days when lots of clothes were home-made they'd use up every last bit of material to keep waste to a minimum; hence lots a flounce and frills. Peter supposed that one could make another pair of knickers from all the frills on those ones. “I suppose you could.” his mother giggled. “They wouldn't look as nice though.” she said as she unfastened the last few buttons. “Not that that would bother you mister.” she added as he stepped out of the dress. Downstairs he was greeted with big mug of hot chocolate and two chocolate chip cookies. A science fiction film was on the TV which he watched with enthusiasm to begin with but after an hour he found himself feeling sleepy and took himself to bed long before it had finished.
The next day he left his mother sleeping and went down to the kitchen where he was greeted by Lillian who cheerily said “Good morning Miss Peter. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes thank you.” Peter replied.
“You sit yourself down. There's toast under the grill.” Lillian smiled. In the background the dulcet tones of Radio4 issued a weather report and a warning... heavy snowfall and blizzards are expected throughout the south and west today. Avoid travel if possible and blah blah blah. “Oh dear.” Lillian said. “Looks like you're stuck with me another day Miss Pe... sorry Peter.”
“Hmm.” Peter frowned. “Another day another dress.” he mournfully said.
“I'm afraid so Mi...” she said, stopping herself and smiling empathetically.
“I don't mind if you call me Miss Peter.” he sheepishly told her. “I suppose it suits me when I’m dressed like a girl.” he said.
In the background the radio reported that the M4 remains closed as well as railways and airports and the travel disruption was expected to continue for several more days. “You could be spending New Year here by the sounds of things.” Lillian mused.
Peter was enjoying toast and home made marmalade when his mother entered the kitchen. He wasted no time informing her that there's more blizzards forecast for today and that Lillian thinks they might be stuck here until New Year. “Oh dear.” his mother frowned. “We can't possibly impose on you for that long.” she said to Lillian.
“Well it's out of our control, Gail.” Lillian said, adding that the motorways are closed along with the railways too. “Even if we could get you to the nearest town you'd only be stuck there instead of here.”
“Yes I suppose. But at least then we wouldn't be eating you out of house and home.” his mother replied.
“Oh I've got plenty of supplies and I can bake a fresh loaf everyday if need be.”
Peter was surprised that the silver haired lady makes her own bread because he's baked some bread in his Home-Ec class at school and recalled how hard it was to fully kneed the dough. Lillian said it's a good way of warming up on a cold winter morning. “I don't bake so much in summer because it's easier to pop to the shop.” she added.
“How far is the shop?” Peter asked
“About six miles.”
“Blimey.”
“And that's just a petrol station.” Lillian informed him. “It's ten miles to the nearest town.”
“We really are stuck in the middle of nowhere.” Peter realised.
“That we are Miss Peter.” she said, clearing his empty plate. “Now why don't you go and choose a dress whilst Mummy has her breakfast.”
Peter got the distinct feeling that he was being prompted to leave them so Lillian could speak with his mother in private. “Erm... OK.” he bashfully said, although he didn't have much intention to actually choose a dress.
“I'll be up on a minute.” his mother told him as she buttered some hot toast.
As Peter headed to the stairs he overheard Lillian say, “He's such a well behaved boy isn't he.” He heard his mother reply in the affirmative before saying something about paying Lillian for their board and lodgings seeing as they are rather stuck for a few days.
Peter peered out of the bedroom window at the snowy landscape stretching down into the valley. He smiled at the snowman, still stood proud in the field beside the house, He'd seen snow many times before but never so thick as this. Usually it's gone the next day so this truly is going to be a winter to remember. Peter was still peering out of the window when his mother joined him. She wasn't surprised that he wasn't rummaging through the wardrobe to find himself a dress to wear. “It's a lovely view isn't it.” his mother said.
“I still can't believe that there's so much snow.” Peter replied.
“And there's plenty more to come according to the weather forecast.” she replied. Peter said he'd heard it on the radio, glumly adding that he might be stuck in dresses for another few days. “Well I can think of worse things to be stuck in.” his mother smiled.
“Such as?”
“A broken down car.” his mother quickly replied.
“Do you think we'd have died if we stayed in it?”
“I honestly don't know.” his mother said, casting her gaze beyond the glazing. “If we had we'd have got towed away with it.” she mused. “We'd have probably been home by now.” she said.
“Well... I think we did the right thing. Imagine if we'd frozen to death.” Peter said.
“I very much doubt we would have. We had plenty of clothes we could've wrapped ourselves up in. And plenty of chocolate too.” his mother smiled.
“Well at least we got to meet Lillian, and I don't mind having to wear dresses so much. I'm kinda getting used to wearing them now.” Peter confessed.
“Good. The last thing I want is you moping around all sour faced because you only have dresses to wear.” his mother told him. “It's starting to snow again.” she noticed. Palm sized flakes were falling like feathers; slowly, whimsically and playful. It was a wondrous sight, so wonderful in fact that Peter asked if he could stand at the window whilst his mother buttoned him into a spotty tea-dress. “Do you think it's snowing like this at home?” he asked.
“According to the news reports it's all over the country.” his mother replied.
Peter imagined standing at his own bedroom window looking down onto the street. The road and pavement and all the cars covered in a blanket of snow; peppered with countless footprints and probably people coming and going, wrapped up in hats and scarves and gloves. He imagined someone glancing up, seeing him and waving. Then Peter looked through their eyes to see the boy stood at his bedroom window wearing a spotty dress. He smiled to himself; thankful that he was here in the middle of nowhere where no one he knows will see him in a dress.
Once buttoned in his mother turned him around and smiled. “I found this.” she said, revealing a spotty hair bow. Peter bit his lip and gulped as his mother placed the band on his head and began faffing with his hair.
“Oh mu-um.” he whined. “Do I have to?”
“It goes with your dress, Miss Peter.” his mother cheerily replied. “Plus it'll save you from having to sweep your fringe to one side.”
“I suppose.” he sighed.
“You don't seem to mind being called Miss Peter so much today.”
“Well I am wearing girl's clothes and you did say I should think nothing of it.” Peter replied, skewing his jaw a little.
“Hopefully not for too much longer.” his mother replied.
“Lillian said we'll probably be stuck here for new year.”
“That's only a couple of days away. You'll be able to cope until then won't you?”
“I've coped so far.” Peter shrugged.
“You certainly have.” his mother empathised. “Shall we go and show Lillian how pretty you look today?”
With another blizzard under way, Peter had little to do other than watch TV and despite it being the holidays, there was very little to fully engage a boy of Peter's age on the three TV channels. Lillian suggested he read one of her niece’s books or annuals, or maybe do a jigsaw. His mother busied herself doing a spring clean of Lillian's cottage in the middle of winter and Lillian pottered, read, knitted or cooked. Since all the books were girls books and the jigsaws were of ballerinas, princesses or Victorian girls, Peter asked if he could help with the spring clean. “You'd get your dress dirty.” his mother replied.
“I could wear an apron.” Peter said, since his mother wore one.
“Well go and ask
Lillian if it's OK.”
Peter went to Lillian and asked if he
could help his mother with the cleaning. “Of course, but you'll
need a pinafore.” Lillian said. She buttoned him into a white
broderie anglaise pinafore apron, the sort girls wore a hundred years
ago. Lillian tasked him with spring cleaning the dolls' house in her
niece’s old bedroom, Peter would have much rather spent his time
doing a jigsaw of a ballet dancer or reading Cinderella. He was
embarrassed and felt more than a little ashamed to find himself sat
in a girl's bedroom, wearing a dress and essentially playing with a
dolls' house. If my friends could see me now, he mused as he
carefully removed the items from each room, dusting every tiny piece
of furniture. But he loves model railways and found all the miniature
chairs and tables and chests of drawers just as fascinating as the
miniature carriages and buildings on his train set at home. A proper
dolls' house is just what girls play with instead of a model railway,
Peter figured, and imagined if he were a girl he'd have played with
his doll house every single day. In fact Peter thoroughly enjoyed
spring cleaning the tiny rooms and rearranging the furniture how he
wanted it arranged. He found himself getting rather engrossed with
it.
“You look like you're having fun, Miss Peter.” his mother said, making her presence known as she stood in the doorway.
“You won't tell anyone will you.” Peter sheepishly said.
“What's to tell?” his mother smiled.
“Well... I’m dressed like a girl and playing with a dolls house.” he pessimistically replied.
“That's what boys do in Brigadoon.” his mother smiled, humouring him. “Lillian's prepared some dinner.” she told him. Peter and his mother went to the kitchen and sat at the table. “Your pinafore looks very nice.” she told him. “You look like an extra in The Railway Children.” she smiled.
“Oh I've got that recorded on video.” Lillian said. “We could watch it after lunch of there's nothing else on TV.”
“Oh you'd like that wouldn't you.” his mother said, knowing that it's a film he enjoys. Peter nodded with enthusiasm. The bow in his hair flipped and flopped back and forth.
Lillian's cooking was homely and warming and what was left of the broth would be baked in a pie for the evening meal, which Peter thought was a wonderfully creative way to use the left-overs. Afterwards they watched The Railway Children which was enjoyed by all and predictably, Peter's mother shed a tear at the final scene where Bobbie's father returned. Peter himself was moved by the ending but being an inquisitive young man, he wondered what happened next. “Do they move back to London or stay in the cottage?” he mused. Lillian asked him what he'd like if he were one of the railway children and after a moment of thought he said “Both. They'd need the house in London because that's where their dad works, and maybe if he got lots of money for being wrongly imprisoned, he could buy the cottage in the country for holidays.”
“That would be an ideal solution Miss Peter.” Lillian said, smiling.
“Shall we find you another dress so that one can get some air?” his mother suggested. “If that's OK with you Lillian?” she asked.
“Oh absolutely.” Lillian replied. “Come here so I can unbutton your pinafore Miss Peter.” Obediently, Peter stood with his back to their amiable host so she could undo the three buttons for him. His mother smiled approvingly when Peter politely thanked Lillian.
With yet another prissy party dress on and a new bow in his hair to match it, Peter and his mother returned downstairs where Lillian sat watching the news. The reports of snow and ice and roads being closed all across the south of England and Peter's mother resigned herself to the fact that they would be stranded at least until New Year's Day. Lillian said they were welcome to stay as long as they needed to and her main worry was that Peter would soon get cabin fever being cooped up in her remote cottage. “I bet you're desperate to get home where you got your own things and your own friends.”
“It would be nice to get home... but it's OK being stuck here.” Peter replied. “Even if I am stuck in dresses.” he smiled.
“You don't mind them so much now you've got used to them.” his mother smiled.
The following day is the 30th December and their third morning waking up in Lillian's cosy cottage. As usual, Peter perched on his mattress and peered out of the window at the valley; thick with snow as far as the eye could see. The air was still and the twilit sky a steely grey. He imagined that for one reason or another, he and his mother end up stuck here indefinitely which means he'd have to dress like a girl indefinitely too. Peter then considered that his own clothes would eventually defrost and he'd have those instead, but wearing the same pair of jeans and the same jumper day in day out would be really boring... and they'd still need washing so he'd have to wear a dress on that day. Not that that would ever happen, Peter thought to himself. Once the phone lines have been fixed and the snow has melted they'll easily get to the nearest train station and get home... and Peter couldn't help but imagine standing beside his mother on a railway platform and for one reason or another, he's still wearing a dress. Maybe a repairman took the washing machine away with his clothes still inside it, he mused.
Being buttoned into a dress after breakfast now seemed routine to Peter. “Do you think the washing machine will defrost today?” he asked as his mother fastened his buttons. His mother wasn't sure but wasn't hopeful and knowingly asked if he was missing them. “I was just thinking... it'll be weird getting myself dressed again.” Peter replied.
“Well I'm quite enjoying being your handmaiden.”
“What's that?”
“In the old days all the wealthy women had a handmaid to help them dress.”
“In the days before zips.” Peter supposed as one by one his buttons were fastened.
“Yes.” his mother said.
“Do you think we'd be able to go for a walk today?” he optimistically asked.
“I don't know. The snow looks very thick.” his mother replied as she decided on a bow for his hair.
“Do I have to wear another bow?”
“You looked so nice yesterday I figured you should wear one everyday.” his mother grinned.
“So long as it's just everyday whilst we're here.” Peter conceded. “You’ll be putting lipstick on me next.”
“You're a little young for make-up Miss Peter.” his mother told him.
“Phew.” he smiled.
They went down stairs and having just filled up the coal scuttle, Lillian said that it wasn't too cold today. Peter wondered if they'd be able to go for a walk after dinner but before Lillian could reply, the telephone rang and both jumped out of their skin. She scurried to the hallway and answered it, assured whomever was on the other end that she was fine and chatted with enthusiasm for a few minutes. “Well that means the phone lines have been fixed.” his mother chirped.
Lillian soon returned and said it was one of the neighbours checking on her. “There's no houses for miles around.” Peter stated.
“Out here in the country the nearest neighbour can be half a mile away. They're not right next door like in the towns and villages.” Lillian said. “Anyway... I'll ring one of the local farmers to see if they can help with the washing machine.”
“But how would they get here?” Peter asked.
“In a tractor.” Lillian replied. “Gail you're welcome to ring anyone you need to.”
“Oh thank you. I'll pay for the calls.” Gail replied. She made numerous phone calls informing the few who need to know that they're safe and well yet still stranded. She called the highways authority who were little help in tracing the car and told her to call back in the new year, which left his mother briefly furious with the 'bureaucratic nincompoop' she'd spoken with. Then she called her mother and Peter briefly spoke with his grandmother, telling her about the blizzards, the wonderful remote cottage, how nice Lillian is, home baked bread and building a snowman.
“It was nice speaking with Granny wasn't it.” his mother said a while later.
“Yeah. She'd been really worried.” Peter replied. “Imagine of we had video phones though.” he said. “She'd be like... Peter darling... why have you got a bow in your hair! ...and I'd be like... Errr!”
His mother grinned. “And you say I've got a weird imagination.” she chuckled. “Granny has no idea how pretty you look.”
“That's what I kept thinking when I was talking to her. I kept looking down at my dress and thinking, should I tell her.”
“Probably for the best you didn't.” his mother said. “This is our little adventure and our little secret.”
“Good.” Peter smiled.
“Anyway you'll probably have you own clothes tomorrow if Lillian can get some help with the washing machine.” his mother replied.
Unfortunately that was not to be the case. A farmer did come and he fetched milk and some other supplies for Lillian, but was flummoxed by the lump of ice in the washing machine. It's too big to bother pouring hot water onto and his best suggestion was to heave the machine inside where it could defrost at room temperature... but that would leave water all over the flooring so the only option was to leave it in the freezing cold lean-to. “Were you too shy to come and say hello Miss Peter?” Lillian asked once the farmer had gone. Peter nodded. “Well unfortunately we'll have to wait for washing machine to defrost on its own.” she told him
“Yes I overheard.” Peter glumly replied. “I'll just have to get used to being Miss Peter for a few more days.”
Lillian smiled an empathetic smile. Peter's mother did too. All three of them went for a walk in the snow after lunch but only Peter wore a dress along with two underskirts and a petticoat and the warm woollen dress coat of course. With a woolly bobble hat on his head, lambskin mittens and his own winder boots, Peter can only feel the chilly winter air on his cheeks and knees as they trudge through the snowy fields at the back of Lillian's house. “Can we go to the woods?” Peter enthused.
“Of course.” Lillian smiled. “This path leads right though it.”
“I can't see a path.” Peter's mother said, casting her eyes over the untouched blanket of snow.
“I'm sure Lillian knows where it is.” Peter replied.
“That I do Miss Peter.” she said.
The midwinter sun cast long shadows from the naked trees across the snow. It glimmered in the icy air. In the distance Lillian pointed out some hares in a meadow. To Peter an his mother were only dots and could have been anything, until Lillian clapped her hands loudly and a second later, the hares darted in the undergrowth at an astonishing speed. They continued on their way, following the unseen path toward a dry stone wall. Untouched snow covered the rails of a stile which looked most picturesque. It would be a shame to disturb it, Peter thought as he climbed the stile first. “I've never climbed a stile in a dress before.” he bashfully said as he hopped off the other side.
“You were very ladylike, Miss Peter.” his mother told him as she climbed over. The wall hid a wonderful vista; the snowy hill gently rolling down to large wooded copse. The valley stretching out on either side of it. “It must be glorious in the summer.” she commented as Lillian followed them.
“We could come back in the summer.” Peter said, imagining the trees crowned with leaves and the fields a blanket of green. “I mean...” he looked up at Lillian. “If that's OK.”
“You'd be more than welcome young man.” Lillian said.
“I can just imagine you running through a field full of buttercups in a summery dress.” his mother said. “But if we ever did come back, we only call in to say hello on our way to or from Devon.”
Peter realised that that would most likely be the case; a quick stop off for maybe an hour. Lillian asked if they visited Devon often and his mother listed Easter, Whitsuntide, the summer holidays and Christmas. “...sometimes my brother and his wife come to us in Cambridgeshire.” she added.
“Well you're more than welcome to visit if you're passing.” Lillian said.
“That's very kind Lillian, although I got so lost in the blizzard I don't really have much idea where we are.” she confessed.
“We're in Warwickshire, not too far from the border with Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire.” Lillian told her as they approached the woodland Peter wanted to explore.
“I see.” Gail replied. “And is this the Wychwood of the farm you mentioned?” she asked.
“Oh no that's a good few miles away.” Lillian said. “This wood's called The Warren.”
“Like a rabbit warren?” Peter asked.
“Absolutely... so don't wonder into the trees Miss Peter because there's rabbit holes everywhere and you won't see most of them.”
“Will we see any rabbits?” Peter asked.
“I expect so.”
“Don't go scaring them off Miss Peter.” his mother warned.
“I won't.” Peter defensively replied. They soon entered to wood through a gate which creaked and squeaked and shut with a shudder. And there were indeed plenty of rabbits to be seen which seemed to observe the three visitors with both caution and curiosity, hopping to a safe distance before stopping and staring. “It's like Watership Down.” Peter commented in a quiet tone so not to alarm their furry friends. A sudden rustle in the undergrowth and the unseen flapping of wings grabs his ear. “What was that?”
“Probably a pheasant.” Lillian replied. They all stood silent and still until Lillian spotted the bird and pointed it out, but being shy, it soon hid itself away in the undergrowth and they continued their walk through the woods, trudging through the ankle deep snow. “How are your knees Miss Peter? Not too cold I hope.” Lillian asked.
“They're OK.” Peter replied.
“With all your layers you're probably warmer in a dress than you would have been in boy's clothes.” his mother said.
“I was thinking that when we went to look for the car the other day.” Peter said.
“I do hope they can trace where it's been towed to.” Lillian said. “It's most peculiar that no one has any record of it.”
“Well it's that time of year.” his mother shrugged, explaining that it being New Years Eve tomorrow, a bank holiday the day after that then it's straight into the weekend, “...we're probably looking at Monday before the paperwork goes through.”
“Well hopefully this is the last of the snow. It'll thaw in a day or two and I'd be able to drive you to the nearest train station.”
“When would that be?” Peter asked.
“Saturday I guess.” Lillian mused.
“So only two more days in dresses.” his mother said.
“That's not so bad I guess.” Peter replied.
They soon exited the wood and strode down a narrow bridleway flanked with dry stone walls. They pass the foot of another wooded copse which Lillian says is full of bluebells in the spring and describes the carpet of blue stretching all the way up the hill. “It sounds wonderful.” Peter said before they continued on their way. The bridleway terminated at a lane. The thick snow on the tarmac is rutted with tyre tracks so there has been activity despite the heavy snow. The tracks are broad and clearly caused by tractors and very easy to walk along, which is a welcome change from trudging through ankle deep snow. After maybe two hundred yards, Peter spotted Lillian's house up on the hill and realised they were back on the lane where they'd abandoned the car three days previously. “Having fun?” his mother said, treading the rut beside him. Peter smiled and nodded. “Still warm enough?” she asked, glancing at his knitted white knee socks, pale pink knees and warm woollen dress coat covering his skirts and petticoats. Again her son nodded. They soon came to the rutted lane that leads up to Lillian's remote cottage. Peter's mother cast her mind back to their horrendous trudge through the blizzard when she was quite literally in fear for their lives. “I honestly don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't been home Lillian.” she said as they approached the stone cottage
“There's no need worrying about what might've been.” Lillian replied.
“Yes you're right.” Peter's mother said.
“We need to count our blessings Mum.” Peter said.
“Very wise words young man.” Lillian complimented. “I wish more boys were like you Miss Peter.”
Peter found it somewhat baffling that she called him young man and miss in such quick succession. But he didn't mind. They reached the cottage, kicked the snow off their boots before stepping inside and Peter removed his hat and gloves and began to unbutton the dress coat. “It is a lovely jacket that.” his mother commented.
“It's loads warmer than my snorkel.” Peter replied. “Pity it's a girl's coat.” he said as he slid it off his shoulders and hung it up.
“Under the circumstances it's perfect it's a girl's coat.” his mother said, admiring his dress with its long row of buttons running up the back.
“Well, yes, there is that.” Peter bashfully replied, looking down at his dress. The hair band sat where he'd left it; on the bench in the hall where he'd changed his footwear. He donned it before sitting and changing his footwear; off with his big boyish boots and on with his dainty house shoes; black Mary Jane's with a single strap and buckle, plus a modest yet significant heel. “You warm yourselves up by the fire and I'll make a hot drink.” Lillian suggested.
Being exposed, the first thing the warmth from the fire hit was Peter's knees. “Oh that feels so nice.” he said as he perched on the chair nearest the glowing embers, warming his hands after smoothing his skirt.
“It certainly does.” his mother said as she stood warming her hands. “Do you think you'll be OK if we are stuck here 'til Monday?” she asked, adding “It might take 'til then for the washing machine to properly thaw out.”
“Even then it might be broken.” Peter mused, skewing his jaw. “But yes... I'll be fine, so long as none of my friends find out I spent a whole week being Miss Peter.”
“Well they won't find out from me, Miss Peter.” his mother smiled. After enjoying a warm mug of hot chocolate, his mother suggested he change his dress and once again he found himself facing a wardrobe full of dresses whilst his mother unfastened his buttons. “Ooh I know what you could wear.” his mother enthused.
“What?” Peter asked.
“One of these.” she said, separating some skirts which hung on one side of the rail.
“A skirt?” he gulped.
“Yes. With a blouse.” she supposed. “That'd make a nice change wouldn't it?”
“Well it'd make a change.”
“You don't sound so keen.” his mother replied. “Would you prefer another dress?”
“I don't know Mum. It's up to you.”
“Well this plaid one caught my eye initially.” she said, removing a pleated tartan skirt with red, green, black and white threads in the weave and a white inbuilt underskirt. She hung it from the wardrobe door before rummaging through the handful of blouses. “And maybe this.” she said, removing a white flouncy blouse. Peter skewed his jaw. “Trust me. This'll look really nice.” she told him. “You'll need some clean socks too.” she said.
Like his dresses, the blouse buttoned up the back but he had to stand in only his knickers whilst his mother buttoned him in. The skirt didn't look so bad on its hanger but once it was around his waist it was significantly shorter than any of the dresses he'd worn so far. “Mum this feels far too short.” he said as his fingertips hovered around its pleated hem.
His mother stood back and looked him up and down. “It's shorter than you're used to but it's certainly not too short.” she assured. The clean socks she found were plain white knee socks with no knitted patterns but they did have a scalloped edge on the cuffs. He wore the black house shoes and timidly followed his mother downstairs.
“Oh that makes a nice change.” Lillian said when she saw his outfit. “You found the matching Alice band too I see.” she said, smiling approvingly at the band in his hair. Its the same plaid as the skirt with a tiny bit of lace trim.
“Mum found it.” Peter replied.
“He looks nice doesn't he.” his mother said.
“He does.” Lillian agreed. “Well sit yourself down by the fire Miss Peter, there's a good boy.” she smiled.
The skirt felt very short as he scooped it beneath him. The hem didn't reach his knees so he made doubly sure those stayed together. He might've got used to wearing dresses over the last few days but wearing a little skirt feels like a whole new experience. Its waist sits unusually high and it doesn't feel as comfortable as a dress does, plus it's strange having much more of his legs exposed.
After their evening meal, they watch TV and the weather report says that temperatures are set to rise a few degrees over the New Year period, however another band of heavy snow is forecast soon afterwards. “Oh dear.” his mother sighed.
“Hmm.” Lillian concurred. “Well hopefully the washing machine will have chance to defrost so you'll have some of your own clothes to wear Miss Peter.”
“I'm not holding my breath.” Peter pessimistically replied. “It'll probably feel weird dressing like a boy after all this time.”
“It's only been a few days Peter.” his mother chuckled.
“I was only joking.” he bashfully said. “But it does feel kind of normal.”
“Well that's good isn't it?”
“I guess.” Peter replied. “But only because I'm here.”
“In Brigadoon.” Lillian said, smiling.
“What's this place really called, Lillian?” Peter asked.
“High Compton.” she told him. “But like Brigadoon, it's not marked on many maps. The nearest you'll find is Wychford.”
“Is that where Wychwood is?” Gail asked.
“More or less.” Lillian replied. “If the weather does warm up a little in the next few days, we could go for some longer walks.” she suggested. “There's a stone circle only a couple of miles from here.”
“Like Stonehenge?” Peter enthused.
“Nothing quite so impressive but just as ancient and steeped in folklore.” Lillian replied, telling the tale of thirty thieves who tried to steal from a witch and one by one they were turned to stone.
“Sounds scary.” his mother commented.
“It's certainly an eerie place.” Lillian said.
“It sounds ace!” Peter remarked, recalling visiting a dolmen on a trip to Devon once and the numerous times they've passed Stonehenge. As he spoke he straightened the tops of his knee socks and smoothed his skirt neatly on his lap.
His mother smiled at him approvingly and felt pleased that he seemed so at ease in his effeminate attire. “Well that's something to look forward to.” she said.
They watched TV for a while and eventually Lillian suggested that Peter gets ready for bed whilst she makes some cocoa. “OK.” Peter said as he stood, feeling conscious of his short skirt. His mother followed so she could unbutton his blouse, and as she did so, she asked if it really did feel normal wearing girls clothes. “Sort of.” he said. “I'm am looking forward to wearing some boys clothes though.”
“I bet you are.” his mother smiled. “Hopefully that won't be too far away.”
“Hmm.” Peter responded.
“You don't sound so sure.”
“Well... even when the lump of ice in the washing machine does defrost, I don't think the washing machine will work.”
“Well in that case we'll have to hand-wash them.” his mother suggested. “Which I suppose is what I should have done in the first place.” she said.
“You weren't to know.” Peter said.
“I know.” his mother said. “I just keep reliving the drive home on Sunday and thinking that maybe I should have stayed on the A roads instead.”
“But then we'd never have met Lillian.”
“This is true.”
“Everything happens for a reason... that's what Granny says.” Peter replied.
“Yes I suppose.” his mother said.
Once Peter was dressed for bed, he donned the quilted dressing gown and dainty little slippers and enjoyed a hot cup of cocoa in front of the fireplace. He felt so warm and cosy. In a way he feels more at home here than he ever felt at home. Before long he was tucked up in bed and before he knew it he woke and as usual, spent a few moments peering out of the window at the wintry vista. He loves it here so much that he wouldn't mind they never got home. Soon his mother began to stir out of her slumber. “Morning.” she said as her eyelids flickered open.
Peter returned the greeting and noticed a dress hung from the wardrobe door. He gulped. “Is that for me?” he humbly asked.
“Lillian said it would be nice and warm for our morning walk.” his mother told him. The pastel pink velvet dress has a white lacy collar and an embroidered flower pattern on the chest, long sleeves with lace cuffs and around three inches of frilly trim around the hem of the skirt. “Does it look OK?” she asked.
“Well... I suppose.” Peter mused. He wanted to say it was too girlie but everything he's worn since they arrived has been too girlie and since the only boy clothes he's got are still in a frozen lump in the lean-to, he doesn't really have a choice. Once he was dressed, Peter looked down at himself and said, “It's different to the other dresses.” he noted.
“It's an 'empire' style dress.” his mother told him, explaining that 'empire' means the skirt drops from just below the chest instead of from the waist.
“It's like a tent.” he said.
“Doesn't it feel warm though?”
“Well... yes.” he replied, running his palm over the soft velvet sleeve.
“That's the main thing.” his mother smiled. “Don't worry yourself over the colour.”
“It's the flowers more than the colour.” Peter replied, frowning at the elegant embroidery on the chest area. His mother just smiled and handed him a pair of knitted white knee socks. “How come I'm getting dressed before breakfast today?”
“Because Lillian wants to make an early start for our walk.”
Lillian had prepared a pan of porridge for breakfast and was loading an electric slow cooker with beef, vegetables and dumplings so they'd have a hearty lunch ready for their return. No sooner had he finished his porridge, Lillian hurried him into his boots and the woollen winter coat, woolly hat and lambskin mittens. It wasn't even eight o'clock when they left the house and trudged down the rutted path and onto the lane. The dawn chorus sounds all around. Peter's mother asked if he was warm enough and Peter said he was. “This dress is longer than the others.” he said, since it extends beyond the length of his overcoat and swishes around his knees with ever brisk step. “How far it it to the stone circle?”
“A couple of miles.” Lillian replied. “We'll be there in half an hour or so.” she said, directing them off the lane and onto a bridleway which takes them up a small hillock. From here she points out the Wychwood in the distance, and a dead tree she calls the lightning tree and a distinctive craggy peak to the south known as the lookout. The sky to the east begins to glow a vibrant orange. They see rabbits and jackdaws and even some deer crossing a distant field between one wood and another. A morning mist is settled in the bottom of the hill, giving the calm wintry morning an eerie ambiance.
“This is wonderful.” Peter remarked.
“It certainly is Miss Peter.” Lillian replied, adding that this is why she wanted to come out so early.
They soon turn onto a tarmacked road and follow it for half a mile before climbing a style over a drystone wall and there in the middle distance, nestled in the mist is the circle of ancient stones. It's such a spooky sight and Peter is in awe as they approach. “I feel like we're on a movie set or something.” he said.
“I'm definitely getting Hammer Horror vibes.” his mother added. “So these are the thirty thieves?”
“Apparently so.” Lillian said. “Although another legend tells of a coven of witches who fell foul of the devil and they were turned to stone here.”
“I saw a film where a gang of hells angels were turned to stone.” Peter told them.
His mother and Lillian chuckled. “I very much doubt this is them.”
“Course not. This is neolithic.” Peter knowingly replied as a tractor trundled past. “Just a stone age meeting place I think.”
“Yes you're probably right Miss Peter.” Lillian said. “The mist's starting to lift.” she noted.
“Looks like it might be a sunny day for a change.” his mother said. “And hopefully the washing machine might get a chance to defrost.” she added, smiling at her son. “I can't believe it's new year's eve all ready.”
“Yes. Everything seems to come around so quickly these days.” Lillian said. “Have you got any resolutions Miss Peter?”
“Erm...” he mused for a moment. “I might start dressing like a boy.”
The grown ups chuckled. They soon left the circle and embarked on a 'round robin' walk, circumnavigating the hills on which Lillian's cottage sits and return via the wood they call The Warren. The casserole has been simmering all morning and they enter the cottage to the homely smell of home cooked food. Lillian begins to build a fire in the hearth. Peter asked if he could help. “OK. You can stack the kindling and I'll deal with the coal so you don't get your dress dirty Miss Peter.” Lillian replied. “You've done this before.” she noted as he stacked the kindling in a teepee style.
“I've got my camp fire badge at Scouts.” he told her.
“I used to be in the Girl Guides.” she told him. “I used to love going camping and sleeping out under the stars.”
Peter's mother entered with a tray of coffee and having only heard the last part, said “It’s a bit cold for sleeping out under the stars.”
“I was reminiscing about being a Girl Guide.” Lillian told her.
“Oh silly me.” Gail bashfully said. “I've just checked the washing machine. Your boy clothes are still in a lump of ice I’m afraid Peter.”
“That's OK.” Peter shrugged. “So long as they've defrosted by the time we can actually get home.”
“Whenever that's going to be. There's more blizzards forecast after New Year's Day and they were just saying on the radio that the thaw might bring even more disruption.” his mother told him.
“How come?”
“It can cause flooding.”
“At least we're on a hill.” Peter said.
“It’s the roads and railways that could be hit by flooding Miss Peter.” Lillian told him as she scuttled some coal onto the fire. “But lets not worry about what might not happen.” she suggested.
They sat watching the flames and listening to the radio for a while, making small talk. “I've just realised what you're missing Peter.” his mother suddenly said. “You've nothing in your hair.”
“I was hoping you'd forgotten about that.” he frowned.
“I had.” she smiled. “I'm sure there's something that goes with your dress.”
“Of course.” Lillian smiled. “Shall we go and find it Miss Peter?”
“Okay.” Peter mournfully replied as he rose from his seat.
Lillian led him upstairs. “It'll be in here.” she said, striding to the small box bedroom.
Peter followed and cast his eyes around the overtly effeminate room with its doll house and dressing table, ornate chest of drawers and similarly styled wardrobe. He stood by the window and peered out. It offers a different aspect to the twin room he's been sharing with his mother; overlooking the garage and its snowdrift, the garden and the fields, hills and woods beyond. “I like the view from this window.” he said as Lillian rummaged in the dressing table drawers.
“You're more than welcome to sleep in here if you prefer Miss Peter.”
“Erm....” he cast his eyes over the pictures of ballerinas and girls in Victorian clothing hung on the wall. “...it's a bit too girlie for me.”
“I don't think that matters under the circumstances.” she replied. “Sit.” she said, holding a large pink velvet bow. Peter sat at the dressing table and faced his reflection in the ornate oval mirror. Lillian gathered the hair at the back of his head and clipped the bow in position. “There. Very nice.” she smiled. “Go and show Mummy.”
“She's not my mummy Lillian. I'm thirteen.” Peter bashfully replied.
“Mum, mummy, its all the same really. I personally think mummy is the more courteous of the two.” she told him. “I'll be down in a moment.”
Peter sauntered down the stairs. The large bow felt weighty on the back of his head yet it also felt rather elegant too. Timidly he entered the lounge where his mother said reading a magazine in front of the glowing fire. “Oh that's a nice one!” his mother cooed. “Turn around so I can have a proper look.” she asked. “It's lovely.” she said as Peter felt himself blush. “I wish boys could dress like that all the time.” she mused as he scooped his dress and sat, smoothing the skirt on his lap.
“Not all the time.” Peter coyly replied.
“Well, some of the time.” him mother conceded. “A nice dress on Sundays maybe, then boyish clothes the rest of the week.” she supposed.
“Hmm.” Peter responded. “I'm not sure about every Sunday either.” he said.
“If it were normal you'd think nothing of it. You and every other boy would have grown up wearing Sunday dresses. You'd have a wardrobe half full, a few favourites and some you don't like so much.” she imagined. “You must have worn one or two you've liked more than the others?”
“They're all the same to me.” he replied.
“Not really.” his mother said. “All the others had a waist. That one's got an empire line... and the skirt and blouse you wore yesterday wasn't a dress.”
“I think that was my least favourite... because of the blouse more than anything.” Peter replied. “Too frilly.” he said. “The plain dresses weren't so bad I suppose... and I didn't like that party dress much.”
“But you wouldn't wear a plain dress to a party.” she replied, pondering. “In fact I’ve just remembered... we were supposed to be going to the New Years Eve party at the community centre tonight.”
“Oh yes. I keep forgetting it's New Years Eve.” she said as Lillian entered. “Do you usually do anything for New Year, Lillian?”
“Not really. I like to watch the fireworks on the telly.” she said. “You?”
Gail told her about the party they usually attend. “It'll be nice to have a quiet one for a change.” she said.
“I hope so.” Lillian smiled. “Are you both ready for of lunch?” she asked. They both were. “Lets put you in your pinafore, Miss Peter.” she said as the boy stood.
Lillian buttoned him into the archaic garment and Peter looked down at himself. “I feel like I’m one of the girls from Black Beauty or Little House on the Prairie when I wear this.”
“Or The Railway Children.”
“It's like stepping back in time.” his mother said. “All you need is a bonnet.” she grinned.
“Eugh.” Peter grimaced. “It'd only get in the way of my bow.” he said, cautiously touching the back of his head.
“Do you like it?” his mother asked.
“No but... I feels kind of... elegant.” he told her. His mother smiled. Peter smiled back. They sat at the table and devoured the slow-cooked casserole Lillian had prepared. “This is really nice.”
“I'm glad you like it Miss Peter.” Lillian replied.
“I'm going to have to up my game when we get back home.” his mother said. “You'll have to give me some tips.”
“Your cooking's good Mum.” Peter said.
“Oh, thank you Peter.” his mother replied. “My casseroles aren't this tasty though.”
After lunch Peter washed the dishes and his mother dried them. All the while she can't help but admire his Victorian style dress and pinafore. He handed the final item to her and dried his hands on tea-towel. “Go and check the washing machine.” she told him. “See if we can get that lump of ice out yet.”
“Brrrr.” Peter shivered as he opened the door into the frigid lean-to. The washing machine door is wide open and inside the block of ice is still too big to remove, although it had obviously melted a bit since its frosty surface was smooth and shiny and its edges had rounded off. He returned to the kitchen and shook his head.
“Oh never mind.” his mother said. “Maybe tomorrow eh?” she hoped.
“At this rate I'll probably have to go home wearing a dress.” he frowned.
“You won't be going home wearing a dress.” she told him. “If we can get to the nearest train station I'm sure we can get to a clothes shop too.”
“I hope so. I'd never live it down if anyone back home saw me dressed like this.”
“I know.” his mother replied, resting her hands on his shoulders. “It's a pity really because you look so nice.”
They returned to the warmth of the lounge and Peter told Lillian that he'd checked the washing machine and his clothes were still encased in ice. “Yes, I checked earlier. It's definitely defrosting though so hopefully we might be able to get it out later on.” Lillian told him. “Oh and Gail.” she said, turning to his mother. “I suggested to Miss Peter that he might want to move into the small bedroom... then you can have some privacy for the rest of your stay.”
“That'd only mean you'll have more bedding to deal with... and you've no washing machine remember.” Gail replied.
“Oh that's no problem. There's plenty of bedding in the airing cupboard, but it's up to you.” Lillian smiled. “Shall we get you out of your pinafore Miss Peter?”
“Erm... can I keep it on?” he meekly asked, looking down at it. “It covers the flowery embroidery.”
“Course you can.” Lillian said.
They settled in front of the fire. The dulcet tones of Radio 4 spoke quietly in the background. Peter sat watching the flames whilst his mother leafed through a magazine and Lillian sat knitting. After a while his mother asked if he were bored. “No I'm OK.” he replied.
“There's a film on soon that you might like.” Lillian said. “The First Men in the Moon.”
“Surely it's the first men on the moon?” Peter replied.
“Well you'll have to watch it.” Lillian knowingly smiled. “I believe it's a HG Wells story, who wrote War of the Worlds.”
“Oh I like that. I've got the album at home.” Peter enthused.
Before long Lillian turned off the radio and Peter turned on the TV. He quickly became engrossed in the movie, although unlike War of the Worlds, it was rather daft and comical. Half way through however there was a knock at the door which seemed to take each of them by surprise. “I wonder who that could be.” Lillian said as she rose from her seat. Peter suddenly felt conscious of his attire as voices echoed from the hallway. “Do come through. I've got a couple of house guests.” Lillian said as she returned, followed by a woman and a girl who looked a little younger than Peter. Butterflies erupted in his tummy, but he put a brave face on as Lillian introduced them to Wendy and her daughter Sarah.
“That's a fabulous dress!” Sarah said. “You look like one of the Railway Children.” she told him.
“One of your nephews?” Wendy presumed. Lillian briefly told her how Gail and Peter came to be here, and why Peter is wearing a dress. “Oh I see!” Wendy exclaimed. “How unfortunate.” she empathised, smiling pursedly at Peter.
“Well we have to make do with what we've got.” Gail said. “And it's not so bad having to wear dresses for a few days is it?”
“Well I'd prefer pants.” Peter replied. “But mine are frozen in a broken washing machine.”
Lillian made a round of hot drinks; coffee for the grown ups and hot chocolate for Peter and Sarah. Sarah said it was strange seeing a boy wearing a dress, doubly so it being such an old fashioned one. Peter said was strange only having dresses to wear, “...but it was even stranger to begin with. I'm getting used to them now.” he said, kicking out his foot and skewing his jaw at the shiny black Mary Jane shoe with its modest heel. “Do you live near here?” he asked.
“Not far.” she replied, stepping toward the window. “Oh wow a snowman!” Sarah exclaimed.
“Me and Mummy made it.” Peter said, joining her at the window and cringing at the fact that he'd said 'mummy'.
“He's very tall.” Sarah commented, before pointing out some distant woodland in the crest of a hill. “Just beyond those trees is Four Shires Farm, where we live.” she told him.
“It's a fair distance. Did you walk?” he asked. Sarah nodded. “Wow.” he said.
“We've been snowed in since Sunday.” she told him.
“That's when we got stuck in the blizzard too.” Peter said. “We were driving home from Dartmoor...” he began, explaining that the motorway got closed, the A roads were at a standstill and
his mum tried to find a route along the country lanes. “Luckily Lillian let us in. I don't what we'd have done if we hadn't found her.”
“Are you showing Sarah the snowman Miss Peter?” Lillian said, entering with a mug of hot chocolate in each hand.
“Miss Peter?” Sarah remarked.
“That's what she calls me.” Peter bashfully informed her. “Thank you.” he said, taking the mug and cupping his hands around it.
“Are you a petticoated boy?” Sarah asked.
“I don't know what that means.”
“No he's not.” Lillian smiled. “Just a victim of circumstance.” she said. “If I had any boyish clothes that would fit him he'd be wearing those instead.”
“Well I’ve got plenty of boyish clothes.” Sarah said. “Maybe we could bring some over tomorrow?” she suggested.
“Well your mother's invited us all for dinner tomorrow.” Lillian replied. “So we'll be coming to you.” she smiled.
“But how will we get there?”
“We'll walk.” Lillian said. “It's only a couple of miles.” she added before suggesting they watch TV whilst the grown-ups chat in the kitchen.
Left alone with Sarah, Peter scooped his frock and sat, smoothing his skirt and pinafore neatly on his lap. Wearing long pants and winter boots, Sarah just sat. “You're very ladylike.” she told him.
“It's hard not to be dressed like this.” he said, smiling coyly. “What's a petticoated boy?” he asked her.
“Well... sometimes when a boy is really naughty, they have to dress like a girl to help them behave themselves.” she informed him. “It's not so common these days but it used to happen a lot in the olden days.”
“Oh.” Peter replied. “So it's a punishment.” he said. Sarah nodded. “I can think of worse ways to be punished.” he said. “Like being caned at school.” he stated.
“Imagine if the boys had to wear the girls uniform for a week instead.” Sarah mused, smiling wryly. “Especially at this time of year.”
“Well if the girls can do it... boys could too.”
“Would you? If you had a choice?”
“Wear a skirt or get the cane?” Peter replied. “Erm... I don't know. Some boys boast about getting the came like it's a badge of honour.” he told her. “I guess if one chose to dress like a girl instead, he'd probably get bullied by the rest of the boys.” he imagined. “It'd be better if they didn't get to choose.”
I grin swept Sarah's face. “Could you imagine all the bullies having to dress like girls?”
“And the truants.” Peter smiled. “But they'd just get used to it.” he said. “I have, kind of... and it's only been four days.”
“So when do you think you'll be able to go back home?” Sarah asked.
“I don't know. There's no trains until after New Year and there's more snow forecast the day after tomorrow, so it'll be next week sometime I guess.” he figured.
They chatted about school, home life, hobbies and things until Sarah's mother popped her head in and asked how they were getting along. “We'll have to head back before dark.” Wendy told her daughter. “And we'll see you tomorrow for lunch young man.” she said to Peter.
They all assembled in the hallway and bid the visitors farewell. The sun shone low in the sky and cast an orange glow over the snowy landscape. “Well that was nice wasn't it?” Gail said to her son. Peter smiled and nodded. “I suppose we should go and find you something else to wear.” she suggested. “You've had that dress on all day and it'll need airing.” she told him.
“OK.” Peter said.
They climbed the stairs and his mother said that Lillian had suggested they have a look in the little bedroom, since there's more dresses in that wardrobe. “Sarah seemed nice.” she said as they crossed the landing. “You looked mortified when they walked in.”
“I was.” Peter replied as they entered the small bedroom. “I was relieved when it was a girl and not a boy.” he confessed. “But it still felt weird, me wearing a dress when she was wearing pants.”
“They understood when it was explained.” his mother replied.
“She thought I was a petticoated boy.” he said. “I'd never heard of that before.”
“Haven't you?” his mother asked. “It used to be quite common.” she claimed, opening the wardrobe. “Oh these look nice.” she said. “Can you see anything you like?” she asked him.
“I'll wear anything so long as it's not too girlie.” Peter replied.
“Technically they're all girlie since they're all dresses and skirts.” his mother said.
“I know but you know what I mean.” Peter said. He cast his eyes around the bedroom whilst his mother slid the hangers across the rail. “Would you rather I slept in here instead?” he asked.
“Some privacy would be nice.” his mother replied. “I have to change into my nightie in the dark so I don't wake you.” she added. “I'd opt to sleep in here but the bed's only a kid's size.” she told him. “It is a lovely room though.” she added, casting her eyes around.
“Well... I will sleep in here if you prefer.” Peter said.
“You sure?” she asked. Peter hesitantly nodded. “It's not too girlie for you?”
“I don't think that really matters under the circumstances.”
“Very true Miss Peter.” his mother smiled. “How about this one?” she said, removing a lilac satin dress with a square neck and short puffed sleeves.
Peter wasn't so sure but considering his previous statement, he gulped and said, “Erm... OK.”
His mother smiled and laid it on the bed. “See if there's a nice lilac bow or band in the dressing table table drawer.” she told him. Peter stepped over and opened the middle drawer to find only make-up. He opened a side drawer to find a selection of bows and barrettes in a broad spectrum of pastel colours. “Anything?” his mother quizzed.
“Not yet.” he said, closing that drawer and opening the other one which is full of hair bands. “There's this.” he said, removing one the same shade as the dress; a lilac Alice band with a bow on one side.
“Perfect.” his mother smiled. She unbuttoned his pinafore and unbuttoned his dusty pink velvet dress with its floral embroidery on the chest before buttoning him into the lilac satin dress. “I'm going to miss this when we eventually do get home.” she told him.
“Buttoning me in and out of my dresses?” Peter knowingly asked.
“Mm.” his mother replied. “I bet you can't wait to be able to get yourself dressed again.”
“I'm looking forward to it but I'm kind of used to this as well.”
“I'm not surprised. I know we've only been here a few days but time seems to go so slowly it feels like we've been here a few weeks.”
“When do you think we'll get back home?”
“It'll be one day next week. After the next blast of snow... maybe Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“I'm supposed to be back at school on Tuesday.”
“I know, but I very much doubt we'll be back by then.” she told him. “But at least you've have some boyish clothes to wear after tomorrow. Wendy said Sarah should have a few things that'll fit you.”
“Yeah.” Peter optimistically replied. “I'll still have to wear a dress when we go there though.”
“You will. And I want it to be a nice one too.”
“They're all nice.” Peter glumly replied.
“I'm glad you think so.” his mother chuckled as she fastened the final button. “There. Let's have a look at you.” she said, turning him to face her. Peter bashfully looked up into his mother's eyes, then looked down at himself. “What do you think?”
“It's not as warm as the other one.” he replied, rubbing his bare arms. “But at least it's not pink with flowers on.” he added.
“You'll be plenty warm enough in the lounge.” his mother told him. “Are you going to put your band on?”
“Oh... err...” he said, grabbing it from the dresser.
“You're supposed to sit at the dresser Miss Peter, then put it on.”
“Ugh.” Peter huffed as he sat, scooping his skirt. “You'll be wanting me to wear make-up next.”
“You're pretty enough without it.” his mother said as he faced his reflection.
“I'm not pretty at all.” he retorted.
“In that case maybe you do need some make-up.” she smugly replied. “I'm teasing you Peter.” she chuckled when he gasped. He snorted and put the band in his hair. “It'll look nicer with your fringe off your face.” she suggested.
“It looks too girlie like that.”
“I don't think that really matters under the circumstances, Miss Peter.” his mother smiled
“Ugh.” he groaned, having his own words thrown back at him. “Happy now?” he asked having refitted the Alice band.
“Very.” his mother said as he stood.
“I'm starting to wonder if you wish I was a girl.”
“I wish nothing of the sort Peter.” his mother assured, clutching his arms lovingly. “But it would be nice if boys could wear dresses on occasion.” she mused. “You know... attending a wedding or christening, maybe on Easter Sunday, or on your birthday.”
Peter cringed at the thought of wearing a dress on his birthday. “I don't mind wearing them here but it's be weird anywhere else.” he said.
“So if we did call in to see Lillian on the way to or from Devon, you wouldn't mind?”
“Well... I don't mind wearing them here and now... I don't really have a choice.” he replied.
“I see.” his mother smiled. “Shall we go downstairs?” she asked. Peter nodded.
“Oh you look very summery!” Lillian said when Peter entered the sitting room.
“Mum chose it.” Peter bashfully told her.
“Thought as much.” Lillian replied. “Have a seat.” she said. “I'll put the kettle on.”
“Oh I can do that Lillian.” Gail said. “Tea or coffee?”
“Oh coffee please.”
“What would you like Miss Peter?”
“Could I have coffee too please.” he replied.
“Was it nice meeting Sarah today?” Lillian asked him.
“Yes.” Peter said, adding that it was a bit odd to begin with because he was dressed like a girl whilst she wore jeans and a jumper.
“Are you looking forward to going to Four Shires Farm for dinner tomorrow?”
“Oh yes. Sarah said she'd lend me some boyish clothes to wear.” Peter enthused.
“That'll make a nice change.” Lillian smiled.
“I know. I've almost forgotten what it's like to wear boys clothes.” he said as he straightened the tops of his knee socks.
“I'm sure you'll get used to them in no time.” Lillian said as he smoothed his dress neatly over his lap. “You seemed to get used to wearing dresses quickly enough.” she smiled.
“Yes.” Peter timidly replied as he cast his mind back five days and relived wearing the very first one. He felt so awkward and out of place, tottering on little heels with the skirt and petticoat swishing around his knees. It all felt so different. Daunting yet strangely alluring. He knew how nice he looked but struggled to accept that a boy could or should. “I'm still looking forward to wearing boys clothes again.” he said. “I'll be able to get myself dressed instead of needing mum to fasten my buttons.”
“You will.” Lillian smiled.
“Will what?” Gail asked as she entered.
“Be able to dress myself when I've got my own clothes again.” Peter replied.
They sat and chatted for a while whilst the radio played in the background. Lillian asked Peter to close the curtains when it was getting dark and allowed him to watch some TV. Blue Peter's review of the year looked back through some past episodes in which featured a motorcycle stunt team, the London Marathon, animation, football, Elvis and even a section on corsets. “Imagine having to wear one of those.” Peter's mother said to him. Peter supposed that they didn't look too bad and if they wore them everyday they'd just be used to wearing them. “Well I'm glad we don't have to wear them these days.” his mother replied. The evening news had a very bleak weather forecast for the coming weekend and the following week and claimed that this is set to be the worst British winter since 1966. Gail remembered it well but Lillian was living in Australia that year so missed all the disruption. Top of the Pops also looked back the year's hit singles, with Adam and The Ants, the Human League, Bucks Fizz and of course John Lennon who'd recently been shot dead. Afterwards Peter turned the TV over so Lillian could watch crossroads, then she made dinner whilst Peter and his mother watched a game show. After their evening meal they watched the Elvis movie which Lillian and Gail enjoyed far more than Peter.
By the end of the film Peter was feeling very sleepy yet was determined to stay awake until midnight so they could see the new year in together. His mother suggested he get ready for bed and took him up to the small bedroom. “It'll be nice having your own room for a change.” his mother said as she unbuttoned his dress. “You won't have to put up with my snoring.”
“You don't snore.” he said.
“Well you must be a deep sleeper.” she told him. “Is there a nightie under your pillow?” she asked once he'd stepped out of the dress.
Peter checked and found a pastel green one with frills and lacy trim. “Yes.” he said as she hung his dress to air.
“Night knickers too?” she quizzed.
“Yes.” he solemnly replied.
“Well you go and brush your teeth. I'll see you down stairs.” his mother replied. “Unless you'd rather go straight to bed.” she said as he yawned.
“I want to stay up 'til new year.” he replied.
“I know but you're tired out. We had that long walk this morning remember.”
“Yeah.” he mused. “And I'll probably just fall asleep in front of the fire.”
“That's what I was thinking. And I can't carry you up to bed.” his mother said. “Peter's decided to go straight to bed.” Gail told Lillian when she reurned downstairs.
“I'm not surprised. He looked tired out.” Lillian replied.
Meanwhile, Peter is changing into his nightie. Typical of each pair of so called 'night knickers' he's worn, these have several rows of frilly lace running across the back as well as around the leg holes and waistband. “I never thought I’d get used to wearing stuff like this.” he said to himself as he pulled them on. Beside the bed is a small cabinet and a bedside lamp. He turned that on before turning off the big light and climbed into bed. He sat up for a short while and just looked at his surroundings; pink floral walls, pink soft furnishings, the elegant oval mirror on the dressing table, his dress hung airing from the picture rail, the doll house stood in pride of place between the dresser and a wardrobe full of dresses. Peter imagined a scenario which meant they couldn't get home for several weeks instead of several days and he'd have to attend a local school wearing a uniform loaned to him by Sarah. He told himself he was being silly as he laid himself down and pulled the blankets up to his neck before turning off the bedside lamp.
Peter woke and as usual, he felt inclined to peer out of the window at a snowy vista. He turned on the bedside lamp and tossed the pink bedding aside, swinging his feet out of bed. His nightie dropped to his knees as he stood. Under his toes is a comfy pink rug. He felt ever so girlie as he parted the pink curtains and looked out over the back garden and snowy fields beyond. With the room illuminated with the low sun, he looked around. The lilac dress he'd worn the previous evening hung airing from the picture rail. With its broad square neck and little puffed sleeves it seemed different to the others he'd worn; not quite so prissy as a party dress and certainly not plain or mundane. If he were a girl, he imagined it would be the type of dress he might like to wear, but being a boy he felt a little bit ashamed of the fact that he's warmed to a few of the frocks he's worn this last week. The matching Alice band is in the dressing table and beside that the doll house that he'd spent an afternoon cleaning and rearranging all the furniture. He knelt in front of it and opened the façade, peered inside with a great sense of pride and a little bit of joy. A tap on the door caused him to turn. His mother peered in. “You're up.” she smiled. “Did you sleep well?” she asked. Peter nodded and sheepishly stood, feeling a little abashed at how he must have looked, wearing a pretty nightdress and 'playing' with the doll house. “Lillian's making kippers for breakfast.” she told him.
Peter descended the stairs wearing the quilted dressing gown and dainty slippers that he's become so accustomed to. “Happy new year Miss Peter!” Lillian chirped
“Happy new year Lillian.” Peter smiled. “Happy new year Mum.”
His mother returned the gesture and gave him a hug. Lillian did too. “Now you sit yourself down Miss Peter. Breakfast won't be long.” she told him. “We're having kippers and poached eggs on toast, with a glass of bucks fizz to celebrate the new year.”
Breakfast was scrumptious. Gail insisted on doing the washing up. “We'll have to check on the washing machine Miss Peter.” Lillian chirped. “See if we can rescue your clothes.” The went to the chilly lean to and whilst the lump of ice had gotten smaller, it was still too big to get out of the barrel. “Oh well, maybe later.” Lillian said.
“I hope your washing machine still work when it does defrost.” Peter said as they returned to the cosy kitchen. “Guess I'm wearing a dress when we go to Four Shires Farm.” he informed his mother.
“Oh well never mind.” his mother smiled. “Sarah did say she'd lend you some boyish clothes, so you might not be when we come back.” she supposed.
After having a nice warm shower, Peter went to his bedroom where he expected to find his mother and the dress she'd chosen, but all he found was some clean underwear waiting on the bed. The pastel colour, frilly lace trim and little satin bows don't seem to bother him any more, although he would prefer normal boy's underwear, if he had the choice. “Are you decent?” his mother asked before entering.
“Yes.” Peter replied, perching coyly on the bed wearing pair of pastel blue knickers and a matching vest. His mother smiled and opened the wardrobe, asking him what he'd like to wear. “I don't know.” he bashfully said. “Anything you like.”
“Well since we're visiting people, I think we should find something that you like too. I know you wasn't so keen on yesterday's dress.”
“The one I wore in the evening wasn't so bad. The one I wore in the day would have been OK if didn't have those flowers on it. It was nice and warm though.”
“So something with long sleeves and no flowers.” his mother said, rummaging. “Oh this looks ideal.” she said, removing a brown plaid pinafore dress. “It's pure wool so it'll be nice and warm.” she said.
“It's a bit plain.” Peter said.
“Is that a problem?” his mother asked.
“No it's fine I err... just thought you'd want to dress me up.”
“I do, but I also want you to be warm.” his mother said, rummaging through the hangers again. “How about this one? It's a bit prissy but it is fully lined.”
“Erm.” Peter mused. His brow furrowed. Clearly he wasn't keen on it.
“Which do you think Sarah will like best?” his mother asked.
“That one, obviously.” Peter replied. “But I don't like it.”
“Sarah's the one who's going to be looking at it.”
“Yes I suppose.” Peter concurred, skewing his jaw.
The dress is pastel blue with a white broderie anglais bib panel, trimmed with ruffled lace. The Peter Pan collar is also broderie anglaise and trimmed with white lace. The long sleeves are puffed at the shoulders with plain white cuff. Its skirt has rigid box pleats and reaches his knees. Running up the back are numerous large white buttons which his mother fastens for him. Peter perched on the bed and pulled on his knee socks. “Do you want a band, a barrette or a bow?” she asked she he straightened and levelled his socks.
“Well I'm going to be wearing a woolly hat so I'm best off with a band.” Peter replied.
“I like your logic.” his mother smiled, handing him a pastel blue Alice band. Peter meekly thanked his mother as he took hold of the band. He put it in position, pulling it down like a visor and pushing it back up to hold his fringe off his forehead..They shared a smile. “I'm going to miss this when do get back home.” she told him.
“I know.” Peter said. “I will too in a weird sort of way.” he said as he buckled his shiny black house shoes and stood. “I'll be an inch and half shorter for a start.”
His mother chuckled. They went down stairs. “Oh that's a nice warm dress Miss Peter.” Lillian commented.
“It's lovely.” his mother smiled.
“When are we setting off the Four Shires Farm?” Peter asked.
“Oh not for a good hour yet.” Lillian told him. “You go and sit by the fire. Digby's on the TV.”
“Again? That seems to be on every year!” Peter remarked.
“Well you can see what's on BBC one of you want.” Lillian told him.
Peter went through to the sitting room. As usual Lillian has Radio 4 playing quietly in the background. The TV and Radio Times were both on the coffee table. Peter scooped his skirt and sat, smoothed the box pleats over his lap and perused the TV guide. He felt ever so elegant in his prissy pastel blue dress, with all its white details. He knows it's old fashioned and it's not to his taste, and he figured that Sarah likes more fashionable clothes, but he hopes she likes it none-the-less. The only stuff on the TV he'd like to watch is on after they'll have set off, and the cartoons and kid's shows on beforehand are far too noisy, so Peter opts for the placid tranquillity of the radio.
Peter hears his mother talking on the telephone and within a moment he's called into the hallway. “It's Granny.” his mother says, handing him the receiver.
Enthusiastically they exchange New Year's greetings before chatting about what he'd been up to. Peter told his grandmother about Wendy and her daughter Sarah, and that they're all walking three miles to their farm for lunch. His grandmother advised him to wrap up warm. “I will.” Peter said, looking down at his prissy pleated dress and white knitted knee socks. “See you soon Granny. Love you.” he said before handing the phone back to his mother.
“Yes Mum... I’ll make sure he wraps up nice and warm.” his mother said to his grandmother, winking at her son. Peter smiled and sauntered back to the sitting room with his skirt and underskirt swishing around his knees. His mother soon followed him in. “Granny says she's worried that you're getting bored stuck out here with nothing to do.” his mother told him.
“I'm OK.” Peter replied.
“That's exactly what I told her.” his mother said. “I do feel a little bit guilty though... not telling her that you've only got dresses to wear.”
“Why would you feel guilty?”
“Because I feel like I'm hiding something. And I want to tell her how proud I am and how much of a trooper you are.” she told him, proudly rubbing his sleeve.
“A trooper?”
“You've battled on in the face of adversity.”
“I'll I'm doing is wearing then only clothes that fit me.” Peter said. “I don't have any other option.”
“What makes me so proud is that you're not moping around feeling all hard-done-by.” his mother told him.
“I was at first.” he bashfully said.
“Maybe just a little.” his mother smiled.
A short while later they prepare to leave. Peter layers up with an extra petticoat and an underskirt and puts his own winter boots on. “It does look weird wearing boys boots with girls socks.” he said. Lillian packs his house shoes into her bag so he can wear those when they get to Four Shires Farm.
“Another lovely day.” Peter's mother said as they stepped outside. The low bright sun cast long stark shadows across the landscape. “Ooh... the snowman's started to wilt.” she noticed. “Are you warm enough Miss Peter?” she asked her some.
Peter smiled and nodded. A warm woolly hat covers his head and cosy lambskin mittens wrap his hands. The warm woollen dress coat conceals the pretty dress beneath and his pale knees are turning pink in the chilly air. Peter looks down at his feet. The patterns on his knitted white knee socks are perfectly straight and his trusty winter boots crunch into the frigid snow underfoot.
Lillian leads them not down the track that leads to the lane but over a five-bar gate and into the fields. Peter is very conscious of his skirts as he climbs over and drops with crunch on the other side. “Very ladylike.” his mother smiled. They follow the tracks left the previous day by Sarah and Wendy, her mother and past the walled copse of trees that Peter could see from the bedroom window. He looked back toward Lillian's cottage and remembered peering out on that first frosty morning. Little did he know then that they'd be staying with Lillian for this long. “You OK Peter?” his mother asked.
“Yes thanks.” Peter said, enjoying all the cosy layers of his underskirts swishing around his legs and in contrast, the chilly air on his bare knees. He looked up toward the sky, through the branches of the skeletal trees and imagined them in full leaf. “I bet it's very different here in the summer.” he said.
“Well you'll both have to come.” Lillian said. “Break up the journey to of from Dartmoor.” she suggested.
“That'd be nice.” Gail replied. She imagined Peter wearing one of the more summery dresses and unbeknown to her, so did Peter.
They strolled down through the fields, over a small hillock where they paused and watched some distant deer grazing in the snow. They crossed a slow moving stream via a shaky wooden footbridge and strode through an old orchard where they crossed paths with a gamekeeper casually carrying a broken shotgun rested on his arm. He chatted briefly with Lillian and tipped his cap to Gail and Peter, addressing them as Ma'am and Miss before continuing on his way. Soon they exited the fields via a ladder style and found themselves strolling along a lane which is clear of snow on the tarmac. The rock salt gives the snowy verge a rusty colour where it meets the road. After half a mile they climb another ladder style. Peter manages his skirts over it and they cross a final field, heading directly towards Four Shire Farm. It's an array of barns, sheds and stables, plus the farmhouse itself.
As they approach, Sarah comes out to greet them. “Hello Peter.” she smiled, looking him up and down. Wendy her mother was behind and greeted him as Miss Peter. She asked if Peter would like to look around the farm before going indoors. Sarah gave him a guided tour. “I hope you don't mind Mum calling you Miss Peter.” Sarah said. “She doesn't think you're a girl.” she added.
“I know.” Peter replied. “It makes sense I guess... me wearing a dress.” he said, glancing at Sarah's green wellies and white knitted tights.
“I'm wearing a dress too today.” Sarah said, grabbing her ivy green skirt briefly. Over it she wears a short winter coat. It's olive green and quilted with occasional rips and tares, some mended with duct tape. She shows him the cattle shed and milking parlour where a farmhand is hosing down the concrete floor. Her dad is tending the sheep in another low broad barn and Sarah introduces him. “This is Miss Peter I was telling you about.” she said.
“Ooh. Pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Peter.” her father, Burt, said.
“Hello.” Peter shyly replied, before asking why he's working on a bank holiday.
“Work on a farm doesn't stop because it's New Year's Day... or Christmas for that matter.” Burt told him. “The cattle need milking, the sheep need feeding, the parlour needs cleaning and the horses still need mucking out.” he listed.
“That's my job.” Sarah told him, before taking Peter to the stables where she proudly showed off the horses; Trotter, Misty and Amber, the latter being her own. She showed him the bridles and saddles, demonstrating how heavy they are before showing him the hay barn, the pigsty and chicken shed. “Let's go in.” she suggested after showing him the shed with the tractors and trailers and the menacing machinery; each with its own set of spikes and claws and sharp looking cutters.
In the hallway Sarah removes her tatty work coat to reveal her green velvet dress with puffed sleeves trimmed with lace, a Peter Pan collar with a pale green satin bow and around the waist a matching sash tied in a beautiful bow at the back. “I like your dress.” Peter said as he untied his boots.
Sarah thanked him and said she'd got it for her birthday. “I don't wear it often.” she told him as he unbuttoned his warm dress coat to reveal his own prissy frock. “Oh that's lovely!” Sarah complimented.
“Thanks.” Peter bashfully replied, looking down at his pastel blue dress and its broderie anglaise bib panel, trimmed with ruffled lace. He scooped his skirt and sat on the bench where Lillian had placed his house shoes. Sarah donned a pair of girls shoes too and together, they went to the kitchen where the scents of roasting filled their nostrils. After having Wendy tell him how nice his dress is, Peter wrapped his hands around a hot mug of milky coffee whilst his mother told Sarah how nice her dress is, and Peter felt obliged to be in agreement. Being a boy it still seemed rather strange, scrutinising all the details in a constructive manner. Not so long ago he'd have seen a pretty dress and would have instinctively baulked at the little bows and frilly trim, grimaced at the bulbous sleeves and decorous collar and sneered at the off white knitted tights Sarah wears. But after so many days and so many more dresses, Peter finds himself more approving of all those details. Of course the look better on Sarah because she is a girl, he knew. Bashfully Peter looked down at himself after Wendy commented on how straight and even his socks are. Proudly, his mother tells her that Peter's very good at tending his socks and somewhat defensively, Peter said that they look silly all twisted and wonky.
They're given a tour of the farmhouse which is big and proud, rustic yet refined. Sarah's room has pastel décor, ornate furniture, a dressing table and a big doll house. “This is like my bedroom... only bigger.” Peter said, noting the similarities. It's also rather different too, with posters of The Human League and Adam Ant above her bed. “I mean... my bedroom at Lillian's.” he bashfully added. “Not my bedroom at home.” he said as Sarah donned an Alice band.
“That looks pretty.” Peter's mother said.
“It's not like you to wear a band.” Wendy commented.
“Well Peter's wearing one.” Sarah replied, standing by his side.
Peter gulped but smiled as the grown-ups looked on them approvingly. It crossed his mind that Wendy and Sarah had said that they'd give him some boyish clothes to wear, but he chose not to mention it. Maybe after dinner, he thought. They returned downstairs where Lillian chatted with Burt. “It's nice to see you dressed like a girl for a change.” Burt says to his daughter.
“Well it is a special occasion Daddy.” Sarah replied, swishing her skirt. “And it's nice getting dressed up once in a while.” she added, smiling at Peter. “Can we wear some make-up Mummy?”
“That's entirely up to Peter.” Wendy said, adding that he's neither a girl nor a petticoated boy.
“Erm...” Peter bashfully gulped, looking to his mother. “I've never worn make-up before.” he timidly added.
“OK but don't plaster it on.” Wendy said. “Less is more remember.”
Peter found himself being whisked back up to Sarah's bedroom where he watched as she applied foundation, lipstick and mascara. Then he took her place at the dressing table and under Sarah watchful eye he applied the foundation. “How come you call your mum Mum and Mummy?” he asked. Sarah said that she only calls them Mummy and Daddy when she's wearing a dress. “But you called them Mum and Dad in the farmyard. You had a dress on then.” Peter noted.
“Yes but I had my wellies and scruffy jacket on too... it's not the same.” Sarah told him. “Try this.” she said, handing him the lipstick and telling him how to apply it.
“I got the feeling yesterday that you were a bit of a tomboy.” Peter said.
“I am mostly. But it's nice being a girlie girl once in a while.” Sarah replied.
“Hmm.” Peter responded as he rolled his lips together. He looked for approval which Sarah granted with a smile. Finally he needed a touch of mascara but let Sarah carefully coat his lashes with the tiny little brush. “Could you imagine if it were normal for boys to wear dresses occasionally?” he said as he looked at his reflection.
“Yes.” Sarah said. “It'd be normal.” she shrugged. “They'd get a new dress to wear on their birthday, and another one for Christmas, and Easter.” she told him. “They'd dress like boys most of the time, unless it's an occasion, like today.”
“Yes.” Peter agreed. “I keep wondering what my friends back home would say if they could see me now.” he mused.
“I'm sure they'd say that you look very nice Miss Peter.”
“You think?” Peter
pessimistically asked.
“They would if it were normal for
boys wear the occasional dress.” she replied. “And it is a
special occasion.”
“Yes I supposed.” Peter mused.
They were soon sat around the dining table waiting for dinner to be served. Lillian and Wendy did all the faffing with the trimmings whilst Burt carved the beef and Gail told him about the predicament she's in trying to locate their car after it got towed. “I suppose with it being New Year, there's no one to pick up the phone.” Burt supposed. Gail said that she had got through to the highways department but they couldn't be sure which authority towed the car, and being on the border of four counties it could have been either of them. “Or none.” Burt replied. “It's not uncommon for abandoned cars to be stolen.” he sighed.
“I hope it hasn't been. It's got all Miss Peter's Christmas gifts in the boot.” his mother remarked.
“And yours too Mummy.” Peter replied. Inside he cringed for saying Mummy.
“I'm sure it'll be found and we'll get everything back.” his mother optimised. “But how long that might take I'll never know.” she sighed.
“Well... I might be able to help you out.” Burt said as the numerous plates of steamed and roasted vegetables found their way onto the table. “We'll talk after we've eaten.” he added, placing a slice of beef on her plate.
“And we'll see if we can find Miss Peter some boyish clothes after dinner too.” Wendy said.
“Oh yes. I'd forgotten about that.” Sarah commented. “I was too busy making you look prettier.” she said, smiling at Peter. Bashful and blushing, Peter smiled back and considered that if he were a girl he'd probably spend lots of time playing with make-up and trying on different cloths with a friend like Sarah.
The meal was wonderful and bother Peter and his mother felt blessed to be in such good company. “With Lillian's good cooking and wonderful hospitality, and now this... I can't imagine a better way to end one year and see in the new one.” Gail said.
After dinner they cleared the table before sitting down for pudding; a huge black forest gateaux with fresh cream poured on top. It was divine. “Right mister.” Wendy said to Peter as she cleared the last of the bowls away. “Shall wee see what we can find you?” she said.
Peter nodded and rose from his seat, tending his dress as he stood. “And let's see if there's anything we can find you, Gail.” Burt said to his mother.
Peter is whisked upstairs and his mother is taken to one of the barns. Upstairs, Wendy rummages a bag of hand-me-down clothes from a cupboard, saying they're from one of Sarah’s cousins and all a bit big for Sarah but something might fit Peter. The bag is emptied, item by item onto the bed and it's mostly dresses and skirts and blouses and all a lot more fashionable than anything Peter has so far worn. The tops and jumpers are mostly girlie too but is set aside as it's relatively plain. There are some pairs of pants but they’re very effeminate, and the denim jeans turned out to be pedal pushers with a waist inches too big. “Oh these might fit.” Wendy said, unfolding a pair of canvas dungarees in pale blue and holding them against the boy. “Maybe not.” she said, rummaging some more and finding another pair of dungarees.
Peter ends up wearing a pair of dungarees in pastel green with white and green polka-dot trim around the pockets and straps. Under these he wears a cream pullover with a white scalloped collar that fastens with a single pearl button at the back. Peter is thankful yet disappointed that the only boyish clothes that fit him are clearly girls clothes, and wearing those he goes to find his mother who's in one of the barns with Burt.
The first thing Peter noticed as he stepped outside was how much colder his legs felt, having just a single layer instead of layers of underskirts and petticoats. “Ooh look at you mister!” his mother cooed. “Feeling more like yourself?” she asked. Coyly Peter nodded. “That's a lovely jumper.” she told him. “Is it nice and warm?”
“It is.” Peter said. “My legs are cold though.” he added.
“So what do you think?” his mother asked, turning her eyes toward a rather unsightly car. It's an ugly old Renault 4 in faded yellow with bird droppings on the bonnet. Burt is wiping it clean with a big old rag.
“Does it work?” Peter asked, grimacing at the dodgy looking vehicle.
“Started first time.” his mother replied. “And Burt is kindly letting me have it for fifty pounds.”
Burt assured Peter that despite its appearance, the car is a good runner and will definitely get them home. He wipes off all the bird muck and even fills up the tank, checks the oil and water and makes sure that the spare tyre is inflated to pressure.
The lanes back to Lillian's hillside cottage aren't safe to drive in anything other than a tractor or four-by-four, but the main roads from Four Shires Farm are all clear and gritted. Since the weather is set to turn bad again the next day, the choice is leave today or be stuck for several more days. It's decided that leaving today is the best option and ideally, before dark
When they arrived at Lillian's, all they had were the clothes on their backs and his mother's handbag, so the only things they're leaving behind are the clothes they wore. After a heartfelt goodbye to Lillian and a promise to return in the spring or summer, Peter and his mother get into the ugly old car and are waved off by Sarah and Wendy, Burt and Lillian. They drive into the sunset with the heater on full and after only thirty minutes they're on the familiar A421. “Well it's a relief to be finally on our way home.” his mother said.
“Yes... it's shame though too. I'd resigned myself to staying for a few more days.” Peter said. “I only had my own room for one night.” he said.
“The room you said was far too girlie?” his mother smiled.
“It was but... so were all the clothes I wore.” Peter replied. “And I would have liked to see my own clothes finally come out of the washing machine.” he added.
“Yes.” his mother chuckled. Suddenly Peter realises that he'd left his only winter coat behind! “You're wearing it.” his mother told him.
“This is Lillian's.” Peter stated.
“Oh! Of course! I'd forgotten all about your snorkel.” his mother exclaimed. “Never mind. That one's a lot warmer.”
“Yeah but... it's a girl's coat.” he sighed.
“I very much doubt anyone will notice.” his mother replied, glancing into the foot-well. “We forgot your winter boots too.” she said. “You've still got your house shoes on.”
“Oh I forgot all about those as well.” Peter sighed. “I'm so used to wearing these I didn't even think about my boots.” he huffed.
Being New Year's Day, there's little traffic on the roads and with the weather forecast in their favour, they return to Cambridgeshire before 7.00pm. “Well that was quite the adventure wasn't it.” his mother said as they drove into their home town.
“You're telling me.” Peter replied. “Almost a week with nothing but dresses to wear.”
“It's been nice though hasn't it. Certainly a break from the norm.”
“Yeah it was. I hope we get to visit Lillian again.”
“We did promise to call in next time we're on our way to Dartmoor.” she said.
“That'd be nice.” Peter replied. His mother smiled at him as they waited at some traffic lights. The smile lingered. “What?”
“You do know that you're still wearing your Alice band?”
Peter gasped and reached up to his head and felt the satin band, removing it immediately. “You could have told me.”
“I just did.” she smiled.
“I guess it's a souvenir.” he said, holding the Alice band awkwardly in his hands. His mother grinned as the lights turned green.
They parked on the drive and entered their home which was dark and absolutely freezing. His mother put the heating on high and filled up the kettle. “Do you want to go and put some of your own clothes on?” she presumed.
“There's no point now. It'll be bedtime soon.” Peter said as he removed the warm woolly dress coat and hung it up, before looking down at his green dungarees and cream jumper. “At least these feel like boy's clothes, even if they’re not.” he said.
“Even your Mary Jane's?” his mother asked.
“Well... no but...”
“I was very impressed how quickly you took to wearing heels. I thought you'd be tottering about awkwardly all the time.”
“I was at first.” Peter recalled. “I was petrified of them.” he said, looking down at his shiny black shoes. “But then I thought, if girls can walk in heels then surely a boy can too.”
“Well you've certainly proved that to be true.” his mother smiled. “And a lot more too.” she added.
“Yeah.” Peter bashfully said. “I lost count of how many different dresses I wore.”
“And you wore each of them well.” his mother replied.
“I just wore them. How can you wear something 'well'?” Peter asked
“Not once did I have to remind you to sit with your knees together or scoop your skirt, and you kept the tops of your socks straight and even all the time...”
“Well that's what the girls at school always do.” Peter said. His mother smiled and made some hot chocolate for them both. Peter thought about going back to school. “I hope we don't have to write an essay about what we did over the holidays.”
His mother chuckled. “It'd be very dramatic, what with the blizzards and abandoning the car, seeking shelter in a remote house high on a hill, building a six foot snowman and going for walks through spooky woods, finding a new friend, visiting a farm... and the standing stones.” she enthusiastically told him. “You don't have to say you did it all wearing a dress.”
“Yes I suppose.” Peter said. “They probably wouldn't believe me anyway.”
Wow, that is both a lovely holiday experience and of all the "ups 'n' downs" of a week in dresses for Peter, who was a great sport getting in to the spirit of it.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderfully delightful Christmas story. It was fun imagining Peter in his various different outfits. And the ending leaves lots of room for Peter's further adventures visiting with Ms. Lillian and his new friend Wendy come spring. Thanks so much for this great Christmas treat!
ReplyDeleteThank you very much for a real Christmas story. I couldn't help but put myself in Miss Peter's shoes when he described the feeling of the many petticoats under his dress and how they could keep him warm even in the bitter cold.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure that if more boys had a chance like Peter's, being forced, due to unforeseen events, to live in dresses for a shorter period of time, and had the same feelings as Miss Peter and then joined forces, they could erase the old traditions that say girls wear dresses while boys wear pants, and start a new tradition where everyone wears the clothes they prefer.
It would be nice to hear something about how Miss Peter is doing in the future.
What a fun story!! I sure hope Gail gets her car back. I had to look up all of the towns and shires on the map (yes, I'm THAT kind of geek) and they had quite a trip to get home. We live in the country, and I can tell you that the only thing nicer than looking out on the snow covered fields on a winter day is looking out at the snow covered fields at night under a full moon.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you're that kind of geek. I often use a map to help me visualise the setting, the walks and journeys. I often change the place names slightly too, or just make them up completely.
DeleteI do intend to write a sequel, titled Summer Breeze... but whether it'll happen or not is another matter :)
I had to read this a second time, what a great story PJ! Strange that Peter is the only one who doesn't know about Petticoating and how Sarah and her parents just accept Peter in a dress as if it's normal. The way you have him coming to terms with his situation and accepting his new wardrobe is very nicely done. I really like the way you have Peter and Sarah bonding; like you do with siblings in many of your other stories. Your description of Lillian's house and its surroundings makes me wish I could get stranded there for a week or two. I know you generally don't like to do sequels, but I'm sure many of your loyal followers would love to read about a return visit in the summer.
ReplyDeleteThanks again for a wonderful story PJ.
Thank you all for the kind comments. :)
ReplyDelete