Confused Ramblings Of A Gardener free porn video

Confused Ramblings of a Gardener 1. History Julia put her pen down, leaned back in the kitchen chair and stretched her arms out. This exercise complete, she leaned forward once again, neatly folded the completed letter and slid it into an envelope with her completed job application and photos of her work. With a sigh, she addressed the envelope and put it on the side ready to post. A waste of time maybe, but Julia knew that she had to be honest. Archie made his weekly rounds of the house's gardens with Jim the gardener. All trim and well weeded, but as with any mature garden, it could no longer look as fresh as it had done when his father had these gardens laid 30 years ago. It needed to be taken in hand by someone who had imagination and an understanding of how nature enhanced and man's input detracted. He thought of those displays at Chelsea this year and shuddered at the number that contained large amounts of steel and concrete. Julia went around her bed-sit checking the houseplants, the only gardening opportunity currently open to her. All were well, even Spiro the Spider plant who she had found abandoned and terribly wilted when she moved in. She sat back in the chair she'd salvaged from a skip and tried to relax. The tribunal, though eventually in her favour, had taken so much out of her. Archie looked at the pile of posts. Methodically he sorted the windowed envelopes and filed the advertising matter in the bin. He looked at the remaining letters, knowing most would be more applications for the head gardener's job. One caught his eye, being much thicker than the others. Opening it, he found the expected application form together with a letter of explanation. The Letter Dear Sir, I am applying for the post of head gardener at your home. I have experience of municipal parks, contract and exhibition work. My references for this work are appended to the application. I have taken the liberty of including some photographs of my last exhibition entries. Although trained and experienced as a garden designer, I would like to take on the additional challenge of a full time role in garden management, and so be allowed to live with the designs I create. I must explain that since completing the jobs listed, I changed my name. This may cause problems with references. If you choose to follow up on my references, please use the name Michael Brown. Best regards Julia Brown Archie sat back in his chair. He had noted the change of gender in the names. He sighed, screwed up the letter and application and tossed them into the wicker wastebasket under his desk. About to turn to the next application, he paused. There was something familiar about the name. He needed to remember. Julia remembered the day that, as a boy, he had sought respite from the constant bullying at school by hiding in his parent's bedroom. After an hour, boredom caused Michael to start investigating the contents of his mother's drawers. He found things he had only previously seen on the washing line: Stockings, panties, bras and petticoats. She still remembered with a guilty feeling, slipping off his school uniform and with trembling fingers slipping the stockings up his legs, fastening the bra around his back and sliding the long slip over his head. Some items, like the suspender belt, required some experimentation until their use became clear. Each item of clothing made him want to put on more. Suddenly he realised he was fully dressed in his mother's clothes. He guiltily looked in the mirror. Apart from his short hair, he looked like a young woman. He relaxed. It felt right, as if a missing cog had been put in a machine and now the machine ran smoothly. Although he knew his parents would be upset if they found out, he had resolved to do this again. Archie went to his library, passing his shelves of first edition gardening reference books, copies of his own scientific reference works and the family archives and on to the area where periodicals were stored in magazine boxes. He selected the boxes that contained gardening magazines from eighteen months ago up until the last six months. Sitting down at the large library table, he started to look through the back copies. He knew the news article had been at least a year ago. Her bank statement was still in the black but not for much longer. The compensation money, had all been spent. For the thousandth time, Julia wondered if she had done the right thing. Archie found the article he was looking for. The headline read 'Fired cross-dressing gardener wrongly dismissed'. He sat back to read the article he had ignored at its publication date. The news reports of the tribunal had all been sensationalised, especially the tabloids. Only the specialist magazines had made any mention of her prize winning work and treated the situation as an example of poor staff management and badly implemented employment law. After the output of the popular press, she had become too hot to handle, or at least, too hot to employ. She had even tried to get an agent to milk the publicity, but all had laughed at her. No job, time on her hands, and money to burn; Life should have been good for Julia. However, the visits to her councillor were depressing. The councillor had disqualified her transition time at her last job as the required uniform of dungarees and wellies, was not deemed feminine enough. What could she do? Julia looked at herself in the mirror. Her body was trim, with good muscle tone. She was so glad that she hadn't bulked up like so many of her colleagues. She had enjoyed the job, got on well with the gardeners who worked for her. The problems started when her hormone-enhanced breasts began to show. Then the jokes started. The longer the jokes went on, the meaner they became, until even those making them could have called them nothing better than taunts. She had complained to the garden management, but to no avail. After she went to personnel to get her name changed, she was given her P45 - in her old name. 'Disruptive influence on the work force.' the dismissal letter had said. It wasn't a beautiful body, the rigours of her profession prevented that, but it was now unmistakably female. The scars were either healed or hidden. She had decided the councillor was not on her side. He had been giving her a hard time recently. He never put her problems in a positive light, always seeming to take the attitude that he could 'cure' her. Archie put the magazine down, took off his glasses, checked his pockets for a handkerchief and then polished the lenses with his shirttail. He now remembered with pleasure the garden at Chelsea that had been created by Michael Brown. He returned to his office and getting down on his knees, he retrieved the discarded application from his waste bin and attempted to smooth out the creases he had put into it a few hours earlier. Julia had spent several hours using her local library's internet connection, trying to research the employment issues. There were plenty of web sites for lawyers who would sue anyone for anything if they could get a (large) percentage of any compensation due. However, none of the employment specialists mentioned any sexual discrimination issues that matched her problems. A search for transsexual sites was disappointing, not from the number found, but the propensity to contain sexually explicit photographs. The library's implementation of site screening software caused a loud beep to emanate the each time she went to one of these specific sites. Eyebrows were raised by the assistant librarian watching over the computers. Soon Julia went through the indignity of being asked to leave. Michael's dressing continued, usually in the small hours when his parents and older sister, Clare, were asleep. He had thanked God so many times that the women's main wardrobe was located on the open landing at the top of the stairs and not in the bedrooms and was accessible for investigation during his nocturnal wanderings. A different library and a more specific search (along with the surreptitiously removed speaker connection) found some sympathetic web sites and things called chat rooms, but the library's software wouldn't allow those to be accessed. She went looking for a more liberal attitude and found it at a trendy internet cafe. The waiter (for some reason called a server) showed Julia how to access the chat rooms and gave her a small card with lots of strange abbreviations and what they meant. She soon became engrossed in the chat room culture, learning about strange aspects of Dominant and Submissive (definitely not her thing), of role play (interesting, but just playing at what she was trying to do for real) and above all making friends who were all sympathetic, but unable to offer advice. Julia still remembered the day she was caught, not red handed but the circumstantial evidence was irrefutable. Michael had put his sister's hair rollers into his, now longer, hair and was wondering around the ground floor of their house at 1:30 in the morning. To his horror, he heard a key turn in the front door. He had scampered into the toilet and listened as his sister returned from a late night party. He had removed the rollers, tied them into the headscarf that had been covering them, and then hidden them behind the toilet cistern. As casually as his loud beating heart would allow, he bid his sister good night and lay in bed waiting for the house to be quiet, so he could retrieve the rollers. The next thing he was aware of was the room was lit by the sun and there was a noisy argument between father and sister. Michael had gone into the kitchen to hear what was being said. The first things he noticed were the hair curlers spread over the table. Clare was fighting a rear guard action on two fronts, firstly for being out so late, and secondly for leaving her rollers in the toilet. She looked at Michael as he came in and he saw in her eyes that she had identified an escape route. "It must have been Michael who had taken my rollers into the toilet. He was in there last night when I got home." Michael considered denying it, but he was not an accomplished liar, so just refused to talk about it at all. For the rest of the weekend, the house had a very strained atmosphere. MakeMeAGirl was his chat room nickname. He (Julia assumed it was a he) opened a private chat with her one day after she had been talking about her dismissal woes in the open forum. He claimed to be a lawyer specialising in employment issues, admitting that he wanted his firm to take on a specific transgender case prior to making his own appearance from the closet. They arranged to meet up at a cafe. Julia had read lots of horror stories about real life meetings between chat room attendees, but after all that had been the whole point in going to the chat rooms in the first place. Archie had never met a transvestite before. His sheltered upbringing never had cause to equip him for such encounters. In fact, the only things he could think of were the plays at his all boys' school where some unfortunate got picked to play the girls part and had to endure a term or more of abuse from their peers and some camp entertainers on television. He had no idea what to expect and prepared for the worst. Sitting at his desk, he picked up the gold nibbed fountain pen and wrote the invitation to an interview. Jim had now worked for three generations of Archie's family. He had done most of the spadework for Archie's father the last time the grounds were remodelled. Now Jim spent his time keeping everything tidy and the gardens were immaculate. Jim didn't like change; the garden looked as good now as it had thirty years ago, yet he sensed a restlessness in his employer as they did the weekly inspection of the grounds. Change! Why couldn't people leave things alone, always fiddling, never accepting the status quo? There had even been that stupid garden designer who thought he could change sex, the plonker. The lawyer turned out to be very good, and even took the case on a pro bono basis. His skill combined with Julia's careful notes of meetings with the garden's human resources department plus her old employer's inability to stick to the procedures laid down by employment law had left the tribunal board with no choice but to find in favour of Julia. The judge had all but thrown the book at them, and awarding a five figure sum in compensation. The holiday in Brazil had seemed like a good idea at the time. An operation (or two) followed by a couple of weeks on the beach to recover. Julia's new passport had her new name and the gender indicator, could never be changed, regardless of how many operations she had. The money for the operation was no longer a problem and she had been told that the transgender testing was less rigorous than at home. When the holiday was over, she returned to the UK minus most of her compensation money, his balls, penis and Adam's apple, but with a remodelled chin and augmented breasts. The worst day of her life, had been the day that she had told her parents of her wish to be a proper woman. They had not taken it well. Her father had physically thrown her out of the house and told her never to return. She later heard though her sister that they had told their friends that Michael had died. It must have been doubly embarrassing for them when his photo was in the paper due to the tribunal. Her councillor was not impressed when the all-new Julia returned from her holiday. Furious would be a better adjective. He recited the UK's legal requirements, the continued care she required after the operation and finally in a vindictive move, told her that as she had gone behind his back, he would not prescribe the drugs she still and would always require on his nation's national health service. Julia held the last fifty pounds she owned in the world and tried to decide whether to spend it on food or a black market supply of the hormones she required. Her request for a new councillor was held up somewhere, she suspected it was waiting on the desk of the previous one. What would she become when the food, the drugs or both ran out? The envelope fell onto her doormat like manna from heaven. 2. Julia. I stood up, dripping water on the floor, still shivering after someone in another bed-sit had turned on a tap causing a jet of cold water to shoot out of the shower attachment that I had pushed over the taps. I dressed carefully. I had to make a good impression, but my clothes had to be sufficiently practical that should an impromptu visit around the grounds occur, I wouldn't be leaving a trail of stiletto holes and torn silk. I ended up with a navy blue, cashmere, roll neck sweater finished with an agate brooch, knee length tweed skirt, and black woollen tights. My long blonde hair, brushed back into a ponytail, leaving the fringe covering my forehead. I had discarded the string of pearls as being a bit too Sloan Ranger like. My trusty Wellingtons and wax jacket would be in the boot of the car. The directions to Wagstaff House were straightforward. Leaving the M4 motorway and heading north towards Stroud I noticed the change of scenery as I approached the steeper side of the Cotswold escarpment. Falling leaves covered the road. A gap in the high bank that bordered the road would have been easy to miss if the directions hadn't warned me of its presence. I stopped the car, got out and opened the gate, drove through, stopped and closed the gate behind me. The narrow lane opened up into a wide driveway, which led up to the large house. I parked next to a Land Rover Discovery. After checking my face in the car's rear view mirror and touching up my make up, I got out and nervously walked to the flight of steps leading up to the front door. Next to the original brass bell pull was a small electronic push button. I pressed it and waited. The door opened and a slightly portly man looked out of a ruddy countenance. "Hello can I help you?" he said with a slightly confused tone to his voice. "Hello, I'm Julia Brown I have an appointment with Mr Archibald Wagstaff." I introduced myself and noticed the other became somewhat flustered. "Oh, I see, I, ah, was expecting some. Excuse me. Please come in, follow me." He seemed to have regained control of himself, and was striding away across the vast entrance hall to the staircase. "My office is on the first floor. I'd like to conduct the interview there if you don't mind." He called behind him. The staircase finished at a gallery that surrounded the entrance hall. My host or hopefully future employer marched down one of the corridors that left the gallery and turned through an open doorway. I rushed along, trying to keep up with him, frightened that I might get lost in what looked like a maze of corridors and rooms. When I entered the room that was his office, he was seated at a large mahogany desk facing me. Indicating a chair on my side of the desk, he said, "Please, take a seat". "I'm so sorry about downstairs... I was expecting, Sorry, I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Archie Wagstaff, Doctor of Palaeontology by training, minor baronet by breeding and dedicated to keeping this pile in one piece until the taxman gets it when I die. "Now, am I right to assume that it was you who created the riverside willow garden at Chelsea the year before last?" "Yes that was mine. I got a silver rosette" I replied, aware that he hadn't taken his eyes off me since he had started talking. I returned his gaze, almost staring at him. He finally averted his eyes and looked at the ceiling as he continued. "Wonderful, wonderful. Now, the situation here is that my previous head gardener, Marcus, got poached by a TV company to work as an advisor on a series for them and has decided he likes the high life and has moved to London. Previously the job was mainly about keeping on top of the grounds in general and the flowerbeds in particular. However, the new appointee will have some additional tasks, as I want to redevelop some parts of the gardens. So, I'm looking for someone with vision and an understanding of the beauty of nature. I smiled. Just the sort of opportunity I was looking for. "Yes my lord. As you have seen from my resume," I saw the creased document in the folder open in front of him, "I have a broad experience of garden design, encompassing the formal municipal gardens in Brighton, numerous private and corporate designs and of course the exhibition garden you have already mentioned. In all these cases, I have produced the design, managed the project and when I have had time, assisted in the execution of the design. In my last employment I was managing a crew of six gardeners." "Please don't call me 'My Lord'; I prefer the title I earned. Now tell me about the inspirations that lead you to design the Chelsea garden?" I opened my portfolio and spread the original plans and photographs of the prize-winning garden across his table, spoke of the sponsor's requirements, and how I had come to produce the final design. I then spoke of the technical problems of producing a slow flowing river in essentially a dry playing field. I could tell I had captured his interest as he leaned close over the drawings, asking the right technical questions. I finished off what was essentially a presentation by saying how it had broken my heart when the display had been stripped of its plants and then ripped up by a digger to reinstate the park to its former blandness. I was so happy with the way the interview was going, just please don't let him ask... personal questions! But as he sat back down I could see the bluster return that he had shown when I first introduced myself and his eyes were looking me all over; I had heard of men mentally undressing women, but I suspected he was trying to visualise things in a way that women don't normally have to worry about. I sighed aloud, considering that the job probably wasn't mine after all and that he had just got a free ticket to the freak show. "You may as well ask what you want to ask directly. It'll save time." I said sharply as I carefully put all the paperwork back into the portfolio. "I'm sorry, was I that obvious? It's just that I can't believe that you were ever a man." "Yes I was born with the body of a man, but now thanks to modern medicine, I'm what you see here. Tell me, what do you see?" "Ah. I see a self assured young woman." "So treat me like a 'self assured young woman', because that's what I must be." "You're right. I'll do that," He smiled for the first time. "and I'm pleased to say that I would be happy for you to take the job. We can discuss the terms after you have seen the grounds." I was stunned. I had gone from the brink of disaster, but won through. I had a job! 3. Archie I picked up the key for the Discovery as I showed Julia out of my office. I was now sure I had made the right decision about getting her over for the interview. When she described the techniques she had used to build the Chelsea garden, I was disappointed, there was almost as much concrete and steel as in the hated modern designs. But as she explained, it is for a month long exhibition and it isn't practical to divert water courses or move mountains, especially as there are neither water courses nor mountains in the Chelsea Park! The point she got across to me was that, it was the look that must be natural, how that was achieved was another matter that depended upon time, resource and commitment. I hadn't expected to offer her the job, but I think she will make a go of it if she accepts. Of course, she hasn't seen the estate yet... or met Jim, so it wasn't a sure thing that she would accept the job. I still felt embarrassed about the way I greeted her, to think that I had been expecting a butch woman, 6 feet something with a 5 o'clock shadow. Instead, well I had called her a 'self assured young woman' when she prompted me. I had omitted another adjective that would have been appropriate - Beautiful. I let her lead the way, and was able to watch her, the dainty steps she took, the way her hips gyrated, her hands crossed behind her back making her shoulders go back. I could imagine the way her small breasts pushed out in front of her. I still don't believe she was ever a man. Reaching the front door, I held it open for her and sharply inhaled to take in some of that perfume she was wearing. "Thank you" She said, giving me a smile. I realised that she must have been quite tense during the interview, but now I could see she was relaxing. "I'll just get my jacket and boots from the car". I watched her change her shoes seated on the tailgate of the old estate car she had arrived in, watching the way she pointed her toes prior to putting them into her boots. Then I watched the way she almost twirled her coat around and thrust her arms into its sleeves whilst it was in mid air. She stamped her feet, slammed the boot lid down and looked expectantly at me, smiling. "Shall we do the formal gardens at the back of the house first?" I asked. "That would be nice." I lead the way around the side of the house to the flowerbeds that could be seen from all the rooms facing southwest. They were formed in quadrants around the raised flowerbed with a statue in the middle of it. "It's very traditional. Those roses are a bit on the mature side; we should take those out and replace them with young stock. It's a shame about the fountain." "What fountain" I replied. "The raised bed is a Victorian pond. The statue in the middle would originally have had water spraying from the raised arm." She climbed onto the bed and felt the hand of the sculpted lead figure. "Yes I can feel the end of the tube, still there." "Well I never! I didn't realise that was what it was." I stood back and for the first time in my life saw the bed for what it really was. I tried to imagine water coming from the statue, cascading down. "Do you think it could be restored back to its original function?" "I don't see why not. It depends on the condition of the pond, whether it will hold water or not. They often filled them in as repairing a cracked base was very difficult in older times. I would assume the pump is either gone or no longer serviceable. But a modern replacement would be quite simple to install." As we looked around, she made more comments on the planting, with subtle improvements here and there, also paying compliments on the way the beds had been maintained. Wandering from plant to plant, reciting their Latin names and lovingly turning the blooms in her hands to look at them. I could see how happy it made her. "Would you like to see my other water feature now?" I asked her, leading to the gap in the tall box hedge behind which the lake was hidden. "This is how a water feature should be built. Two hundred years ago, this was dug out, all by shovel and wheelbarrow. The spoil now forms the hill behind it and yes, a stream was diverted to fill it. That caused a lot of upset with the estate tenants. It was their water supply! "The lake was stocked with trout for my ancestors fishing pleasure, though that's not my thing." We walked side by side along the path that leads around the lake. She pointed up at the trees that had been planted on the artificial hill with its rustic look out point. "Something needs to be done about those trees. Some of them look quite dangerous and young ones should be planted ready so gaps aren't left when the older ones die or need to be taken down". I carried on explaining the scope of her job as we walked back to the house. "There are two-hundred acres to the estate in all. Seventy-five percent of that is arable farmland worked by a tenant farmer. He has fifteen years on his lease at the moment, so we can't touch that. Of the remainder, the land the house stands on and its immediate grounds are about thirty acres. The rest is woodland. "You will need to ensure the woodland is coppiced regularly and that the grounds are kept to my liking. You will have one member of staff reporting to you. His name is Jim and he's been working here forever! We will meet him later on." I suddenly had the desire to extend this meeting with the young lady. Feeling the car key in my pocket, I said. We'll take the Discovery and I can show you the woodland. I held open the passenger door of the all terrain vehicle and watched as she nimbly hoisted herself in. As I drove we carried on talking. "What plant do you have available?" was her first question. "There is a tractor with a variety of implements, it can tow a big lawnmower and there is a tilting trailer. There are numerous small machines, such as trimmers and chain saws. Behind the woods are some buildings where all that is stored. If there is anything special needed, there is a local company that leases equipment by the day, with or without an operator." "Do you sell the timber from the woodland?" "Er, no, it is just left to grow and die in peace." So it went on. I enjoyed listening to her high voice, and the obvious intellect that was behind the questions. We went to the small depot where all the equipment was stored and she asked questions about its maintenance. We then looked at the staff accommodation buildings. "This is lovely." She said, looking through the window of the house that would be hers for the duration of her employment. I had tried the door but found it locked and didn't have the right key ring with me. "My father saw sense. When the staff numbers dropped and people were less enthused for a 'life in service' as it used to be called, he knocked several of the, well, I would have called them hovels, into larger buildings and put in central heating and modern kitchens and bathrooms. "Do you have your own furniture?" "Not really. My current flat came semi-furnished and I never had the money to extend what was there." "Marcus had his own things and cleared out everything when he left. I'm sure we can find enough discarded furniture in the storerooms of the main house to sort you out, though I would recommend you get your own mattress. "There are just the three staff positions now: Head gardener, Jim and my house keeper, Mrs Billings." We discussed salaries and her eyes opened wide when I mentioned the figure that Marcus had been earning. Obviously, councils and landscaping companies don't pay as much as I thought. That just left introducing her to Jim and I knew where he would be at this time of day. Another trip in the Discovery was required. 4. Jim. I had just finished my first pint of Wickwar Brewery's Best Bitter when his Lordship came into the pub. Trailing him in was this girl, well young woman. "Hello Jim, I thought I would find you here." "Aye, it's my lunch break Dr Wagstaff." "Have another pint then Jim? " He waved for the landlord's attention and quickly got the drinks in for the three of us, paying with a crisp new twenty pound note. "I'd like to introduce you to Julia Brown. I'm offering her the post of head gardener. She has yet to accept." I had known that I couldn't get the job, with only a few years left till I retire and hadn't even applied for it. But, I didn't think he would have been daft enough to give the job to a woman. I looked her up and down, not a lot of muscle on her. Be interesting to see her after a day with a hoe in her hands! "Julia has a lot of experience of garden design, even getting some awards" He was smiling at the woman in a very possessive way. "Oh aye, what was that then?" I looked at her again. "I won a silver rosette at Chelsea two years ago." Posh London accent she had. "Oh. Very impressive dear, so what made you leave the city and come traipsing down 'ere then?" "Well, I sort of needed a job after my previous employer and I had a difference of opinion." So, she was fired. Not often you hear of an award winning gardener getting the boot. Last one I heard of, they got shot of him when he came to work dressed in women's underwear. "So the boss must like your work. Took 'im a long time to recruit Marcus a few years ago, but he found you in double quick time." "I'm flattered. Between you and me, I was getting a bit desperate. "I'm very impressed with the work you've put into the gardens. Everything seems to have been maintained beautifully." "Thank ye ma'am. So do you think you'll be makin' lots of changes?" "Dr Wagstaff has indicated that it will be part of my brief to review and update the gardens and there are some areas which are approaching the need for a higher level of maintenance." So, she wants to change everything. I drained my glass, and decided that it was time for me to head back to the weeding of the hollyhocks. "Good bye Doctor. I hope you'll take the job miss. I'll look forward to it." I decided that sometimes it was better to lie through your teeth, as I walked out the door to retrieve my bicycle. 5. Julia I had accepted the job as soon as Jim had left the pub. Dr Wagstaff asked me to join him for a meal and I enjoyed the Steak and Ale pie with new potatoes and fresh vegetables that the pub served. With neither the previous incumbent nor me needing to serve notice, we agreed that I should start as soon as I could move down. I did have a big problem though. "This is a bit embarrassing Dr Wagstaff, but I wonder if it would be possible to have an advance on my salary. I'm a little overdrawn at the bank and could only just afford the petrol to get here." "Really, I thought you had received a large compensation claim?" A bit insensitive! "I've had a lot of expenses since then." I nearly shouted for him to mind his own business, but just caught myself in time. "Oh, do you mean the operation? I was under the impression that you could get that done on the national health." Gone too far! "Dr Wagstaff. That is very personal. What I did with the compensation is my business. Anything to do with my heath and wellbeing is also my business, unless it is covered by the health and safety act. Do I make it clear that these areas are not topics for conversation?" He had the grace to blush. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. Of course you may have the advance and the trip for the interview is a valid expense." He took out his wallet and passed me five, twenty-pound notes. "Any other expenses involved with moving down will also be covered." I took the money and tucked it into my handbag. I would have liked to have thrown it in his face, but that would have required me to walk back to London. I got to my feet. "Can we go back to the house now please. I have a long drive ahead of me and I would like to get started soon." "Of course, my dear." He swigged back the rest of his drink and got to his feet. The drive back to the big house was in silence. I was angry, upset, but determined not to cry. I think he was aware of my feelings as when he had parked up he turned to me and spoke again. "I'm very sorry. I seem to have a way of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, always have done. I know this is a taboo topic, but I think I need to explain myself. "I just can't even start to imagine what you have gone through, what has driven you to fight against all the odds in your life, your work. I don't know where I stand. You asked me to treat you like a woman, and I'll try to honour that, but it's very hard when there are so many questions I want to ask, but can't. When I was interviewing you, you suggested I should ask the questions directly to save time. I wish I had done so then, but I now suspect you were frustrated with me when you made that offer. I would very much appreciate if you could think about explaining your situation to me. I just want to understand. Maybe I could even help you in some small way?" He was almost pleading when he finished. I couldn't look at him. I just got out of his car, climbed into my own and drove off. Just before the motorway junction there is a lay by. I had managed to get there and park my car, when the floodgates opened. I just sobbed and sobbed, more than at any other time during my transition, even after my father had thrown me out. My emotions had been initially set up with anger at his forthright comments. But, when he had tried to find out more about me, his voice had conveyed that he cared. Other than the professional councillor for whom my regard was very low, no one had ever tried to ask why I was what I was. Eventually I was able to regain my composure and redo my smudged make up. The two and half hours it took to drive back to London seemed to last forever. Parked outside my flat was a small van. As I started to unlock my front door, an acne-covered youth got out and approached me. I started to panic until I saw in his hand a single red rose wrapped in cellophane. "We had a special phone order to deliver this in person. The geezer said not to try and pass off any rubbish as you were an expert. There's a note to go with it." He handed me the bloom and an envelope. I looked at the rose, just opened from bud, and in perfect condition, the dark red colour consistent on all the petals. I guessed whom it was from. "Thank you. That is beautiful" was all I could manage before stumbling through my door and a fresh bought of crying. I read his note through my tears. In it, he repeated that he was sorry, he didn't mean any harm, that the job was still there and he hoped I would still take it. That he felt responsible for his staff and if there was anything he could do to help me, I only had to ask. I got myself ready for bed and pulled the duvet over my crying head. The old soft teddy bear that had always been my comfort absorbed my tears, but the crying went on for as long as I remained awake and who knows may be longer. He cared. Even if it was only as a member of his staff, he cared. No one had said that to me for a very long time. The next morning I knew I had to contact him, but didn't feel emotionally strong enough to use the phone to talk to him in person. Instead, I chickened out and wrote a letter, just sticking to the essentials. Thanks for the flower, he shouldn't have bothered. I will still be taking the job, hoped to be there in a couple of days, and finally I would be grateful for any furniture that he could spare for the little house. You know that sort letter. I got it in the first post and hoped it would be received tomorrow morning. Packing up my life had taken less time than I thought it would. All my clothes fitted into two suitcases. There was a cardboard box of legal stuff and correspondence from the tribunal. Soon the only thing that wouldn't fit in the car was the rescued chair. I was tempted to tie it to the roof, but eventually, in the dead of night I dropped it into an unsecured skip a couple of streets away. The next morning I packed everything into the car, the plants strapped to the back seat with the seat belts. When all was in, I looked at the car. It was and contained my whole life, all my possessions. The few souvenirs of my childhood that my sister had passed back to me. Everything! I just hoped the rusty thing would make it as far as the next stage of my life. 6. Archie Over breakfast, I was reviewing the previously rejected job applications, with each one I looked at, I thought how perfect Julia had been for the job and I kicked myself for being an insensitive brute and driving her away. I had seen the post office van pull up in the drive and the regular postman get out and head for the front door with a small pile of letters. Soon Mrs Billings brought them into the dining room for me. As I thumbed through the mostly manila envelopes, I saw one that was pink and went straight to it. It had a London postmark, and yes, just a hint of that perfume. I nervously tore the envelope open, hoping for good news, but expecting the worst. I had trouble reading her words, my hands were shaking so much. It was good news! In fact, she could even arrive today. "Mrs Billings. I want to celebrate. More toast please!" I patted my tummy but for some extraordinary reason I felt guilty about what I felt there. "On second thoughts Mrs Billings, I've had enough today." Why did I do that? I have never worried about my weight before, why now? "Mrs Billings. We have work to do this morning. What is the situation with Marcus' house? Can Julia move into it today?" "I checked it when he moved out Dr Wagstaff. It was left clean and tidy. It's got carpets on the floors and curtains at the window and they are all serviceable. It could probably do with the windows being left open to let some air through but there isn't a stick of furniture in there though." "Right Oh! Let's see what furniture is in the basement and perhaps you could stock the refrigerator and pantry. Just get enough for a couple of days. Yes, we will find the furniture first, and then while you sort out the kitchen, I'll get Jim to move everything over to the cottage." I lead Mrs Billings to the basement where generations of my family had hoarded stuff rather than dispose of it, where they thought the local riffraff might get their hands on it. As can be imagined with furniture cast off from a country house, a lot of it was of a scale that one piece would have filled the cottage. We found a bed with a mattress that if allowed to air would be OK for a while, a comfortable arm chair, a couple of dining chairs, small table and a little desk. Jim answered the call to his walkie-talkie and brought the estate's van over so we could transport everything to the cottage. By lunchtime, I felt the little house was just about ready for its new occupant. Strange, I had never made an effort to welcome any previous member of staff. But, I still felt excited about Julia's imminent arrival. Maybe it was just the thought of getting on with changing the garden, making a mark on the landscape for my generation of Wagstaffs. I returned to my office, but though I tried to concentrate on fossils for the paper I was writing, my eye kept being drawn to the window and its view of the driveway. It was very annoying, when I had to get the paper to the publishers in a couple of days. Eventually I gave up and screwed the top back on my pen. Then I moved my chair over to the window and just waited. As the afternoon grew to a close, the autumn sky to the west turned first orange, then gold and finally as the sun dropped below the horizon, an angry red colour. I was just about to give up and head down to the lounge, when I saw car headlights at the bottom end of the drive. They swept over me causing me to blink, stopped for a minute then moved up the driveway to the house. I rushed down the stairs calling to see if Mrs Billings was still in the house. No luck there she must have left for the day. I got to the front door and was stood at the top of the steps just as the old estate car pulled up outside. I waited for her to get out of the car, but there was no movement. Eventually the door opened but she still didn't get out. I walked down the steps and put my head in the door. "Welcome. I hope you didn't have any trouble getting here." I said, but as soon as I looked at her, I knew something was very wrong. She was as white as a sheet. "My dear! Let me help you into the house." She managed to swing her legs from the car and I helped her to a standing position, but she didn't seem to be with it. I stooped and lifted her into my arms and carried her up to the house, surprising myself at how light she was. In the lounge, I settled her onto one of the big chesterfield sofas. She seemed to revive a little, giving me a timid smile. "I, I seem to have over done it a little, Dr Wagstaff." "I'll get some tea. Just rest there'" I headed to the kitchen and boiled the kettle, warming the pot before making the tea. I put everything on a tray and carried it back to the lounge. "Ah, shall I be mother? Of course I will. How do you like your tea?" "Milk and one sugar please." I poured the drink and passed her the cup and saucer. "Can I do anything else for you?" She shook her head, concentrating on holding the saucer in one hand while she drank from the cup with the other. I sat nervously on the opposite sofa, waiting. Eventually she passed the cup back to me, and then the saucer. "I think I need a doctor. Do you know one that you can trust?" "What's wrong? No! Please, you don't need to answer that. I have learnt from my previous mistake. Old Perkins in the village is OK at normal things, he is also quite discrete." I said thinking of the little embarrassment he had helped my father with and only told me about many years after Papa had passed away. "I think I should tell you. It might make things easier in the long run. "Although the surgery has left me looking anatomically like a woman, I can't manufacture my own estrogen, that's a female hormone. Neither can I make male hormones now I don't, don't have any male equipment. I have to take pills to keep everything in balance. I ran out of them yesterday." "I'm sure Perkins will fill in a prescription. I'll get him to come out." I said as I reached for the phone. "You trust him?" "Yes. Are you worried about village gossip?" She nodded. "I feel so stupid, not having any, but it's not easy for me to get them anymore." "Why not; it's something you need isn't it?" "I used to get the prescriptions from a councillor, a trained psychiatrist, but we, ah, had a disagreement over my surgery and he refused to sign any more. I'm trying to get another councillor, but that isn't easy. I've been buying them privately, when I've had the money." I picked up the phone and dialled the doctor's home number from memory. "Perkins? It's Wagstaff here. I'd like you to come out to the house please. One of my staff is ill and she needs a prescription." "Mrs Billings? She's never ill." The doctor replied. "No this is my new head gardener; she's not on your list yet. I'd be very grateful if you could come out straight away. To the main house please." "OK. I'll be about 20 minutes." "Many thanks. Stop afterwards and have a drink?" I dropped the receiver back into its cradle. As good as his word the local doctor rang the bell a quarter of an hour later. I opened the door for him. "Good evening Dr Wagstaff. Where's my patient?" "Hello, Dr Perkins, she's in the lounge. I was a bit worried, I think she nearly passed out in her car as she got here." I showed him into the room. "I'll leave you in private. Shout when you're leaving, I'll be in the drawing room over there." It was about half an hour later when the doctor came in. I got out a bottle of the Glenlivet whiskey I know he's partial to. He settled himself into the armchair opposite my favourite chair ready for a chat. "You know I can't say anything to you about Julia's problems, don't you? I have to go by the rules of doctor, patient confidentiality and all that." I nodded. "I will say that I have written out a prescription, but I think it might be better if I collected the drugs myself. I wouldn't want any misplaced gossip from the pharmacist as to what you're doing with such things." "Ah, quite so!" I hastily replied. "She's sleeping now. It's best to leave her where she is, but keep her warm. I'll drop the pills in tomorrow." The doctor finished his drink, picked up his bag and left. I went back through to the lounge and looked at Julia, peacefully sleeping on the sofa. I fetched a blanket from my bed and draped it over her gently sleeping form. I've never been left responsible for anyone before let alone someone who was sick and I didn't know what to do. I chose to sit on the other sofa and watch, just in case she had a relapse or something. I found myself looking at her long fair hair cascading over the cushion, the soft clear skin of her face and her small hand clutching the blanket tightly to her cheek. It just wasn't possible to believe her past history. 7. Julia. I had felt completely shattered on the drive west. On more than one occasion, I was suddenly aware of having drifted onto the hard shoulder that borders the motorway. Coffee stops at the services didn't seem to help either. I just pressed on until I arrived at Wagstaff House. Dr Perkins is a lovely man. He did get a surprise when he was taking my case notes, but made no comment other than was necessary professionally. He gave me something to help me sleep and promised to get some tablets for me, but made me promise to see him in a couple of days. When I awoke, I felt the heavy blanket covering me. It had a manly smell to it that had reminded me first of my own bedding from years before, but then it seemed to trigger a different reaction; calming, caring and comforting. I inhaled deeply and came around some more, to the point where I could open my eyes. In the sofa opposite me was my employer, sitting up, with his eyes closed, head tilted back and a deep rumbling emanating from his drooping jaw. I looked at him thinking, this is the man who cares, who called a doctor for me, and put me to bed; my Good Samaritan. Then I had a worrying thought, I looked under the blanket and was relieved to confirm that I was still fully dressed. From the weak light coming from behind the curtains, I guessed it must be very early. I pushed the blanket off and went to look for the toilet. Looking for a toilet is not an easy task in a mansion that is several hundred years old. They didn't seem to go in for putting conveniences in convenient places. Eventually I found one that seemed like miles away near the kitchen and got my self sorted out. A little bit of repair work on my face was required; I would do a proper job on it later on. On the way back I stopped off in the kitchen and put the kettle on for some tea. I'm not sure how much experience the doctor has of a teapot, but what he had produced last night was pretty insipid. I looked at my watch and found it was five am; about my normal getting up time when I was working. I was frustrated! I wanted to get on with something, but my house would be locked, so I couldn't move in. It wouldn't be politic to start doing something in the garden on my first day without proper introductions and in any case Doc Perkins had told me to take it easy until my hormone levels were sorted out. I found the tray that had been used last night, obviously left for someone else to sort out. I washed up the cups and pot and got a brew going to my liking. I was going to put everything on the tray and take it back to the lounge, but I suspected the landed gentry wouldn't be stirring until the sun was high in the sky; so I leaned against the kitchen unit cradling the cup in my hands and letting my mind drift here and there. At about seven o'clock, I heard a noise coming from the adjoining utility room that I guess, would have been called a scullery when the house was originally built. I looked through the door and saw a lady, probably in her mid thirties, shaking the rain from her coat. She looked up at me and seemed very surprised. "Who are you and what be you doing in my kitchen?" She demanded. "Sorry, we haven't been introduced. I'm Julia Brown; I'm starting as the Head Gardener." "Aye, you might be at that, but what are you doing in the big house? We staff have our own accommodation over by the woods." "Oh. I stayed here last night." She looked appalled. "I was taken ill, whilst I was travelling. The doctor, Dr Perkins that is, gave me something to sleep and so I did, on the sofa." I hastily added, realising the implications of my first statement. "Sorry for helping myself to your kitchen, but I think my house is locked up and I haven't got any keys yet." She looked concerned. "I hope you're feeling better. My name is Mrs Billings; I'm going to make breakfast for his Lordship. Like me to put something extra in the frying pan for you?" I nodded, remembering that I hadn't eaten since the disgusting dry burger that had been served in the motorway services. She got to work efficiently and soon had me seated at the kitchen table with a Full Monty breakfast in front of me. I tucked in whilst she took a tray with another big meal for Dr Wagstaff. She was back shortly, still carrying the loaded tray. "Huh! I don't know what's got into him. First, I find his bed hasn't been slept in and then when I do track him down to the lounge, he only wanted a piece of toast! I've never known him not to start the day without a proper breakfast." She said as she threw the meal into the rubbish bin with a bit more force than was necessary. "Hello." I looked up and saw Dr Wagstaff leaning against the frame of the door to the main house, nibbling on a piece of toast. Mrs Billings suddenly had something important to do in the scullery, but I did notice the back of her neck going red as she left. "How are you feeling this morning? I didn't hear you get up." "Very much better thank you. Sleep always helps. "Dr Wagstaff, may I move into my house as soon as possible? I had intended to get here earlier yesterday, so as be able to start in the garden today." Hmm. Don't be too hasty. We'll get you into the house today, but you're not to start work until Perkins has given you the all clear. I see Mrs Billings has sorted breakfast for you. I'll get the keys from my office and we'll go over when you've finished eating." I tucked back into the fry up. He returned shortly, obviously showered, shaved and spruced up, holding a bunch of keys. "If you drive your car, I'll lead in the Discovery." I followed him out of the house and found my car as I'd fallen out of it, door still open and the interior light glowing dimly. When I attempted to start it, the starter motor gave a half-hearted whine. The doctor came over. "I'll get Jim to bring the estate's van and some jumper leads later on. Let me put your things in the back of my car." So, that was how I moved in, with a lord of the realm acting as removal man. The house, though small, was what an estate agent would describe as 'Well appointed'. I looked at the furniture that Dr Wagstaff had described as 'cast offs'. From my avid watching of television antiques programs, I recognised a davenport desk, and ran my hand over the back of the well-stuffed leather chair. All of the wood was mahogany and must have been at least 100 years old I suspected the furniture would probably have given one of the expert presenters a field day valuing it. "I'll let you sort your things out. When you've seen the doctor, call me and we'll see about planning a work schedule." The first thing I sorted out was having a shower. Afterwards, in my dressing gown with my hair wrapped in a towel, I was wandering around exploring my new accommodation. I found homes for the houseplants and gave them a good watering to help them settle in. I pulled my cases up the narrow stairs and unpacked. The few ornaments I owned were put on the mantle above the cold, but well used fireplace. There was a knock on the door. Stooping down to look out of the small low window, I saw Dr Perkins, bag in hand rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. I hurried to let him in. "Good morning dear. Are you feeling improved this morning?" "Yes thank you." "I have your hormone tablets. I had to go to Bristol for them. Not much call for them here, but probably better if you collect them from a bit further a field anyway. Its only takes forty minutes on the motorway." He passed the bottle across and I went to the kitchen for water to take one straight away. When I returned the doctor had opened his bag and proceeded to check my vital signs. Whilst doing so, he continued to speak. "Now, since I saw you last night, I have done some background reading. We GPs are jack-of-all-trades but masters of none, so I needed to fill in some gaps in my knowledge. I have made an appointment for you with an endocrinologist for next Wednesday morning. It's with Mr Fielding. Again, he is based in the Bristol Royal Infirmary, so you should get to know that city quite well. It also seems that since you are a post operative transsexual, you no longer need to see a councillor, and that it is appropriate for me to provide prescriptions between your visits with Mr Fielding." He put his stethoscope and blood pressure test instrument back into his case. "You are fine, but no heavy workouts until you have seen the specialist. Understood?" I nodded my agreement and thanked him as he took his leave. "YES! No more counselling!" I shouted and danced around the room waving my hands in the air. I was still doing this when Jim put his head around the still open door. "Begging your pardon miss. His Lordship asked that I should sort out your car real quick. I don't think 'e likes it abandoned in front of the 'ouse there." I stopped my dance in mid stride and turned to look at him, feeling the colour rising in my face. "Oh yes Jim. Thank you I'll get the keys straight away." Of course with moving everything in, the keys had gone missing and took a while to find. As Jim drove the Land Rover back to the house I started to ask him about how the estate's land had been managed under my predecessor. I quickly got the impression that it would be a miracle for anyone to be able make Jim impressed at their skills or efforts. I decided on the management technique of getting him involved, and asked what he would do differently. It just turned out be an extremely successful method of making him clam up! Jim used some jump leads to start my car and then drove it to the small depot, where the gardening equipment was stored, to charge the battery properly. I took the old Land Rover and started to find my way around the estate, making notes on anything that I could see that needed attention. Away from the house, I found a large brick enclosure. I guessed it would be the kitchen garden that provided fruit and vegetables for the house in times before refrigeration and modern distribution methods. I pushed against the rotting door and it fell off its hinges, seemingly to be supported by the undergrowth. I had to push the door flat and stand on it to make any headway. From this vantage point, I could see into the garden beyond. I was in an area probably sixty metres square, surrounded by a four-metre high red brick wall. One third of the north wall was taken up by an unusual glasshouse, which must have dated back to Victorian times. I had seen such buildings before, but normally they were attached to a large house, and used as a conservatory. Most of the glass had long since parted company with the building's cast iron framework, but enough stiletto shaped fragments were left suspended from the roof to make any investigation of the inside unwise without suitable head protection. I could see many fruit trees of different varieties including peach and apricot, only able to grow here due to the shelter of the walls that made maximum use of the limited sunshine. It was a shame about the state of this area as not many such gardens were left in existence. I would have to see what Dr Wagstaff would want to do about them, but I decided to come back armed with a brush cutter, so I could make a closer inspection. My tour ended up at the back of the house, where I made a detailed inspection of the visible parts of the pond wall. It all seemed sound from the outside. Only excavating the soil from the inside would reveal if there were any major problems with its structure. I was on my hands and knees checking what had looked like a crack, but proved to be innocuous, when I heard the gravel crunch behind me. I looked back between my legs and saw my employer's highly polished brown shoes. "How does it look Julia? Will it hold water?" I jumped to my feet, brushing my hands on my knees as I turned to face him. "The outside looks fine, but the only way to tell is to empty it out and inspect the base of the inside. Even if it wasn't faulty, when it was changed to a flowerbed, it's possible that holes were punched through the bottom for drainage. "Dr Wagstaff I've had a quick inspection of the estate and come up with a few initial ideas, but I need to talk about what budget I have to use." "A budget? I've never really worked that way before. There are the two of you for manpower; most materials get put to the estate's accounts. For any unusual costs, Marcus would come to me and I would decide there and then." "I see. Did any projects end up with spiralling costs or get canned because they were too expensive?" He looked unhappy. I continued. "At the moment, I don't know what your aspirations are. I don't understand why you want to develop the garden. I assume you have no intentions to allow the public in? "I like to think I'm good at what I do, but that is because I do the job properly, from brief to plan to budget, before a spade bits into the ground. That is why most of my projects have come in on time and within budget." He let out a long sigh and smiled at me. "I can see that I picked a hot one when I gave you this job! Look, this is a whole new way of doing things for me. Can I suggest that we get together in two days, that's Friday and you talk me through it? My office at ten o'clock would be good." Without waiting for me to confirm the meeting, he turned and strode back to the house, his feet crunching on the gravel. As I turned back to the pond to finish my inspection, I saw Jim had turned up with his weeding equipment. Guessing that he had overheard my conversation with Dr Wagstaff, I went over to him. "Hello Jim. How much of that did you hear?" "Not my business, Miss." "Yes, it is your business Jim. I think there will be changes in the way the garden is run, but I want you to know now, that I don't think it will affect you. Gardens still need the same manual input. Weeds still grow; nature will always try to take back control. The changes I have in mind will enable us to do more in the garden." "Oh aye? You wouldn't be thinking about the kitchen garden would you?" He said and I'm sure there was a twinkle in his eye. 8. Archie. My tummy rumbled as I sat waiting at my desk for our appointment. I was now regretting passing the diet sheet I had got from Perkins to Mrs Billings. The advice of walking around the estate instead of using the Discovery I could take, but the lack of food was getting somewhat annoying. I was a bit disturbed by my encounter with Julia by the old pond. She had been very forthright with me. Not something, that normally happens outside of the University. She intrigued me. She had spirit and determination. Over the next couple of days, I often saw her around the estate, taking notes in a small pocket book, or working side by side with Jim. She was always smiling, as if her life had never been so good. I gave her approach some thought and then started to wonder how much money I was actually spending on the garden. The major cost in the garden that I was aware of, were the staff's salaries. The trouble was that all other costs had been hidden amongst the estate's daily costs. She had caused me to remember Marcus' attempt at renovating the lookout point by the lake. It had started out as a simple replacement of a safety rail, but then had become a major structural engineering job, with unforeseen costs all over the place. Mrs Billings showed her into my office and she smiled as she put down the rolled flipchart and a loose-leaf notepad she had been carrying. She was wearing the same skirt that she had worn to the interview, but with a nice cream blouse, unfastened at the collar, I noticed a string of pearls around her neck. She looked tired and I hoped that the illness, if that was the right word, had passed her. "Good Morning. How are you feeling?" She smiled back at me. "I'm getting along OK, thanks." "So tell me about your plans for my garden." "Well I thought it might be an idea to show you how I work, so I produced a plan for re-instating the pond and fountain. Sorry it's written in long hand, but I had to sell my laptop and camera." She passed me a document. The writing was neat and precise. It appeared to be a detailed specification of the work to be carried out, split up into various stages. At the back was a description of the anticipated costs. I looked through them. "You're planning to put the work out to contractors?" She looked over my shoulder at the cost indicated. "No. I'm charging my and Jim's time to the project. It gives an indication of the true cost. Plus, while we're working on this, we can't be weeding and pruning." I continued through the costs noticing contingencies for all sorts of eventualities. "It should cost a lot less than the figure indicated. The important thing is that it will cost no more. Oh, and the Koi carp are optional." I put the document down on my desk and leaned back in my chair. "So what other ideas do you have?" "Dr Wagstaff, you may feel this isn't where you want to go, but I have a few proposals to start making some money from your land. "I had a quick look through the woodland and there are a lot of mature trees that should be converted into timber. This would have two benefits; firstly, it would generate about ?5000 pounds a year for the next five years. Secondly, it will allow more light through to promote growth for the young replacement trees. This is also good land husbandry. "Next there is the walled garden." I only vaguely remembered it. I had played there as a child, but had not visited it in many years. "This is interesting from a couple of points. Firstly, from a historical view, there are very few walled kitchen gardens left in existence and this is a splendid example. The walls appear to be sound and I don't foresee any problems with the structure. The glasshouse is in a shocking state, but I suspect it may have an interesting heritage as it doesn't look right in that situation. "However, to me it is much more interesting from a horticultural perspective. It doesn't look as if much has been