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Note: This story is based loosely upon a letter that appeared in an early edition of the Petticoated website. I think it's still available to read, although I can't remember the name of it. Primrose House I took the call at 3pm on an idle Wednesday. I knew the voice was Helen's straight away. Even as a girl she had always spoken so precisely, so elegantly, that it was hard to mistake her soft Home Counties accent despite the advancing years. The way she pronounced the S sound took me straight back to those days at the house. Deep down I knew what the call was about. There was only one reason for Helen to be calling. I had kept in touch with all the sisters, but our contact had been reduced to cursory cards at Christmas from Charlotte and the odd email from Annabel, who I gathered was working in Nairobi or some other hot place, no doubt teaching the children the difference between their, there and they're. Yes, I knew the call was bad news, because it was the only thing that could possibly have driven Helen to such an effort. I sat down on my recliner as she told me. It seemed hard to comprehend that she could be dead. That someone as powerful and all knowing could actually die just like everyone else. Even the great Tabitha Flint had fallen foul to the great leveller that is death, yes even Ma'am. Helen spoke briefly and to the point about funeral arrangements, but I couldn't get past the idea that Tabitha was lifeless. That she'd be put in a box. "I'm going to miss her terribly," Helen sighed, surprising me with her forthrightness. I spent the afternoon sitting quietly in the chair, thinking. Thinking about my first day at the house. Thinking about Helen and how close we had once been. It didn't take much to put myself back within the cold, stone walls of the classroom or to hear Tabitha's matter of fact voice, which sounded just a tiny bit like my Mother's. I thought about my Mother too, and about the day I'd stood at her funeral all those years ago, a frightened, angry boy of 17 that had no idea what the future could possibly hold as we each tossed a rose into the ground. Did I miss my days at the house? No, not really. They had been tough days, especially in the first few months when my world had come crashing down on itself. I had hated the woman with a vengeance and hated myself for my complicity. I'd hated the girls with their prim and proper ways and the way their intellectual superiority made me feel. I'd hated the cold house and everything that went with it. I'm not sure why I feel the need to commit my story to paper. I know it's fairly incredible and that some of your readers will enjoy the themes within (if you can excuse my feeble, hack-like attempts to relay the story) but it's also going to be immensely difficult to me to tell it. Perhaps I want to tell it for Tabitha. Perhaps I want to tell it for my 17 year old self. The Queen is dead. Pass me the Gin, for crying out loud. My name is Christopher Robin. Don't laugh, please. Quite why my Mother lumbered me with such a ridiculous name I'm not sure. I'd imagine it had appealed to her quirky nature, the kind of contrarian attitude that took her to leave home at 16 and marry a bricklayer. I never met the bricklayer, he had taken his bag of bricks and moved on when he realised that 18 was too young to be lumbered with a wife and child, but I'm told that I look a little like him. That my small stature and small eyes must have come from his genes, because they certainly didn't come from the Flint family. Ah yes, the Flint family. My Grandfather, who I also never met, had apparently made money in fabric production in South London. You may even have heard of Flint's Fabrics? Incredibly popular apparently, and at one point there were three factories employing upwards of 100 people. I'd had to look this up in the library many years later, because both my Mother and Tabitha never spoke of the business. Tabitha had accepted the inheritance gratefully when the old boy had died, but was perfectly happy for the business to be sold. The old factories are long gone now of course, replaced by condos or state run old people's homes or any other such buildings which have inexorably replaced industry in this country. So I was telling you about the Flint family. Well, Tabitha was the oldest daughter, about ten years older than my Mother from what I could work out (certainly Tabitha never divulged her age) and had married a wealthy business man in her twenties. I could tell from the pictures that adorned Primrose House that the whole family were built in a similar way, even the women and girls. All were tall and shared the same brown colouring in their eyes and hair. Apparently my Grandmother stood nearly six feet tall and was often seen to lift whole pieces of furniture off the ground with little effort. Tabitha spoke of her in tones of hushed reverence. They had lived in a vast house in the Cotswolds, called Flint House. My Mother hated it and yearned for a life outside of the sterile confines of her wealthy upbringing. She was the black sheep of the family. The one that brought boys back to the house in the dead of night. The one that got expelled from school at 15 for showing up inebriated, in a sadly portentous sign of the future. My Mother drank herself to death. Her favourite was Martini, but she would basically drink anything that she could lay her hands on. Her drinking was simply something that was always part of our lives and it made her distant. Quite often she'd forget my birthday and she'd never have the money to buy me the correct uniform. In turn I became hard and abrasive, quickly lashing out at anyone who laughed at my unkempt appearance or who dared whisper anything about my Mother's drinking. I quit school at 14 and got a job on the Jamaica Road, helping prepare loads for the ships. It was incredibly tough work and I hated it with a passion. The lads were hard, quite happy to see you crushed by a heavy pallet if it made their job quicker, and the smoke from the ships would get stuck deep in your lungs and leaving you hacking up at night. Learning nothing from my Mother, I took to drinking to help ease the aches and pains. I'd steal from her bottle of Gin, or buy a cheap bottle of whiskey and drink it sitting on the south bank of the Thames, staring at London Bridge and wondering if this was all my life would ever be. Was I particularly sad when my Mother died? I can't remember really. In some ways it seemed merciful, her life wasn't one worth living as she scrambled to find money to buy her next drink. Eventually she'd contracted pneumonia and swiftly faded away. I'd found her dead in the bed as I was about to head out to work. She was only 35, but looked 60. I kissed her lightly on the cheek and left her until the evening, going to work in a fog like haze and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now. I'd found Tabitha's number in an old notebook that night. I knew about her fabled sister, living royally out in the south of England somewhere, because we received the odd card at Christmas. I wasn't entirely sure why I was calling her though. To pay for a funeral? Perhaps. But I thought she should know as well. It was her sister after all. We didn't have a phone, so I used the public phone across the street. I'll never forget the sound of her voice, "that is most unfortunate," she had said, conveying little emotion, "I had heard your Mother's drinking had become worse, but I didn't realise the situation was so grave. Tell me your address and I will be there tomorrow to make the necessary arrangements." I called in sick the next day and simply sat on the tatty old chair in the living room, surrounded by discarded bottles of cheap whiskey. Tabitha arrived at a little after 1pm. I had never met her before and was amazed at how much she looked like my Mother. The bold brown eyes, the sharp nose, the long, almost masculine legs. She wore plain black trousers and a grey jumper, and balanced her glasses on the bridge of nose. Her hair was pulled simply and functionally into a bun in the manner of someone unconcerned with appearance. "Oh Maisey," she had sighed, shaking her head as she beheld my Mother's lifeless form on the bed, "how did I let this happen?" She didn't cry, in fact I only saw Tabitha cry once in all the years I knew her, but she did take her sisters head and lay it in her lap, tenderly. I heard her whisper something, but couldn't make it out. Not that I wanted to really, it felt too private. Then Tabitha sprung into life, and the no nonsense woman that I would come to fear appeared in all her glory. She arranged the funeral with little fuss, haggling down the price with the local funeral director, who looked like a rabbit in the headlights of her fearsome bartering. She tidied the house with swift efficiency, taking the old whiskey bottles and throwing them into a large black bag where they smashed into each other with an angry thump. She even cut the lawn, even though summer was almost over and despite our lawnmower being so old that I was barely able to manoeuvre it around the garden. Tabitha did it with ease. She stayed with me for a week or so, sleeping in Mother's bed and making calls home every day to ensure that everything was running smoothly there. For the first few days she'd spoken to me sparingly, perhaps giving me time to grieve, but on the morning of the funeral she'd asked me to sit down at the dinner table with her so that we could "discuss matters'. "What are your plans for the future Christopher Robin?" She asked, staring me straight in the eyes with a not unkindly glare. I wished she didn't have to call me Christopher Robin though. "I hadn't given it much thought." I replied, honestly. "Do you like working at the dockside? I hear it is fairly brutal work and I'd imagine it's doubly tough for such a young man." "Well, I am 17......" She cut me off, "can I be forthright with you? I am concerned about your well being if you remain here. What future can there possibly be for you, living in such a ghastly environment. I fear," she paused, biting her bottom lip ever so slightly, "that you may follow the same path as your dear Mother." That stung. Perhaps I drank a little too much but I was nothing like my Mother. I was about to tell her so when she continued talking. "I'd like you to come home with me. I'd like to help you." She placed her hand on top of mine in a rare show of outward emotion. This was a bit forward! I wasn't exactly a child. I'd assumed that I would simply make an effort to find a better job and then perhaps find a nice girl. Maybe buy a house in one of the new estates they were building in north London. I relayed this to Tabitha. "Perfectly reasonable expectations," she had replied, "but rather limited for a Flint. I rather fear that you're underestimating your drinking too. It's not your fault really, I'm afraid Maisey didn't give you the best start in life. You think 17 is too old to make a new start, but you're incorrect. When I look into your eyes Christopher Robin, I can see much greater things that the meagre existence you aspire to." Those eyes! They bore into me like searchlights at sea, scanning for any weakness or frailty. She could tell I yearned for more and that I'd scaled back my dreams to match the surroundings. I thought about those days I'd spent sitting on the banks of the Thames, daydreaming about a life outside the confines of smoggy London and the loud docks. "But what would I do? What jobs are there out where you live?" I had asked by return, leaving my hand underneath hers. She had almost laughed at this, her glasses slipping down her nose slightly as she did, "no no, you don't understand at all." She took out her purse and handed me a small picture which showed three smiling girls, standing outside of a large stone house, "these are my daughters," she continued, "the oldest, Annabel, she is only a year younger than you. Exceptionally bright. She wants to go to Cambridge and the girl is so fantastically intelligent that I have little doubt she'll be successful. She has read every book in our small library at least once," she moved her finger along to the next girl in the line, who shared the same shoulder length brown hair as her sister and the same slight grin, "Charlotte is only 12 but is equally as bright, although she prefers the sciences and would like to be a doctor someday. Lastly we have Helen. Only 7 but a tremendous little ball of energy. That little minx can be anything she wants to be." I held the picture for a few moments as we sat in silence. Annabel and Charlotte were dressed in matching uniforms of knee length skirt and striped blazer with boater hats perched on their long brown hair. Both looked so much like Tabitha with their large, sporty builds and inquisitive eyes. Helen, the youngest, was dressed in a pinafore dress and wasn't wearing a boater, but she shared her sister's broad shoulders and slightly mischievous grin. None looked even slightly like me. "Why are you showing me this?" Was the best reply I could come up with. "I don't believe in pigeon-holing people Christopher. When I wanted to go to University everyone laughed at such an idea. They didn't understand why a young woman like myself would ever want to read. But I did go to University and then I learned to be a teacher, to make sure that my children received the best possible education. I teach them at home in the study room. It is a wonderful arrangement because they are free from temptations and distractions. I am certain that all three will go onto to great things," we were interrupted by a knock at the door, "probably the vicar. Let him bide his time. What was I saying? Oh yes, and I think it's not too late for you to do the same." "What do you mean? How could I possibly go to University now? I didn't even finish school," that wasn't the worst of it, because I could hardly remember a thing from the time I spent at the blasted place. She shrugged, "well I didn't go until I was 27. Age is only a number. I can teach you Christopher Robin. There will come a day when you're ready for University. Then, the world is yours for the taking." How true that statement would turn out to be, "are you saying that you want to school me? Really? Thanks but no thanks. I had enough of being schooled. I'm too old for it now." "Nonsense," she replied sharply, making me jump, "you're never too old for anything. But I have little time for unfortunates who have no interest in improving their station. My offer remains on the table until I leave for home tonight. Take it or leave it." With that she stood up, straightened her black dress, and went to open the door. We took the train. Yes that's right, I went with her. You'd guessed as much, you clever lot, seeing as we're still only at the start of the story. It wasn't as clear cut as all that though. At first I was certain that I would be staying. I didn't want to go back to education. Horrible memories abounded of stuffy classrooms, Maths questions I couldn't answer, words I didn't understand. We walked back from the graveyard in silence, with Tabitha half step ahead. I remember it was raining and my brown hair, one thing I had inherited from the Flint family, stuck down on my forehead. It's funny how you remember little things like that. I wanted to ask her questions about how it would work but I already felt a little frightened of her. I knew it was ridiculous, but there was something about those eyes that did it. Tabitha began to ready her things as soon as we got back, attending to the task with her usual briskness. She had placed a suitcase in my room, leaving it opened on my bed with a certain arrogance that annoyed my greatly at first sight. I had thrown it onto the floor and laid myself face first on the bed trying to not to cry at my misfortunes. How was it fair that I'd been lumbered with a drunkard of a mother? With a dingy house that we could barely afford to heat? I reached out an opened my the top drawer of my bedside cabinet, pulling out the half bottle of cheap whiskey that I'd hidden there. God it felt horrible as the hard taste of alcohol rushed down into my stomach. I know that might sound surprising, but I had always abhorred the taste of the whiskey. I liked the feeling it gave me, no doubt about that, but the taste was vile. I thought long and hard as I stared at the pale brown liquor in the bottle. I was due back at work the next day, but the idea of being back at that horrible dockside filled me with despair. The foreman, a spiteful little man whose name completely eludes me now, was sure to give me a hard time about my time off. He'd shout at me, telling me that I was the reason they'd fallen behind and laughing at the sores on my hands. No-one would care about my loss. These were hard people, they'd all suffered worse. I stared at the suitcase for sometime, finding appeal in its emptiness. It started to become clear that I was going to fill it with my meagre possessions. I emptied my drawers as quickly as I could, suddenly fearful that she would leave without me, scared that I would be stuck here on my own. It didn't take long, I only owned a few white shirts and a couple of tatty pairs of black trousers, under which I hid my half empty bottle of whiskey. I also grabbed the small framed picture that hung on my wall. It was of myself and Mother, standing outside a fairground when I had been about 8 or 9. I had no idea who had taken the picture, probably her boyfriend at the time, and I could see that she was slight drunk. I could tell it from her eyes. I left it on the bed. The train took us straight from huge Waterloo Station to the small stop of Upper Worrall. I am a little ashamed to tell you how excited I was, given that I had attended my Mother's funeral just that morning, but it was an adventure the like of which I'd never had before. I still remember the puffing of the train and the calls from the conductor at each station, bellowing out place names that I'd never heard of. "What will your husband say about this?" I had asked. "I doubt he will care very much. I haven't seen him in 6 years," she turned her gaze from the window onto me, "I don't believe in sugar coating things for my children, and I so I'll not do it with you either. He ran off with some woman from his office. I believe that they live in the South of France now, but I'm not sure. Apparently he bought a Catamaran. Good riddance to bad rubbish." She shot me a glance that told me the discussion was over. We arrived at the station at a little after 7pm, and Tabitha ushered us into a taxi. The driver got horribly lost on the way, Tabitha sighing as she had to direct him on two three occasions, but it was hard to blame him given the remoteness of the location. I spent the time looking at the glorious English countryside in fading light. It was certainly better than Bermondsey. The house itself stood at the bottom of a short pebble driveway. Tabitha thanked the driver brusquely and swatted away his offer to help us with our luggage. "We are perfectly capable of that," she shot back at him. Trying to offer some assistance I made an attempt to pick up her bag, thinking I could carry both in an act of gallantry, but she grabbed both bags away from me. "Your hands need a rest," was all she said. Let me tell you a little more about Primrose House before we go any further. It was a fairly small stone building but it stood alone in a large garden setting. Guarded at its perimeter by a large stone wall and iron gates at the entrance, it gave the impression of wanting to be left alone, as though it was trying to retain an old fashioned Englishness at odds with world outside it. Vividly yellow flowers, which I would later be able to identify as Achilleas, grew neatly on either side of the pathway and leant a jaunty air to the otherwise plain stone. The nearest house was half a mile away, which gave the house an even more impressive air in its singularity. Tabitha opened the wooden front door and ushered me inside. I had expected her daughters to come rushing to the door, so was surprised by the stillness and quiet that greeted us. "The girls must be studying," Tabitha offered plainly, "I wouldn't like to disturb them for introductions." "Who's been looking after them while you were away?" I asked. "The nanny, Elizabeth. She is a wonderful girl. Young, but very knowledgeable and the girls love her. I'm helping her study too, at night when the girls are in bed." I followed her up the stairs, "is that when we'll be studying then?" "I haven't decided yet. Elizabeth is quite advanced in her learning now, so it might not be the best environment at first," we walked down the narrow hallway. Tabitha stopped at the second door along and pushed it open, "this is the nursery. All three girls sleep in here. I believe that I'll give Annabel her own room when she is 17, but it is good for all three to share the shame space. Stops any big headedness or attitude. Annabel knows she receives exactly the same treatment as her younger sisters. Similarly, she offers a good role model for Charlotte, as does Charlotte for Helen." The room was large, with three four poster beds against the wall. Each bed was covered in a lavender quilt and the room was absolutely spotless. Tabitha showed me the en suite bathroom, although I wasn't sure why, "either Elizabeth or I get the girls ready each morning. They have to bathe every day, I believe bad hygiene breeds bad habits, wouldn't you agree?" "I suppose so," was all I could reply. I'd never thought of it really. "Annabel is giving me trouble about having to get ready with the others, she is starting to find it a little demeaning. But that doesn't do any harm in my book," the woman continued. We walked back through the nursery. It wasn't hard to work out who slept in which bed. The one furthest from the door was covered in fluffy teddies and had a small box of dolls next to it, clearly indicating Helen. Next to it, Charlotte's bed was cleanly made but the box next to it contained apparatus and science textbooks, while Annabel's bed had some indications of a more grown up girl, with a couple of nail polishes perched on her bedside cabinet, sitting on top of a Dickens novel. "Annabel is head of the room," Tabitha told me as we closed the door, "while it's good for the girls to know their place, it's also important to bestow responsibilities. If Helen does something wrong it is Annabel's responsibility to punish her. Charlotte never causes trouble, but it would be same idea if she did." The woman talked so quickly that it made my head hurt. I was delighted therefore when she showed me to the guest room. "We'll begin proceedings tomorrow, when I have had more of an opportunity to formulate my plans. You should rest this evening, you've had a long day. If you are hungry just call for Elizabeth and she can fix you something." But food was the last thing on my mind. As soon as the door had closed I reached for my suitcase and the whiskey within, desperate to feel that horrible taste. I needed it badly. I pulled out the trousers and shirt but could find no trace of the bottle. Only a note sat in its place. "Christopher Robin," it said, in Tabitha's no nonsense handwriting, "there is no alcohol allowed in my house." Next to the note, sitting alone, was the picture of me and my Mother that I had left on the bed. I picked it up and threw it across the room. I was used to rising early. Start time at the docks was 5am, so the 6am call from Tabitha the next morning found me wide awake, staring out of the window at the large back garden as the day sprung to life. I was wearing my plain white pyjamas that I'd had since I was 14 which didn't quite fit my arms or legs. "A new day," Tabitha said, clearly pleased to see I was already awake, "and how exciting that is. Elizabeth is attending to the girls so I will see to you." She was already fully dressed in a navy blue dress and her hair pulled up into that trademark functional bun. "What do you mean, see to me? I can ready myself, thanks." "Clearly," she replied, looking at my undersized pyjamas, "well, use the bathroom across the hall please. I have started running the bath for you already, and you'll find a white flannel which you should use to clean yourself with thoroughly. I've left you Humphry's old shaving razor as well. I would much prefer you clean shaven. Remember, bad hygiene leads to bad habits." I made my way across the hall, thoroughly annoyed. How dare she speak to me like an infant! Down the hall I could hear feminine chatter from the nursery as the girls got ready. My stomach was in a knot at the thought of meeting them as I closed the bathroom door behind me. The bath was just the right temperature and I luxuriated in its warmth, forgetting about the flannel and simply enjoying the feeling it offered. Tabitha had clearly used some kind of special bath lotions, the like of which I'd never smelled before and I was surprised at how nice it felt. In fact, it was so nice that I started to doze off until Tabitha knocked loudly at the door. "We haven't all day," she said, sternly, "what is taking so long?" I pulled myself unwillingly from the bath and shaved as quickly as I could, leading to a few cuts on my neck. I'd always had very sensitive skin and winced in pain as I tried to wash away the blood with lukewarm water. "Your skin is very childlike," Tabitha noted, "perhaps that razor is too harsh for it." She wasn't too impressed with efforts full stop, "the back of your neck is still filthy. Wait there," she sighed, leaving me alone in the bedroom with only a towel for company, "I thought you said you could wash yourself?" She began wiping my neck with the flannel, pulling me back in when I pulled away. "Of course I can," I protested, "get away from me with that!" But I would learn quickly that there was no dissuading Tabitha from doing anything she wanted to. "I tried to find some old clothes of Humphry's for you to wear, but I'm afraid it would all be far too big. He was well over 6 foot unfortunately." "That's OK, I've got trousers and a shirt in my suitcase." Tabitha shook her head, "I suppose that will have to do for today. I'll go into town later to purchase new clothes for you. " "Oh, don't bother yourself with that. These are fine." "Hardly," she responded, "now come along. We're already running late for breakfast." She left the room while I put my clothes on, marvelling at how clean I felt. Once ready, we headed downstairs to the kitchen table, where all three girls were already sat, dressed and ready. "Girls, your attention please," Tabitha instructed as we entered, "this is your cousin Christopher Robin that I told you all about. He will be staying with us for a while." The girls fixed their glaze on me, "how do you do," they each said quickly, their high voices filled with excitement. "Hello," I managed by return, feeling my face go red. I took my place at the one empty place, "but where do you and Elizabeth sit?" "Elizabeth and I have already had our breakfast," Tabitha replied, "we eat it here before the children get up." "Well perhaps I can eat with you tomorrow? I'm always up early." "No, I'd rather you didn't," Tabitha shot back. I felt embarrassed by the slight, but forgot it quickly when we were served breakfast. Wonderful fluffy pancakes sat next to crispy bacon and a perfectly fried egg. I was ravenous and began spooning the food in greedily. I looked up to find everyone staring at me, slightly agog. "That's not how you use a knife and fork," Helen pipped up amidst the silence, "ma'am, did you see?" Tabitha was standing by the sink, "I can see Helen, but Christopher Robin just hasn't been taught yet how to do it properly. It's not his fault." "Would you like me to show him ma'am?" It was Annabel this time. "I don't need to be shown nothing," I spat back, trying to dislodge a piece of bacon that was stuck between two teeth, "this is how I use a knife and fork, that's all." "That's poor English," Annabel replied, shaking her head. "OK girls," Tabitha interjected, "now is not the time nor the place. Let's just eat breakfast quietly please." I looked around the table, angry again. Who on earth were these people? Annabel shied away from my glare as she daintily cut up her egg. She was younger than me but still thought she could teach me stuff! She could go to hell. Charlotte kept stealing a look at me every few moments, apparently assessing the situation. Helen could barely contain her excitement at having a new person around. "How old are you?" She asked, edging herself ever so slightly closer to me, "I'm 7, but I'll be 8 soon." "I'm 17," I replied quietly. "Wow, that's old," the girl said, "you're older than Annabel even." "You're really 17?" Annabel asked, her brown eyes squinted slightly, "you look younger than that. I thought you were more Charlotte's age." "That's enough talking," Tabitha warned, "Annabel, I think you're trying to antagonise our guest for some reason. That's not very adult of you. Apologise for your rudeness please." "But he does look younger than that!" She protested, "I'm just telling the truth." "Annabel, do you want a smacking?" I was surprised to hear such a threat made to a 16 year old, but it seemed to have the desired affect on the girl, "I'm sorry," she said meekly, faced reddened. Tabitha remained emotionless, "and Christopher, you should accept the apology. Tell Annabel that the apology is accepted please." Was this real? It was like being stuck in one of those old Victorian novels that they had tried to teach us in English lessons. I looked at Tabitha, whose eyes were fixed firmly on mine. Those big, brown, scary eyes. "Apology accepted, of course," I said, but for some reason it felt like I was the one in the wrong. The frightening thing was that Annabel probably wasn't a million miles from the truth. I was aghast at the height and build of the girls as they stood up after breakfast. Annabel had to be nearly six foot tall, she was certainly nearly as tall as Tabitha. Charlotte, only 12, was around my height but bigger in the shoulders. Even Helen came up to my chin when she stood next to me. I supposed that to these girls, someone as short as me couldn't possibly be 17. No Flint had every be so diminutive. Shut off from the outside world, they probably thought it was the norm. "So what now?" I asked Tabitha, as the girls headed off to the study. "We need to determine your schooling level," she replied, "we'll do it in the study while I teach." "Wait a minute, you want me to go in the study too?" Tabitha looked surprised at my question, "Elizabeth has set you up a separate desk so that the girls don't disturb you. I created the questions last night. They should give me an idea of what level you are at." "But I thought I would take lessons with you and Elizabeth at night," I protested. Tabitha was tiring of the conversation. I learned very quickly the signs of this over time. She'd push her glasses ever so slightly up her nose and roll her eyes, "well, we'll determine what kind of level you are able to obtain first. Did you take any Latin at your school?" I shook my head. Latin!? "Well, Geometry?" I shook my head again. "An inauspicious start. But never mind, we'll begin from wherever we need to." The study was a large room, decorated just like a typical school room. Maps and charts adorned the walls, as well as drawings and pieces of work that the girls had done over time. A rectangular blackboard was perched at the head of the room, in front of which sat three plain wooden desks. Annabel sat on the one furthest left, Charlotte in the middle and Helen to the right. My desk had been placed at the back of the room, but the three of them turned to look at me as I walked in and Annabel said something to Charlotte, which elicited giggling. "Quiet girls," Tabitha roared, her voice sounding even louder in the airy room, "take as long with the test as you need Christopher. If you have any questions please raise your hand." I looked down on the sheets of paper with no little apprehension. Part of me didn't even want to take the test, the other half was scared senseless that I wouldn't be able to answer anything. Question 1 was a long winded algebraic question which I skipped straight over. We'd never even come close to algebra and looking at all the letters and numbers made my head hurt. Question 2 showed three shapes and asked for the one with the largest circumference. I looked at this one for a while before guessing at the second because it looked biggest. I had no idea what circumference meant. Question 3 was more my speed. 9 x 7. I knew that 9 x 9 was 81, so I figured that if I took two 7s from that I would get to my answer. I marked 67 on the sheet with renewed confidence. The test continued in this vain. Name three Roman empire engineered improvements. What year did the first world war start? What is the capital of Australia? Which is the largest bone in the human body? Name three mammals. Some I took a guess at, some I simply left blank. After a while my head began to pound. It reminded me of the noise the crane made when it picked up pallets on the docks. I started to sweat under the lights of the classroom and pick at the tiny bobbles on my trousers. All the while Tabitha's voice rang in my ears, instructing the girls on a whole range of subjects. I'd never had a girlfriend. Never really thought about it much to be honest. There were girls at school that I had liked, pretty girls that sat with their friends and shrieked when we kicked the football at them, but I didn't feel like I wanted to talk to them. I sometimes wondered what happened to those girls. Barbara Thomas or Alison Blacksmith, or Hannah who I think had taken a liking to me when I was 13 or so. Their names stuck in mind more than other, actually important people. Girls were a bit of mystery to me full stop. I tended to regard my Mother as strangely genderless, even when I'd had to help her into bed and seen her naked body. I knew therefore that women were very different down there to men, but my knowledge was shockingly scant. The boys on the docks often boasted about their girls and what they'd did to them, but that felt like something other people did. It turned out that ignorances about gender differences were the least of my worries when Tabitha called me into the study that night to review my test scores. "I've said to you before that I don't sugar coat matters Christopher, so I'll be blunt. I use this test to rank the girls each year. When they took it last month, Annabel achieved 96 out of 100. Charlotte managed 72. Helen, who took it for the first time, received a very credible 23. Your score," she looked at me sadly, "was 6." "6! That can't be right!" 6! I was certain that I'd got quite a few questions correct, especially in the History section which I'd secretly always enjoyed. "It's not your fault," Tabitha continued, "it's those blasted schools in your area. I begged Maisey to let me teach you but that woman was so stubborn. Those schools simply create people for the shipyards and the factory floor." "But 6? Let me try the test again. I wasn't thinking straight." "That would achieve little. We have to work with what we have and at least we can start from scratch now. It may actually be beneficial, a clean canvas and all that." I didn't know what to say. I'd thought of myself as quite intelligent in a common sense kind of way, but 6 out of 100 when even Helen managed 23? That was simply embarrassing. "I can't do this," I blurted out, "this was a bad idea. I think I should go. Back to London I mean." "Why on earth would you say that?" Tabitha laughed. "Because I'm too stupid for this. Those questions made my head hurt. X plus Y, Egyptian Pharaohs, nouns and adverbs," I turned for the door, "thanks for making the offer, but I'm going home." Tabitha made no attempt to stop me. I stomped back to the room, passing the sound of girlie chatter from the nursery and angrily threw my stuff back into the suitcase. It was a warm evening, and I walked briskly to the gates at the edge of the garden, wondering why the hell had I come. My head cried out for a drink. I stumbled down the dark countryside lanes until happening upon a small village about 3 miles down the road. I still had a few pounds stashed in my pocket, so I headed into the convivial looking pub that sat next to the village green. The pub was busy, filled with the din of people happy to be there. Everyone looked like a farmer, and I spotted two people immediately who were missing fingers. Drink! Wonderful drink! I could smell it from every angle. Men drinking bitter, talking loudly and laughing riotously at intervals. An old boy at the bar drinking Rum. The bright bottles behind the counter that called out to me. I took a place at the end of the bar and ordered two whiskeys, using the deep voice that I always used when wanting to get served. I needn't have bothered though, I got the feeling the barman would have served me if I was 7, never mind 17. The whiskey felt so good, much better than the cheap rubbish I normally bought. Straight away I got that feeling of happiness that can only come with alcohol. Quickly I ordered two more and drank them almost straight away. But it wasn't going to be a happy drink. After my fifth and sixth I started to think about Mother. About seeing that box lowered into the ground and the dirt that the workers filled the hole with. About her feeble body laying prostrate and lifeless on the bed, her right hand dangled over the edge. About her ferocious coughing fits as the pneumonia had taken hold. I begged her to go to hospital but she swatted away my pleas with the wave of a hand. People asked me questions as the night went on. The old Rum drinker at the bar asked who I was and I spilled my life story to him, even telling him how I'd been staying at Primrose House. "Hell son, I wouldn't even have scored 6," he laughed, exposing three or four missing teeth, "you should be proud of that." I stumbled out into coolness of the late evening air with absolutely no idea where to go. A welcoming bench sat on the opposite side of the green and with no little difficulty I wondered over to it, cursing Annabel for thinking I was only 12, cursing Tabitha for her stupid test and cursing my Mother for, well, everything. I woke with a terrible hangover and a chill. It took me whole minutes to work out where I was, fumbling around for clues in my foggy mind. I knew immediately that I had wet myself in the night. I vaguely remembered doing it on purpose because it felt warm. Disgusting, right? Just as disgusting was the pool of vomit at my feet, and the lingering taste of it in my mouth. I turned out my pockets. Empty. I had literally no idea where to go. I was filthy and I had no money until the house sale went through. Not that we'd get much for that shack, but it would do. I thought about sneaking onto the train and heading back to London, but the idea of going back to those docks turned my stomach. Besides, the foreman would probably have replaced me by now. Deep down, I knew where I had to go. I wanted to take one of those nice baths again, and while I couldn't face the idea of breakfast I did fancy more of Tabitha's potatoes again that night. I cursed myself for being so hasty in running away the night before. The shameful walk back took well over an hour, longer than it should but I had to vomit a couple of times, and I prayed that she'd take me back "Go away," Tabitha told me, through the locked door, "I have no time for people like you." I looked down at my cheap watch. It was a little after half five. I wanted to cry, "please Tabitha, I'm really sorry. Please?" I stood outside the door, sobbing gently. What a big man, hey? Eventually Tabitha took pity and opened the door. She was already dressed and washed in the same black trousers and jumper that she'd worn on that first day I'd met her. "Good Lord," she cried, "just look at you." "I'm sorry," I mumbled, "please take me back. I'm going to try, I promise." "This is what I get for offering you a second chance? To have you on my doorstep soaking in your own urine and covered in sick? Oh Christopher Robin, I fear you're beyond my help." "No, that's not true! I just needed a drink last night, after all I'd been through and that," I got a bit loud, "please Tabitha, I want you to teach me." "Keep your voice down," she admonished, "the girls are still in bed." "Tabitha, what's going on?" I hadn't met Elizabeth to this point, but knew exactly who the ginger haired girl was, "oh my, is that Christopher Robin? He's in a right mess." She was wearing a black dress with a white apron. She looked so small and young, standing next to Tabitha. "Yes he is," Tabitha agreed, "but I think he might be ready to learn now Elizabeth. Am I right Christopher?" I nodded eagerly, desperate to get away from Elizabeth in my current state. What must she have thought of me? To my relief, Tabitha took me by the hand and led me upstairs, with instruction to the Elizabeth to attend to the girls while she "dealt" with me. "It is high time we set the rules of your stay Christopher Robin," she told me, shutting the bedroom door, "I didn't want to be too demanding with you so early, but it's clear that it's the only way. We'll go through these rules, and I want you to say yes ma'am to each to indicate your agreement, is that understood?" I nodded in agreement. I was desperate to take the filthy clothes off and take a bath. "Firstly, I don't consider you to be an adult. You may be 17, but you are still a child in my books and will remain a child until I deem you otherwise. Is that clear?" "Yes ma'am," I replied quietly. "That means I will accord you no special status. Whatever goes for Annabel, Charlotte or Helen now applies to you too. You will treat Elizabeth and I with the due respect that a child should treat an adult. When one of us tells you to do something, it must be done without argument. Understood?" Really, even Elizabeth? She was barely older than me, "yes ma'am." "This is not a punishment or done to humiliate you Christopher, merely it is easier this way. You will never be able to take part in your re- education if you think you are superior to the others. It is the same reason I treat Annabel with very little difference to how I treat Helen. You are all children in my eyes." "Yes ma'am." Tabitha took my hand, "we all loved Maisey, I'm doing this for the both of you. Do you understand?" I felt tears in my eyes, "yes ma'am." "That's good. You're a very sweet little thing really," she continued, "those docks were never right for you. Now, unlike yesterday, I'm going to ready you for the day so we can make sure it's done correctly. I don't like talk while this takes place, so hold any questions until afterwards." I closed my eyes and she began to undress me, throwing my dirty clothes straight into a black bag. I threw my hands down to cover my penis, but she pulled it away again, "modesty is not required here," she said, factually, "your little willy is of no interest to me." Another bath was run, but this time Tabitha followed me and scrubbed me herself, while I sat in silence. She also washed my hair, which was in fairly urgent need of a cut. "I picked this razor up from the shop yesterday, it's intended for ladies but it might be better against your skin." It certainly felt better as she carefully shaved my face and neck, applying some heavily scented lotion afterwards. I know it was embarrassing to be so thoroughly washed by my Auntie, but I felt so good afterwards that I hardly cared. Even my hands, so inflicted with blisters from heavy lifting, felt fresh and painless. My headache had faded and the taste of sick was gone. "I'll have to put some powder on your private area," Tabitha instructed, "I don't want you to get a rash after last night. Just hop on the bed." "What, naked?" I asked, snapping back to life a little. She sighed, "yes, naked of course. I can't apply powder if you're wearing underwear, can I?" She shot me a look that dared me to argue, but instead I hopped onto the white towel that she'd placed on the bed. I closed my eyes again as she sprinkled the powder and rubbed it in with her bare hands, "this is what I used to put on the girls so that they wouldn't get nappy rash. It's wonderful." "Nappy rash!" I cried, starting to leap off the bed, "is that baby powder you're putting on?" She forced me back down with her free hand, "yes it is, but don't overreact. You did urinate on yourself last night. As long as you don't do that tonight, and I would be very surprised if you did, it'll not be necessary tomorrow." "It won't be necessary," I shot back. "Now I want you to listen to me again," Tabitha continued, mercifully allowing me a towel to cover myself, "that test result was no joke young man. You are an atrociously long back in your studies and need as much learning time as possible. To that end, you will be joining our daily classes, understood?" I had guessed as much, "yes ma'am." "And once again, you need to be aware that you will be afforded no special treatment. In fact, seeing as you have the most to learn, I will be particularly tough with you." "What do you mean, most to learn? What about Helen and Charlotte?" Tabitha shook her head, "I don't understand? Charlotte achieved a 72 which puts her far above your intellectual level and Helen scored 23 which puts her a least a grading above you. Oh, did you think that because they were younger than you that you are in some way more entitled and learned? Haven't you been listening?" "I just think that......" "Quiet!" She made me jump, "this is not a discussion. You will start work today on the same workbooks that Helen undertook last year. I will have to try and accelerate your learning as much as possible, but that depends entirely on you. Understood?" I hung my head. Was this really worth it? "Yes ma'am." "I purchased this yesterday from my supplier. I like uniformity in my classroom," she showed me a pair of green trousers, a white shirt and a green and white stripped blazer that was identical to the one that Annabel and Charlotte wore. I didn't want to wear it, but the look in Tabitha's eyes told me not to argue. I felt faintly ridiculous as the woman did up my green tie and handed me a new pair of black shoes to wear. With only the help of a uniform, I had gone from looking like a small 17 year old to looking like someone who couldn't possibly be older than 13 or 14. The fact that the arms of the blazer were a little too long didn't help, Tabitha cursing the sloppy work of her supplier. "Just one more thing," Tabitha said, handing me a boater hat, "you must wear this at all times, apart from when I give permission to take it off in the classroom or at breaktimes, understood?" "But don't only girls wear boaters?" I complained. "Don't be ridiculous. Boys have worn boater hats to school for hundreds of years. It looks rather fetching on you, actually." Tabitha positioned it perfectly on my head, emotionless. The girls were amazed at their new classmate when we went down for breakfast. I felt perfectly ridiculous in such a get up and cringed as I sat down at the table. Elizabeth served breakfast, and I could only imagine what she thought of me. But then, 17 year old boys still went to school, didn't they? I wasn't sure they really wore such feminine looking boaters at such an age, mind. Helen was particularly excited, "we've never had a boy classmate before," she enthused, "will you sit next to me?" "Christopher will be sitting next to you Helen," Tabitha answered, "I'm afraid he has quite a lot of catching up to do, so I want all you girls to be help him where you can." Charlotte looked confused, "what about games lessons though? Surely he can't play Hockey or Netball with us?" "Why shouldn't he?" Annabel replied, "why should he get special treatment just because he's a boy? I think he should wear a gym skirt too." All three girls laughed at that idea as I kept my head down and picked at my bacon. "Christopher will not be wearing a gym skirt," Tabitha responded, "but games are important for growing children so he will be taking part. I haven't made my mind up what we'll play yet." To be honest, my hangover was coming back with a vengeance. It had crept up quietly at first, soothed by the bath, but now it was crashing around with spiteful aplomb. It didn't improve much as I shuffled into the study, taking my place at the far right hand side. Tabitha handed out the work. It was so humiliating to see all three girls start work on more advanced things than I'd been given, which was a basic counting sheet. I had to take the three numbers, add them together and put the answer in the right hand box. Helen leant over to look, and pointed at an answer to indicate that I'd got it wrong. By the end of the day, and boy was it long and boring, I was fed up again. How could it possible that I could go from adding three numbers together to going to university? It would take years and years, and I wasn't sure I had that kind of time. Still, I fought on for a few days. I got over the initial shame of Tabitha "readying" me for school and even started to try and read a few of the basic books that I'd been given to read. But it was tiresome, and I was desperate for a drink. One night I found Elizabeth alone in the dining room. "You must think I'm such a fool," I said, sitting down next to her as she read from a textbook. She looked up at me, her ginger hair falling prettily in the early evening light. She had a number of small freckles under her eyes which made her look younger than her 20 or so years, "why would I think that?" She replied, eyebrows arched. "Because I'm too old to be doing this. Too old and stupid. How long have you known Tabitha?" "For four or so years now. I came here when I was sixteen begging for a job," she had a faint Irish accent which I hadn't picked up on until now, "and Mrs Flint took me in. She's been wonderful to me from day one. She's a very special person." "I think she just wants to humiliate me," I grumbled, "I think she likes it." "Don't be ridiculous," she closed her book, "now you have to leave me be. I've got a test coming up and I need to read this. Haven't you anything to be reading?" Tabitha was true to her word and didn't make me wear a gym skirt, but I did have to do a pair of green shorts and play Hockey with the girls. Within a few moments I was puffed out, the scars of smoking and drinking, and Tabitha roared her disapproval, "A fit body is a fit mind," she yelled, "you should be ashamed of yourself. Even Helen is fitter than you." The only lesson that I didn't have to attend was the one that Tabitha called the "young ladies" class. I guessed it was about buying bras or other such feminine mysteries and I was happy to be excused for an hour. I collapsed into bed that night with sore muscles and a sore mind. We had to be in bed by 8pm, although I was entitled to read for an hour as long as I didn't make any noise. But I couldn't sleep anyway. By midnight I was still wide awake, considering my situation and my desperation for a drink. Just one little drink was all I wanted, one tiny sip of Whiskey to help me get off. With this in mind, I sneaked out of the bedroom and headed downstairs to the kitchen. There had to be alcohol in the house somewhere. As quietly as I possibly could, I rifled through each cupboard. I found it in the third cupboard along. Two big bottles of white wine that Tabitha had marked up "for cooking'. I tenderly uncorked the first bottle, knowing that she would know it was me but beyond caring, and gulped it down gratefully. It was disgusting, but offered that foggy headed feeling that I had missed so much. The bottle was gone in mere minutes, and I opened the second with excitement in my stomach. I don't remember much about getting back to bed, but I must have managed it somehow because I woke with Tabitha looming large above me, her eyes full of fury, "get up," she raged, "get up now, before I pull you out of bed." "What's the matter?" I asked innocently. "You know fully well. I found the two bottles of wine this morning. This isn't acceptable." "Don't go mad," I laughed, "it's just a couple of ickle bottles of wine. No big deal." "THIS IS NO JOKING MATTER," she shouted, pulling me from the bed, "I have been too lenient with you thus far, Elizabeth was correct." "Elizabeth? What has this got to do with her?" She smacked the side of my leg, "Elizabeth is a grown up, you must not speak of her in that way." "She's barely older than me!" Tabitha sighed, "I can see you still don't understand. Well, let's see how we can remedy that. Do you still want to be here Christopher?" I stared at the ground. "Yes ma'am." "Good, then come with me." She pulled me into the bathroom and had me stand in the bathtub, "I think we need to beat this superiority out of your mind young man," she took the ladies razor from the sink and began sliding it down my legs before I could protest, "I'm tired of washing all this nasty hair, it isn't becoming of a child like yourself." "Stop it!" I yelled out, trying to escape the tub. She grabbed my ear, "that's enough silliness. I've realised that I really must stop asking you things and simply do them. You are just a child after all." I stood in stunned silence as cleared me of any bodily hair, including, incredibly, my pubic and armpit hair. "You're mad," I said slowly, "raving mad." I looked down at myself and my hairless body, forced into an appearance of a pre-pubescent. "Yes, that's so much better and easier to wash now," she replied, "and more befitting of your new station. Elizabeth and I shave Annabel and Charlotte's legs for them, so we will simply do the same with you." "But they're girls," I protested angrily. "You know, you sound like a silly little girl with all your complaining," Tabatha sighed, "perhaps I should fetch one of their skirts for you to wear. It would look very fetching with your new legs." "No don't!" I cried. "I thought not. But you are going to begin wearing shorts, rather than trousers. I think it will help your concentration slightly, the trousers must make you dreadfully hot." No-one mentioned my newly shaved legs, my guess was that the girls were so sheltered that they didn't even notice. They did notice the shorts though, Annabel making the cruel point that if someone squinted, they might think I was dressed the same as her. The work didn't get much easier. I was taught about vowels and consonants, and left to read very basic books while Annabel and Charlotte discussed weighty topics like particles and complex equations. The shorts did help a bit though, they were definitely more comfortable than the trousers. Over the next couple of weeks the girls simply started to treat me as one of their own. I sat with them at break time, listening to Annabel go on about what she was going to do at Cambridge or Charlotte telling me her favourite facts about the human body. They were equally as interested in me and asked endless questions. "What is London really like?" Annabel had asked once, twirling her brown hair in her fingers as she lay on the floor reading. "Some of it is OK," I replied, "not where I live though. It's pretty rough there." "Do people get murdered?" Charlotte joined in, always ready for gore, "like Jack the Ripper type murders?" "You're scaring me Charlotte," Helen cried, "why do you always have to do that?'" "Well I don't know about murders," I laughed, "I'm sure they do, but I've never seen anyone murdered." Annabel didn't look up from her book, "I like Sherlock Holmes books. One day I'll own a house in Baker Street." Outside of school hours Tabitha tended to dress the two older girls in matching outfits, normally a knee length skirt and pull-over unless it was really hot, when they'd be allowed a sun-dress. Helen was dressed in frocks still, little pastel coloured dresses with a bow in her hair and ankle socks, and I know this bothered the girl, who wanted to dress like her sisters. I'd often see her chasing after Charlotte or Annabel in the garden, desperate to join in with their games. Tabitha began dressing me in short trousers with a shirt and tie, and sometimes a green or red jumper if it was cold. It was far more formal than anything I'd worn previously and uncomfortable for being around the house in. Plus, when coupled with my hair-free legs it made me look like a young boy. I wasn't to know it yet, but my time as any kind of boy in Primrose House was quickly coming to an end. Was that always Tabitha's intention? I've never thought so. I think it was simply that she didn't know how to deal with boys, it was too far from her comfort range. As I tell you some of the things that happen next, I'm sure you'll wonder why I just didn't leave. I've asked myself the same question many times. But unless you had met Tabitha it is impossible to convey what the woman was like to deal with. Her eyes pierced into you like knitting needles. She made you think that she was your only chance at salvation, even when robbing you of your gender. The next sign came a couple of weeks later, on a Saturday morning, when Elizabeth came in to wake me up, not Tabitha. "Mrs Flint has sent me because I'm to cut your hair," she told me matter of factly, "so get on out of bed now." "You can't ready me," I protested, "that wouldn't be right!" "One child is no different to any other as far as I'm concerned," she replied, pulling open the curtains, "boy or girl. I've got many younger brothers so I've seen it all." "No, it's too weird, I won't allow it." She kneeled down in front of the bed, her red eyes inches from my face, "don't make me pull you into the bathroom little fella, because I will. Do you really want those girls to see that?" "Fine, but don't look," I pouted. "Sure I have to see it," she laughed, "how can I wash you otherwise?" Following that ignominy, she had me sit in front of the mirror with a towel around my neck while she attended to my hair. I should have paid more attention really, but I assumed she was just going to trim it back from the shoulder length mess it had become. Instead, before I could do much about it, she had styled it so that it bobbed out every so slightly at the bottom and created a wispy fringe which tickled my forehead. It was extremely similar to how the girls wore their hair. "What have you done!" I cried, "I look like a girl!" "Don't be silly," she replied, still fussing with the ends, "I've just tidied it is all. It'll stay out of your eyes now." "Are you mad? It looks exactly like Charlotte's hair! The girls are going to laugh at me!" "Why would they laugh at you if it's the same as theirs?" "Because they're not boys," I yelled, "I'm going to brush this out straight away." "Don't you dare!" The woman said sternly, "this took me ages. I'll give you a smacking if you do that." I looked at her. It was as though she thought nothing odd about threatening to smack me! Me, a 17 year old! "You wouldn't have the strength," I countered. "Try me little fella. I'll take down your shorts and pants so quickly you won't know what's hit you," she didn't break stride as she said this, instead pulling off the towel to indicate that we were finished, "now let's go to breakfast and let the girls see your smart new haircut." "No! I won't leave the room like this!" I was raging now, and took aim, "who do you think you are, you stupid knacker? You can all fuck off." I went to mess up my hair but Elizabeth was quicker, grabbing my hands with surprising strength and pulling them behind my back, "you are being a rude little boy today, aren't you?" Before I could fight back she had deftly placed me onto her lap and had pulled down my shorts, "ten smacks for the swear word," she said calmly, lifting her hand and bringing it firmly down on my bare bottom, "and five for being rude to me." I kicked my legs out with as much strength as I could muster, but she laughed at my attempts to break free, "gosh, Charlotte gives me more trouble than you. Maybe even Helen you know." She let me go after the fifteenth slap and shook her head, "I didn't want it to come to that. Now you'll have a sore bottom all day, but it's your own fault. I want you to say that you're sorry now." I had never felt so small and defeated. Tears stung my eyes and my bottom was indeed sore, but the biggest punishment had been inflicted on my manhood, which lay in tatters on the floor. "I'm sorry," I said meekly. "And you won't touch your hair now, will you?" "No Elizabeth." "There's a girl," she shook her head, "sorry, I meant boy. I get used to talking to the girls so much that I forget." If the girls hadn't noticed my shaved legs, they certainly picked up on my new hairstyle. Annabel liked it the most, and walked around me two or three times, "golly, it really is like Charlotte and I's hair. Why have you given him a girls" haircut?" "It's not really a girls" haircut," Elizabeth replied, "it's just easier if you have the same hair. Makes it quicker to cut." "Can't I have the same?" Helen asked, pawing at her pigtails with no little disgust. "Awh, but you look so pretty with your pig-tails," Elizabeth said, twirling the little girl around and making her laugh, "Mrs Flint wouldn't allow me to change your hair one bit." Annabel was uncomfortably imposing when she stood near me, her near six foot frame towering over my five four, "he needs a nice clip in it though," she raced up to the nursery and came back with a green hair clip, "it doesn't look right otherwise and it'll keep the hair out of his face." All of the girls laughed as she put it in my hair, matching the green clip that sat in Charlotte's brown hair. I wanted to pull it out, but was scared of what Elizabeth might do. They saw that time is the greatest healer. I would add that it is the only healer. It is only in recent years that I've been able to forgive Tabitha for what she put me through, however well her intentions and successful the results. There was simply no need in my mind to emasculate me in such a way and I don't believe it really helped much with my learning. I contend that, even left as a young man, I would have been able to do that school work. Time also healed the pain of losing my Mother, eventually. It was hard those first few months at Primrose House, I'd often think of her and want to cry or I'd think about what she'd say if she could see me in that classroom. Her only boy with his hair in a bob and learning from text books meant for 6 or 7 year olds. Perhaps she'd have felt guilty, but even that was enough to make me sad. Annabel turned 17 a few weeks after my new haircut was administered. We had a little party for her, with the three girls all dressed up in their best frocks and me in my smartest short trousered suit. It was a party more suited for a younger child, with balloons and pass the parcel and a pin the tail on the donkey, but Annabel, not knowing any better, thought it marvellous. Tabitha called for a toast, "it's hard to believe that my oldest girl is now all of 17 years old and I'm very proud of the young lady that you've become. I have a special surprise for you." We all followed Tabitha down the hall to the room next to mine, which had been empty. "Really?" Annabel had exclaimed, clasping her hands together, "I finally get my own room?!" Tabitha opened the door to reveal her daughter's new bedroom, complete with a large bed and her own wardrobe, "it's time you left the nursery now," she said, "you have your own bathroom too." I thought Annabel