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Lorna's Eightieth By Cassandra Lane I'd never met her, in fact I wasn't really aware she existed, and that was no surprise. The only family members still alive who had known Lorna at all were my mother Elizabeth and Aunt Kirstie, and they retained only vague memories from infancy. As a result, my brother, sister and I were not told about our connection to what had been a famous event in the early 1950s, long before we were born. After the breakup up of the marriage, my grandmother Elaine had refused to speak of what had happened, so that we grew up in complete ignorance. It was much easier in those days to suppress such things, as there were no social media and you could not just turn to Google for anything you wanted to know. My mother was the younger of the two girls: she married and had three children, my brother James and my sister Deborah, both older than me. It was only as we became adults that we learnt the truth. It happened in the later 1990s when the internet had just got going. James was approaching thirty, Deb was twenty-eight and I was nearly twenty six. One day Deb happened to find an online story, with enough details to make it obvious to her (though not to others) who Lorna was, and within a few minutes she had traced four more. (Today it would be forty, or more likely four hundred.). She immediately called me, and a day or two later we had a family conference with James. There didn't seem much we could do. My maternal grandmother was long dead, and we never kept in touch much with my paternal grandparents, who had lived in Spain for forty years. That left only Mum and Kirstie, who had never had any children of her own. Still, we felt we ought to tell our mother that we finally knew, but we were sure that she would not welcome any attempt to resuscitate the past. Lorna had been out of the news for the space of two generations. Most people, it appeared, had never heard of her. At least, her name had never come up in my hearing. We were pretty sure that Mum would want to keep it that way. As we pondered together the big shock we had just had, we tried to think of the best way to bring the matter up with her. It would require tact, because she had always dismissed all talk about grandmother's early marriage and abandonment by her husband with two toddlers. We had got the clear impression that her father had been a complete cad, as people used to call such types. Even though the breakup had been painful, Mum obviously thought it was ultimately for the best - they had been well rid of him. They'd had some financial help from Lorna's prosperous parents, who had paid for the divorce. But growing up in a single parent family had steeled Mum, and she had evidently resolved to put the unpleasantness behind her for ever. Only now did we realise that she and Kirstie must have discovered at some stage the basic facts about what had happened from those around them, if not from Elaine. They grew accustomed to the idea that this was a skeleton in the family cupboard that must be left undisturbed. All three of us agreed that we should raise the issue, despite the risk of triggering a lot of bad memories. We didn't want to upset Mum, but we felt we had a right to know a little more about our family legacy. James was concerned, but rather less than Deb or me. He's an engineer, at this time living in Sheffield, divorced with no children, and he had not had so much to do with Mum and her circle in recent years as we had. Though he has many virtues, tact is not perhaps his strongest asset. We all agreed that it would be best if Deb and I took the initiative, on the face-saving grounds that he was too far off, while we were much closer, in suburban Kent and West London respectively. Closer, that is, to Mum in Oxfordshire and perhaps Lorna too. But we put off making the revelation until we had been able to find out more about her subsequent history. The online story had said that she had lived most of her life in the area around Kingston and Richmond, barely twenty miles from where I had grown up, and only half that from my current home in Wembley. But there remained a big question - was she still alive? The Internet story had implied that she was, or might be, despite a life of seclusion that went back over three decades. Our last decision was easy. Before we contacted Mum about it, we must try to find out the latest we could about Lorna. Assuming she was still living (and at her age that could be no certainty), we needed to know her whereabouts. Was she in good health? Did she have enough money to ensure a comfortable old age? It was unlikely she had enjoyed much of an income for a great many years, and the state pension may well have been her principal means of support. If we located her and attempted to arrange a meeting, would she respond at all, let alone agree to see us? Would she be willing for Mum to contact her? As we began our quest, there were many imponderables. Desperately Seeking Lorna The first thing we settled was that I would have to be the lead investigator, even though Deb had started the enquiry. She had a boy of seven and a girl of five. I wasn't married and after the end of a stormy relationship earlier that summer I didn't even have a serious boy friend. Deb had a job in the City and child rearing had to be shared with her husband Jeff. While my work in real estate was quite demanding, it had more flexible hours. Finally, my home was a good deal nearer the area where Lorna had been thought to be living and where we planned to begin our search. After this, we set about pooling the items information we already had. We had hoped that the online article would help. But it didn't yield very much. It had been posted the year before and the site was no longer in operation. Worse, it was anonymous, and obviously compiled from some sources to which we didn't have access. Our next effort had a little more success. The article did mention an autobiography called Lorna Hatfield: My Strange Life, published in 1952. I was able to pick up a cheap second-hand copy in a bookstore in Charing Cross Road without much trouble. While it looked as if the book had been ghost written, it did supply some key information about her earlier life. But of course it stopped soon after her story had broken, and yielded no clues as to where we should look for her in the present. While we did want to find out more of Lorna's past, the urgent thing was her current whereabouts, and nothing we had so far turned up gave firm evidence on that. The only solid facts we had to go on in tracing her life were these. She was born in early 1919 and christened John. Her father was Brigadier General Thomas Hatfield, a senior officer in the Royal Army Ordnance Corps, and her mother Veronica, n?e Tarrant, quite a grand lady in the tweeds and pearls brigade. Lorna managed to get through school unscathed, despite being nicknamed Bottom because of her wide posterior. After school she took up a business career but also became an excellent amateur golfer, on the fringe of being picked for the British Walker Club team which played, and inevitably lost to, the USA. During the war she joined the RAF and trained as a bomber pilot. In 1941 she married Elaine and the two daughters followed in 1942 and 1943. Ten months before the end of World War II she was shot down over Germany and was sent to a prisoner of war camp until the Axis surrendered. Soon after her release and return to civilian life, allowing the resumption of competitive golf, she found that her long suppressed desire to become a woman had overcome all her other feelings. With considerable guilts she left Elaine and the kids in 1948 and began to seek a medical intervention. Some of the procedures were illegal then, including the removal of testicles other than as a lifesaving measure - which is what it was for her, of course. Vaginoplasty was in its infancy. By luck she managed to find a highly competent surgeon who was willing to carry out the work, in the utmost secrecy as he would have been struck off the register if the facts became public. The major transition was over by 1951. However Lorna had lost her small business and could not afford to pay the alimony due to Elaine. Then she heard that a fellow golfer had somehow learnt of her operations and was preparing to sell her story to the press. In desperation she offered it herself to a leading Sunday newspaper, famous for printing sensational items - which this one certainly was at that date. She received the princely sum of ?2,000 for the three weekly articles splashed across the front page, and later earned about ?600 for the book. These were enough to tide off her immediate worries, but within five years she had to declare bankruptcy. For the rest of her life money remained a struggle and despite some prudent economies she never became a wealthy woman. Meanwhile her picture appeared in magazines around the world, and callous jokes were made on TV and radio about her case. The autobiography didn't take us beyond this point. From the article we discovered that she lived for a long period with someone called Jenny, possibly a cover name. Unfortunately Jenny died in the 1980s, and it was thought Lorna been alone since then. But where? It was extraordinary that someone who had achieved such sudden fame should disappear almost as quickly. For a brief window of time, she had been probably the famous transgendered person in the world until Christine Jorgensen emerged. But once she retreated into the obscurity she had always wanted, she quickly became yesterday's news. The media were not as intrusive as they are today. Even when journalists found out potentially compromising materials, they often kept silent. Roosevelt's paralysis and his affairs were brushed under the carpet, as was the parlous state of Winston Churchill's health in his last days as prime minister. For someone like Lorna who avoided the limelight, had no public role, and did not have an extravagant lifestyle, it was surprisingly easy to stay under the radar. That enabled her to live the way she wanted, but it frustrated our efforts to catch up with her. There were few resources online to help our quest. Wills were then kept at Somerset House, so I went along there and skimmed through the indexes for the past twenty years, but could find no record of Lorna's name. Births, deaths and marriages had to be viewed personally on the General Register. There were no medical records easily available. Social media scarcely existed, and Deb and I now agree that if such a thing had existed it would have been a waste of time to look for her activity there. These efforts took some weeks, and got us nowhere. I decided I had better scout around her last known (or presumed) residence, and started to investigate the area of South West London mentioned in the online article. To begin with, this proved just as fruitless. I knew that the local roll of electors could be consulted in public libraries, so I tried to trace the name within two neighboring constituencies in the library at Kingston, all to no avail. It seemed that she had not even bothered to registered to vote. While there I asked to see the microfilm archives of the weekly Surrey Comet, which went back almost to its foundation in the middle of the nineteenth century. It took me a few hours to go through all the issues since 1970 (they were not machine searchable, of course). Still no result. I had an idea and phoned an old boy friend, who worked for a national news agency but lived in the vicinity. He couldn't recall ever coming across the story, which related to a period long before he entered the profession. After three months and no results, it was starting to look hopeless. When I saw my mother, she said I had been less in touch, seldom at home when she rang, and was there some reason? All I could say was that I had had a rush of jobs at work. Deb's more limited explorations had been no more profitable. Either Lorna was dead, or had moved abroad, or was tucked away in some institution, which might be in another part of England. We couldn't reject the first possibility, but the others seemed unlikely. In the short span of her fame, she had been photographed and filmed in some glamorous places across Europe. Pictures I had been able to trace in the autobiography and elsewhere showed her shopping on a Parisian boulevard, fashionably dressed in a Chanel type suit, as well as sightseeing in Rome, and then a staged shot in a swimsuit on the terrace of a hotel in the Greek islands. We didn't think she would have the resources or health to repeat these travels at nearly eighty. But we had a good idea of her fiercely independent spirit, and suspected she would stay out of homes for the elderly for as long as she possibly could. What did that leave? Deb had a brainwave and suggested she might have gone into sheltered housing as she aged after Jenny's death. We looked it up by means of the printed guides then available, and found there were at least eleven such places in Kingston and Richmond alone - probably more. A few quick phone calls revealed that nobody of this name was listed at any of these residences. I went down to one of them that seemed promising to ask in person, and sure enough an elderly couple told me that Lorna had indeed been living in a second-floor flat when they arrived there. But she had left about three years before and they didn't know where she had gone, they saw her moving out one Monday morning. They weren't surprised she hadn't told them she was going, as she was very private. By this time I had grown inured to disappointments, and even though the couple hadn't been able to give me any real leads I was encouraged by the fact that she must have been compos mentis a relatively short time earlier. They said she had had to walk with a stick, so her physical health may have become a problem. I felt elated that there was at long length some progress, and called Deb to tell her. We agreed to widen the search to include care homes outside the immediate neighbourhoods we had been working on. I drew up a list of eight places bordering on the district, with Surbiton at its head. Two of them were just across the Thames, and the first of those I tried was in Twickenham. Finally I struck lucky. Lorna Anne Hatfield had seemingly been a resident of Teddington Mansions since 1994. I explained to the nice lady on the phone that I was Lorna's granddaughter, but that two branches of the family had been out of touch for decades. Would it be okay if I wrote to her to see if we could arrange a meeting. The person on the other end seemed doubtful, and said she would pass me on to the manager, Mrs Royston. These days I probably wouldn't have got this far, but things were less strict then, and within a few minutes I was talking to the head honcho, Miranda Royston. She was polite but unencouraging, saying that they had to watch out for strangers who wanted to visit. In any case she didn't think Ms Hatfield would be keen on the idea, as she always said she had lost contact with all surviving members of her family. I replied to Mrs Royston that I understood, but could I come and see her in her office to supply bona fides and explain some things in person - that I really was who I said I was, that my own mother would be able to vouch for me (though I didn't want to play that card at present), and that I would not press the matter if Ms Hatfield - I kept up the formality on purpose - was reluctant to see me. Miranda said she couldn't give any promises. She could spare me half an hour at the start of the following week. If she was satisfied of my relationship, then we could explore the possibility of getting in touch with the vulnerable resident in her care. I told her I understood the reasons for her caution. We made an appointment for next Tuesday. Getting in Touch Teddington Mansions proved to be a compact block of two storey buildings occupying a few acres quite close to the river. It stood at the southern end of Twickenham, not very far from Kingston Bridge, with a look that was comfortable and well kept, though far from palatial. I had dressed in a smart shirt and jacket with black trousers, and carried an attach? case containing documents to establish my credentials. After a brief wait I was ushered into the manager's office, which looked out towards Bushey Park. I thought it was a very pleasant location in which to spend one's declining years. Miranda asked me to sit down and offered me a coffee, which I accepted as it sometimes appeared to oil the wheels of tricky negotiations. She was in her forties, with shortish blonde hair and carefully made up. We got straight down to business. It was not company policy, she told me, to admit outsiders unless they were sure of a few things - that the person was who they claimed to be, that they not selling funeral services or something, and that they were not trying to establish a relationship with a view to a possible inheritance. I replied that I thought the papers I had brought with me would establish my identity, including a family link through documents that named my great grandparents, as well as my mother Elizabeth n?e Hatfield and my aunt Kirstie. My employment record showed that I worked for a very well known real estate company who did not target seniors. I could not prove my innocence on the last point, except to say that I did not suppose Lorna had much money to leave and I had no intent of challenging an existing will if one had been drawn up. Presumably the bequests would have gone to charity, and that seems to me eminently suitable. Miranda got up and looked out of the window for a moment. She gave me a searching glance, and said she could see a family resemblance - that is true, judging by the shots I'd seen of Lorna when younger, although perhaps more evident in the case of James and Deb (I produced their photos). There was a further touch of good luck here. It turned out that she knew Deb's husband Jeff through some business contacts in the City. Things were looking promising, but she said she would consider it and get back to me soon. I thought that was the end of the interview, and was heading for the door before she spoke again. She said she had decided to tell me she knew about Lorna's past. No one else on the staff did, and none of the residents. It had come up indirectly in a search of National Health Service records from the late 1940s and early 1950s that she had needed to conduct when Lorna's application to live at Teddington Mansions had been going though. You would have to read between the lines and be familiar with transgender history, as she was, owing to a resident in a former home where she had worked some time back. Even so it had taken her a little while to put two and two together and recognize her new resident as the once celebrated Lorna Hatfield. It was for this reason that she had accepted the incomplete family tree that I had provided. She was sure that her own children had never heard of such a person, and she had not mentioned the discovery to anyone, including Lorna herself. I went home not quite knowing what to think. It was amazing to realise that the woman who had been out of my entire life had been so close physically just now, a matter of a few yards away in one of the residential blocks. Both Deb and I were nervous about the outcome when we spoke to James on the phone that evening. As it emerged, Miranda Royston did not take long to make a decision. She called me to say that she wouldn't advise me to write to Lorna, as she believed in the light of what I had told her about the family situation that any approach of this kind would only get ignored. Instead, she had arranged to go and talk to her in her room the following afternoon. She would explain that I had found out by chance where she was living and I would love to speak to her, however briefly. Next day Miranda got back to me and said that after her conversation with Lorna there was still a chance it would come off. I needed to be patient, because she wanted to give time for reflection, as any old person would need in the wake of this sudden request. I agreed to let her take as long as might be necessary. In the event it was ten days before Miranda phoned again with the news that I had been hoping for. A short meeting would be possible, with an initial introduction in the common room. It was best if I came alone, rather than with Deb, as it would be enough of a shock to meet one granddaughter, let alone two. If Lorna was not too distraught the three of us would go back to her room together, and after a suitable interval; Miranda would leave us to ourselves. We set the date for the meeting almost a fortnight ahead, at the end of November. The delay would give Lorna an opportunity to change her mind if she wished to - that seemed fair enough. All the same, I was excited by the prospect. It would be an encounter with a close relative I had never seen, and whose name I scarcely knew until recently. Someone, too, whose doings throughout my entire lifetime were an almost complete mystery. Deb felt equally good about the plan, though she admitted that she would also like to get a chance to hook up with Lorna, however briefly. We were both anxious for the day to come as quickly as possible. First meeting The roads were clear and I got to Teddington Mansions ten minutes ahead of time. I parked and sat in the car to compose myself. I had chosen a neutral business outfit - I had no desire to try and impress Lorna (which probably wouldn't have worked), but I wanted to suggest I was taking the meeting seriously. Miranda had told that Lorna generally dressed casually anyway. Right on the dot I went into the entrance lobby and Miranda was quickly out to meet me. She led me down two corridors to the residents' lounge where I had not been before. There were about a dozen in there, all but two of them women. They were scattered about engaged in various activities. A television set was on at one end, with a quiz programme compered by a handsome young man and four or five women watching with rapt attention. Others were sitting quietly knitting or reading magazines. Miranda didn't say anything at first, and I had absolutely no idea if Lorna was there, and if so which she was. Then we went across the room to a long grey sofa on which three women were perched. "Oh, here you are," said Miranda in an almost offhand way. We approached the one sitting nearest to us. So now it was I had the first glimpse of someone I'd sought for such a long time. She looked totally ordinary, and for a moment I felt a pang of disappointment. I don't think I would ever have picked her out from the group around us in the lounge. But then I immediately realised that this was what she had always wanted. She wasn't very big or imposing. As Miranda had warned me, she was a little bent and her face was deeply lined. I was slightly thrown because she had medium-length grey hair, while the couple who knew her at the sheltered housing had said it was quite long and white, sometimes (a sniff of disapproval) with a bluish rinse. It struck me that it was perhaps a wig - if so, it was tastefully arranged, full on the side and top, but short at the back. Her glasses were unremarkable, with thin bronze frames, not dissimilar to the pairs that other residents were wearing. She had on a dark green top and fawn slacks, slightly baggy in appearance, that somehow reminded me of the uniform of the Land Girls of her youth that I'd seen in old films. On her feet were light brown ballet slippers. Predictably, conversation was stiff to begin with. I'd rehearsed a few topics in my mind but they didn't seem to fit the mood. I felt like on my first dates with a boy, when I could only think of questions like "What's your favourite colour?" (and the boys weren't any better). Lorna said very little in a rather croaky old person's voice. Miranda kept the ball rolling, however. Then another lady came over and asked Lorna if she was planning to join a card game they were going to start in a while. Lorna shook her head, saying she had a visitor. That gave us the chance to adjourn to her room. She picked up her cane and made her way slowly back the way we had come, before turning into a different corridor. Her room was quite small, with just a mini-kitchenette area in addition to the bathroom. (I later found out that she wasn't a great cook.) But it had a pleasant south-facing view which gave the place a lot of light. Miranda stayed for two or three more minutes, letting me know about some of the social activities that Lorna joined in, before saying she had another job to attend to. We had the time and the place to ourselves now, so I summoned up the confidence to take the initiative. Basically I filled out for Lorna the information about the family that Miranda had begun to give her. I did not try to conceal the fact that my mother was still bitter about the way that Elaine's marriage had ended, or that she had always kept back from us the real cause of the break-up. Lorna became a little more forthcoming, saying that she could perfectly understand her reaction in both cases. Sex changes were new then and would remain a matter of shame in some families for decades to come. I went on to explain about my job, along with the careers of Deb, James and Jeff, as well as my aunt Kirstie's declining health with a heart problem. She took it all in, but didn't comment. The breakthrough came when I started to describe Deb's children. For the first time she appeared really interested. I had brought along in my handbag photos of both Charlie and Olivia, playing in the garden and running with the dog at the park. They really were cute kids, and helped to break the ice with Lorna. It was obvious that she had always wondered whether either of her children had married, and if so whether they had a family of their own. Like many elderly people she seemed to connect any descendants in the youngest generation with hope for the future, and it must have been difficult for her not to have any inkling of her own family - even though the separation had been of her own making originally. It was during this conversation that I found out for the first time where her given names came from. It emerged that both Lorna and Anne were members of the Tarrant clan, who had farmed in Somerset and Dorset for at least four generations: Lorna was her great grandmother and Anne her grandmother. It was obvious that she felt a strong identification with these strong women in her family line. But of course there was also a memory of Lorna Doone, spirited heroine of the famous novel set on Exmoor. After several minutes along these lines, I dared to ask her a bit about herself. Yes, she was very comfortable at the mansions. She could no longer manage independent living, mainly because of two hip replacements, and now a dodgy right knee and a creaky back. I had read enough to know that her daily doses of estrogen would have delayed but not ultimately prevented the onset of osteoporosis, hence her noticeable stoop. Her own hair was now thin and straggly, but she had three nice wigs. She got on pretty well with all the residents, and had two particular friends, Kathleen and Gillian, one a bit older and the other younger than she was. From the way she described them, I got the clear impression that neither had any inkling of Lorna's past. It appeared that she was now willing to talk about things that she had kept to herself for many years. In her very British way she couldn't address money issues directly, but suggested that she had enough to get by. She didn't travel any more, rarely spent anything on clothes, and living expenses could be kept to a minimum if you didn't go for extra frills like the special block of "luxury" apartments across the way (she pointed out of the window across a strip of grass to another residential block). Did she have any photos, I asked? She answered with a rueful smile that there were not many from recent years. Getting up stiffly, she went across to a chest of drawers and took out a small plastic folder (remember this was when people mostly kept pictures in an album, not on a phone). After leafing through the contents, she passed them to me. They looked as if they might have dated from the 70s and 80s. Lorna appeared on several but not all. They were conventional shots, indoors and out, with other people I naturally did not recognize. Apart from one, they seemed to be domestic (showing her on a patio with a much older woman) or on informal occasions such as sitting in a restaurant with three or four people. The exception was a picture evidently taken at a wedding in a summer garden. She was standing near a row of mixed shrubs wearing a dress in a green and white flowered print and a floppy wide brimmed hat. In her hand she was holding a glass as she chatted with another woman, taller than her, with long dark hair. Lorna looked pained for a moment, and I guessed that this must be Jenny. I didn't press her about the occasion or about the identity of this woman. Just then, there was a knock at the door and one of the carers came in wearing a smart blue uniform and pushing a trolley. She was a cheery woman named Millie. After pouring a cup of tea for Lorna, she offered one to me with some biscuits. I said I must be going but took a quick gulp of tea. It seemed the natural cue for departure. We had been talking for almost an hour. As I got to the door, I asked her if she would like to come and spend a short time at my home to meet Deb and her family - I had cleared this with Miranda, who said that this was allowed as long as I could carry out the minimal caring procedures that might be needed, and wouldn't let Lorna stay long enough to get tired. She agreed, saying that she had hadn't been out of the place since a residents' trip to Windsor Castle several months before. Naturally I didn't tell Lorna that her daughter Elizabeth lived only a few miles up the Thames from Windsor. As I walked back along the corridor I passed Millie, who gave me a warm smile and said, "It's good for her to have visitors, she doesn't have anyone to come to see her ever." I felt exultant that the visit had gone so well, better than I'd anticipated. It wasn't clear how far we could take the relationship, as Lorna may just have had some momentary curiosity and be happy to revert to her previous self-isolation. There looked to be less prospect than ever of a reconciliation with my mum, but at least it seemed that Deb, James and I were not affected by the bad blood resulting from the break with Elaine. I drove the short way home and immediately phoned Deb with the good news about a possible outing for Lorna to see us. Getting to Know You We fixed the get-together for a Saturday early in December, when everyone at our end would be free. Miranda said it would be okay if we picked up Lorna about 10 a.m. and brought her back by 7 p.m., the time that the night staff take over at the Mansions. She would need a rest after lunch, but otherwise should be okay for that stretch. With that in mind, Jeff agreed to take the kids off for activities at the local park and roller skating rink - both of the young ones have started to skate recently. I got a few tips on what would be needed. Lorna was fully compos mentis, and along with her friend Gillian the sharpest person mentally in the entire residence. However, with age her physical difficulties had increased. Now she couldn't manage stairs, and it was a good thing that I have a spare room and bathroom on the ground floor of my narrow terraced house. She had to have help on a few things, including dressing as well as getting in and out of the shower. Luckily these wouldn't be necessary on her short visit. However she had a mild case of stress incontinence and wore a pad. Kirstie has the same problem, so I felt I could handle that. It didn't take very long on a Saturday to get down to Twickenham. Deb drove me down so that we could break up the introductions. She was excited to meet Lorna, who was waiting at the front entrance, to give us both a brief hug and peck on the cheek. We carefully loaded her on to the back seat of the car - Deb's has more leg room than mine. I had scarcely taken any notice of her appearance this time, it was so unobtrusive. She had on a long mock camel hair coat, over a petrol blue jumper and a grey pleated skirt. On the way to Wembley she looked out at the passing townscape and gasped a little when she saw things that had changed a great deal since she had last been there, in particular many new housing developments off the North Circular Road in Ealing. She must have known the area well in her thirties and forties. On the other hand, as we approached my home on the border of Wembley and Sudbury, it was all completely new, as she said she had never been in this corner of the outer London suburbs. I think she may have been relieved that this was an anonymous residential district with no links to any of her former life. We got Lorna settled in my not very capacious living room, and put on the kettle. After a few minutes we heard another car parking in the street outside. I went to the door and let in first the noisy children, then a slightly tired looking Jeff, with a small gift in his hands. Charlie and Olivia rushed ahead and turned unbidden into the living room where their mother was waiting with Lorna. More introductions followed. We had decided to use the form "Auntie Lorna", since the children already had token aunts and uncles among friends of the family. To call her Great Grandma might have risked awkward questions if they had used it in the presence of adults. The conversation was a bit stilted again. To take the pressure off Lorna, I asked Jeff about his work and such, not having seen him for a little while. Then Deb managed to bring up the recent doings of the children, and Lorna began to quiz them about what they liked to do at school and their hobbies. At that date there was less emphasis on computer games and electronic devices that might have been beyond an old person's ken, so they were able to share their interests. Charlie has inherited his father's love of rugby and had even been to Twickenham to watch a big match - he was impressed when Lorna told him she lived quite near the stadium. Olivia is still more hesitant about describing her life, but she told Lorna abut some friends and the TV programmes she liked best. At this point I felt it safe to get up and bring in the light lunch I had prepared. Deb joined me in the kitchen and assured me it was all going well. As we returned to the other room, the topic had moved on to toys; Lorna was asking about a special doll and Olivia went to produce a "Glitter Girl" got up in a purple top and cream trousers decorated with butterflies. Mauve must have been a special favourite, because unbidden she dug out a backpack that I had always thought hideous. Lorna inspected it with plausible enthusiasm. It was obvious that Olivia had already developed a rapport with this elderly visitor, breaking into the conversation more than once to describe other playthings. Once the meal was over, we began to sort out our plans for the afternoon. Deb had told the children that Auntie Lorna would need to lie down after her journey to see us, so they would be going out with Daddy to the park. Charlie thoughtfully suggested she should go with them, as it had been fun talking to her, but Deb explained that she didn't skate any more and wanted to rest for a time. Immediately the thoughts of both Charley and Olivia shifted to the treat in store, and they started putting on their coats with excited chatter. Meanwhile I led Lorna to the spare room. It hadn't been used a great deal in the two years I had lived there. The walls were a neutral, that's to say nondescript, beige colour, and the furnishings were somewhat austere. I had moved in light green bed linen from storage, brought some nicknacks for the dressing table, and added a bouquet of orange lilies, which I'd found out were her most loved flowers. It didn't look wonderful, but at least it was a bit more welcoming and feminine. If she ever came to stay, as I was hoping she might, I would do something to give it a more homey air. I asked if she wanted to use the loo, but she said she was okay. After helping her on the bed, I pulled the curtains and gently closed the door. Twice I crept back to peep in, and saw that she was fast asleep. After ninety minutes she was awake again. Now she did need to visit the bathroom. I had to help her drop her pants and get stiffly down on to the toilet. I left to her own devices and when I came back she was ready to go through the reverse process with my aid - rising was easier on her knees and plastic hips than going down. Once everything was done, we made our way into the living room. Deb had been watching TV with me, but she switched it off as soon as we reappeared. Some Revelations Now the three of us were alone together for a protracted spell, as we had never been before. Lorna was smart enough to realise that we hoped she might open up a little more about her life, though we were determined not to press her beyond her comfort limits. Hardly anything came out about her childhood and youth, or the feelings that impelled her to seek a transition. She poohpoohed her skill at golf, saying that modern players would wipe the floor with her thanks to their huge power and superior clubs. I think she was a little proud in a modest way of her wartime achievements, but she made it clear that if had been possible to undergo surgery before the war (as it wasn't) she would have much preferred to carry out some useful ground occupation with the women's services, as two of her later friends had done in the WAAFs. All in all, it became evident that her real life did not start until she was able to take the plunge in 1948. She did explain that, while she'd hated the parts belonging to a boy that she had been given, she had an even stronger feeling about the bits that were missing and would make her complete. As a result she could not help envying women from birth (cisgendered, as they're now called) who possessed these attributes without having to go through the time, expense and pain of surgeries. She would have loved to be a mother but had always understood that was not ever going to be possible. Perhaps, she said with a wan smile, it was a good thing, since she had been such a hopeless father to her daughters. I assured her that this didn't follow at all. A cloak of privacy remained around Jenny, with whom she had spent many happy years of devoted mutual care. It was almost ten years since Jenny had died, but the pain was still too recent to allow her to speak freely - even to mention the name made Lorna tear up. We quickly dropped that part of her life. In the course of our conversation, one other thing was now apparent. When Deb had first unearthed her story, I had been largely concentrating on the gender issue. It became obvious as we talked that there was an equally significant generational side to the story. As I've said, I had never really known my grandmother or the absent grandparents on the other side of the family. Now I had the chance for the first time to learn what it was like in England during the postwar years. Mostly Lorna had been in the London area, and that matched my own experience because I've always lived there, apart from three years in East Yorkshire as a student when I did sociology at the University of Hull. But my ideas of the capital in the time before I was born were vague and incomplete, mostly based on old films and documentaries. My mother had found it hard enough to bring up the three of us in the 70s and 80s, with a less than ideal husband I won't speak about, to have time to reminisce about her younger self. It was a completely unexpected boon, to have this window open up on what to Deb and me was a historic, even legendary epoch. To Lorna it was simply the world in which she had found herself. Without doubt, the most difficult time was early on. The Sunday paper running her story had sent her first on a short trip with a photographer to Venice, Rome and Sorrento for what were meant to be glamour shots. She felt awkward in this role and didn't get on particularly well with the ghost writer they'd hired to spark up her story. She returned to England the week after the news burst and had to go into hiding, as someone who knew her had leaked the location of her flat in Pimlico. This was followed by one further publicity trip for a single day and night in Paris, a city she had always liked, but where she now felt a fugitive as her notoriety spread round the world. Even when the series ended in the paper, she was still likely to be photographed in the street if she went down to the grocery. Luckily her parents had a spare cottage near Salisbury and she was able to hide out there for six weeks. The media frenzy started to die down - actually it was nearly all the press, since TV had not got going properly in Britain in 1951. She plucked up courage and went to live with Jenny, who had been a big help during the early stages of her transition. When she went out she wore a dark wig and borrowed some of Jenny's clothes, in the hope that neighbours would think the was just the one person living there. It seemed to work. After six months she felt confident enough to take trips around the neighbourhood in company with Jenny, and to her relief nobody took a blind bit of notice of them. She remembered Jenny saying to her, "If anybody attracts attention, it'll be me," on account of her long legs, raven hair and tendency to use large gestures together with a loud laugh, something Lorna couldn't readily copy. Things got steadily easier, and so the pair started to look for a permanent home. The chance came through a contact in the estate agency business, one of the very few men to whom Lorna had entrusted her secret. They were able to rent a place in Chingford, along a quiet suburban street, miles from anywhere that either of them had known. In the event they stayed here from the late 50s until 1975, when they moved to Kingston, in a part of London that would remain Lorna's home for the rest of her life. I asked about the 60s, she wasn't into the politics much. She opposed the Vietnam war but didn't join CND marches or anything like that. Never seriously into drugs because two young people she knew had bad experiences and died early as a result. She quite liked some of the music but was too old to be a rock chick. After reading Betty Friedan and later Germaine Greer she did embrace the feminist movement, but again didn't feel it would help the cause if she went public about that, the way people felt then. For the first time I got a clear sense of what it was really like to live in this era, later mythologized in the media. There were of course drawbacks in those earlier days. One small thing I was astonished to learn was that to reach the cubicles in many public toilets, you had to go through a turnstile and put a penny in the slot on the metal gate, meaning you needed to keep one or two of the old large penny coins in your purse. (Men didn't have to do this to get to the urinals.) I expressed disbelief, but she told me to my mother and Kirstie would recall this from when they were growing up. Another unpleasant memory was of walking the gauntlet beside a construction site, where a chorus of wolf whistles was considered to be flattering - she didn't find it that way at all. You got to know some ways of making life simpler. If you bought two pairs of nylons in the same size and shade, you could ladder two stockings and still have a usable pair, unlike with tights. But otherwise tights were much preferable when they came in. Not only was it easier to preserve modesty, you didn't have to wear lumpy and inconvenient suspender belts. Among the worst of all were roll on girdles, a rubberized monstrosity that collected perspiration and was hard to pull over your hips when you undressed. Lorna said she flatly refused the bras with conical cups that the newspaper wanted to her to wear for the shots in Rome - it was the age of "sweater girls" like Lana Turner, and the publicity people thought that this would give a fashionable look with a perky bust line. What it actually did, Lorna told us, was not just lift but separate your boobs, so that they became quite painful after it'd been on for more than a couple of hours. One brief experiment in a side street near her hotel had been enough to decide never to do it again. I wondered if she had kept up golf. She said she'd joined a small club on the edge of London in her mid-forties, and played for a time on odd weekends. But Jenny didn't really play much and they found the place a bit snobbish. She came second in a medal competition once, but as she got a bit older couldn't really compete with the young stars of the ladies' section. Actually she had never had been a long driver and had relied on her short game, putting especially, to make up for it, but without regular practice even this side wasn't what it was. So she gave up after a couple of years. After this she followed the sport from a distance, and was a great fan of Nancy Lopez and Laura Davies in particular. It had got to be almost four o'clock. Jeff would soon be back with the kids, and we could see Lorna was starting to flag - she hadn't talked to anyone at this length since Jenny died, and never about her past. It was time for a break. She was obviously weary, but took time to ask Olivia and Charlie on their return about all they had been doing. Both chatted excitedly with their Auntie Lorna, and we three adults could see that a bond was already starting to form. When we dropped her off back at Teddington Mansions, the young ones asked if they would be seeing her again soon. I thought that Lorna was feeling the same. A Day Out We took Lorna out just once before Christmas. This was to see a matinee of the Royal Ballet doing "The Nutcracker" - we found out that Lorna and Jenny had been regulars when the company performed at the Royal Opera House, where they were once great fans of Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev. I had never been hugely enamoured of this piece, mainly because I had seen too many bad versions put on by children or amateurs. However. this was a well known production by Peter Wright, with d?cor by Julia Trevelyan Oman. We thought this was an ideal choice, because it lasts less than two hours, plus a twenty minute interval, which wouldn't tax Lorna too much. Besides, the children had never seen any ballet and this is a good one to start them off with. In the event, Jeff couldn't make it on the afternoon we'd reserved, owing to commitments at work. So it was just Deb and I with the children, excited but uncertain what the show would be like. We didn't think Lorna could easily handle public transport, so we booked a cab to take us to and from Covent Garden. Nobody dresses up much to go to opera or ballet any more, so we all went in quite casual clothes (Lorna could remember a time when you wore your best, even in the balcony stalls Jenny and she had always frequented - but you had to go in by a side door, not the main entrance). Now the dress code in the programme simply said, "We only ask that feet and torsos are covered"! Luckily there was step- free access so that we were quickly able to take the lift up to our seats. When we sat down, Lorna gazed round the auditorium and pointed out the big changes that had been recently been made to the building. Almost every part of the structure had been renovated in the mid 1990s, and so she could hardly recognize anything of what she had known twenty or thirty years earlier. As soon as the overture came to an end and the curtain went up, the children were riveted by the sight of the Christmas decorations round the tree on stage. Lorna smiled quietly, while even I was caught up in the familiar action. The music, so tuneful and rhythmic, immediately combined with the dances and the lighting to set a mood of magical transformations. We would have to wait until the second act to hear some of the favourites, like the dance of the sugar-plum fairy and the waltz of the flowers, but the audience was gripped right from the start, thanks to the quality of the principals, the corps de ballet, and the orchestra. By the time we got to the interval, Charlie and Olivia were positively gushing over everything they had seen. Deb offered to take Lorna to the toilets, knowing that there would be the usual queue. I sat and talked with the kids about the story of the ballet. They were fascinated by some of the exotic toys depicted in the music. After a while Charlie said he needed the lavatory also, and since he was old enough to use the gents by himself I let him do this. Inevitably this soon made Olivia ask if she could go as well, so I guided her along to the right of the bar to a new-looking loo, where the queue was already diminishing. Again this had turned out to be different for Lorna, as in the old days you had to go back downstairs from the gallery for this purpose. In that era, she told me when we returned to our seats, there had been a wizened little attendant who nipped around cleaning the bowls, and who was ready to help with any disasters such as a wardrobe malfunction - luckily there had never been any occasion for Lorna to call on her assistance. As we sat down again, it struck me that three out of the four living generations in our family were present in the theatre. A pity that Mum wasn't there to complete the sequence - but there was nothing anyone could have done about that. The second act went off just as well and the cast received a standing ovation after the final curtain. Slightly to my surprise, the children kept up their concentration to the end. It was only as we waited outside to pick up a taxi and then on the way back to drop off Lorna at the Mansions that they started to whine a little. Sleepily Olivia laid her head against Auntie Lorna's comforting presence, and they snuggled together as we made our way out towards the Hammersmith flyover. It was a day I hoped the children would remember, first for their introduction to the "Nutcracker", but also for their outing with an elderly relative who would be gone before they grew up. We didn't see much of Lorna over the holiday period. This was partly because we had too much on with our immediate families, including things like a school carol concert. My mother invited James and me to spend Christmas with her, so it was difficult to get away for any length of time (her home is an hour away from Twickenham). In addition, there were events at Teddington Mansions where we would have felt interlopers. On Christmas Eve they held a small do for the residents around the late afternoon, after they'd been given the chance to recover from their lunch. Miranda explained that it would be fine if we looked in briefly, but they didn't normally invite visitors, as it didn't last very long and was designed to let the staff get away those who wanted to go to bed early. Deb and I stayed for only half an hour. We chatted for a time with Gillian and Kathleen, who whispered conspiratorially to me that Lorna was the smartest person in the entire home, a whizz at crosswords and the author of some nice poems (I didn't know that.) All three joined in a session of bingo which was to finish off the evening. We left them together as they bent over the table, peering through their spectacles at their cards. Each was of course elderly but sprightly, with their grey hair surmounted by a paper hat. Once again it seemed all very ordinary. I had decided that it would be appropriate to give Lorna a functional but nice looking gift for Christmas, nothing too showy of course. I found out from her carer that she could do with another nightdress, now that the weather was getting colder - not the time for satin! She also told me that Lorna was a 14, so I knew that a regular Woman's size would fit her. In the local department store I found a full length gown in polyester. It had long sleeves gathered at the wrist, white with a little blue lace effect round the sweetheart neckline. When I described it, Millie the carer said it was the sort of thing Lorna might like, but would be reluctant to buy for herself. I had it gift wrapped as I have never been the world's greatest packer. As soon as I handed Lorna her present that afternoon, she opened it, and seemed pleased when she saw what it was. After a few muttered thanks she didn't say any more, but Millie told me later that she was wearing it regularly, I had not forgotten the devoted attention that she was getting from her carers, and gave them (the night nurse included) small gifts I hope they'd find acceptable. Milly, who has the effusive personality that a lot of people with Jamaican roots seem to have, flung her arms around me in a big hug, almost as if I had presented her with an Oscar or something. I didn't thjnk it was right to give anything to Miranda, who had always maintained a slightly formal professional tone with me - she still addressed me as Ms Dent, though I had invited her to call me Judith. New Year's Eve passed quietly at the Mansions, as few residents had the stamina to stay up to midnight or the capacity for more than a small drink. Around six o'clock a few people came in with us to wish their relatives well - they were mostly daughters and a couple of sons, with a sprinkling of grandchildren. Charlie and Olivia were too young and boisterous to be suitable visitors, so Deb and I went by ourselves. As it transpired, Lorna did not feel a hundred per cent and since a lady down the corridor was showing mild symptoms of flu, everyone agreed it was best to leave the residents in peace. It was Milly's day off, so I didn't have the chance to thank her for the care she was still giving. Later we found out that Lorna had suffered little more than a sniffle - "nothing to write home about," as she put it. This expression wouldn't mean much to youngsters today, and it served as further reminder that she came from a time that already seemed prehistory to many people. In any case, we had bigger plans on the horizon as the new year began. On 22 February it would be Lorna's eightieth birthday. We could not let the occasion pass without any recognition, even if it would only be within the small cloistered community in Twickenham. The Party The first thing to do was to get in touch with Miranda's assistant, Lynn Callaghan, whose duties included organising social activities at the Mansions. She proved efficient and was able to book in the party on Lorna's birthday. On top of that she made the practical arrangements, getting in touch with a local catering firm for the spread (for which we paid, of course). All residents would be invited along with the staff on duty, but not relatives. She would handle the preparations. We told her that we wanted to keep the occasion as informal as possible. On our side there would be just Deb, Jeff and their kids, James and me. In the middle of January, before the arrangements were complete, Deb and I went down to spend a day with our mother. We went into Reading for a little shopping and then had a nice meal in a country pub. When we got back to her home, we finally broached the subject we had been keeping silent about for months - our discovery of Lorna. Knowing that she was likely to get upset by our delayed news, we handled it as gently as possible. The revelation went better than I'd expected. Mum chided us a little for keeping it to ourselves for so long, but didn't blame us for our desire to contact Lorna once Deb had come across the story on the web. She seemed calm, but we knew her well enough to realise that things were going on inside her while she talked. In due course she said that she wanted to process what we had told her, but she had no desire to attend the party or to have anything to do with Lorna, certainly not to reconcile with her after what she had done to our grandmother Elaine. If we wanted to, she understood, and that was our business. She would prefer to break the news to Kirstie herself, a natural decision as they had been close all their lives. We had to leave it like that, and went home shortly afterwards. Th next week I was too busy at work to visit the Mansions, so Deb went instead. Something we didn't know till now was that Lorna had put some money into a small printing firm after she moved to Kingston. She knew nothing about the business but was welcome as a sleeping partner. The company expanded with the growth of modern computerized technologies for colours. The value of her investment had gone up and she drew enough income to pay for most of her living expenses. After some resistance on her part, we persuaded Lorna that she needed to have something new to wear for the celebration. She absolutely refused to let us get her any jewellery, insisting that she was happiest with longtime favourites, that is a pendant Jenny had given her and some sapphire drop earrings. We arranged for the hairdresser who came in once a month to the Mansions for about six ladies to style her best wig, to give her a full make up, and also to do her nails. Lorna didn't offer any objection, though I had never seen her use more than a dab of rouge and a pale pink lipstick. About ten days before her birthday we set up a visit to the shops to buy her outfit. We drove the short distance to the John Lewis store at Brent Cross shopping centre. I had been there a few times, so I knew where to find the lifts and the women's wear section on Floor 2. Within a few minutes Lorna had found a couple of dresses she thought would suit her and match the occasion. We took them into the changing rooms and I helped her take off her blouse and trousers to try them on. The first one proved to go better with her colouring and hair. It was a simple sheath really, with sleeves to just above the elbow, mid calf length, in cerise with embroidery around the bust and hem. The scoop neckline helped to draw attention away from her relatively broad shoulders. (I think it would have been called a day dress in Lorna's youth.) It was obvious when she wrinkled her nose when she saw herself in the other dress that she much preferred the first one. I didn't pay much attention to her appearance when she undressed. Obviously her body no longer resembled the svelte outline that I had seen in the publicity shots at the time of her transition, now almost fifty years before. It wasn't possible to conceal the fact that her breasts sagged a little, her waist was thicker and her rear end had spread. But that was what we all came to ultimately - it gave me a glimpse of what I might look like myself when I reached Lorna's age. Next we looked in the shoe section, which is on the same floor, but couldn't find anything suitable there. Like most of us, Lorna is quite choosy about her shoes. However, I knew that there were several other footwear paces in the mall. It was not much of a walk to Carvela, and after trying on three pairs Lorna chose a silver strappy design with two inch heels, which she would be able to manage at the party - it would only be for two or three hours, mostly sitting, and ("if I live long enough", as she added) she would get some further use for them at occasional events in the Mansions. Against some mild protests, I insisted on buying her a black silk evening bag to complete her outfit - she said it was her first new handbag in at least six years. Before we left the mall, we had a quick snack at Caffe Nero, mainly to allow Lorna to rest her legs before we headed back to the car. Finally the big day arrived. Our plans went off pretty well without a hitch. The party was due to run from five until seven. Deb and I arrived just before four o'clock - Jeff was bringing James and the children a little later. The hairdresser had already done her work, giving Lorna's wig of silvery grey some gentle waves at the crown and adding a fresh coat to her nails. Best of all was the facial makeover, with a subtle deep red blusher to define her cheeks, and a soft brown liner to bring out her eyes. Next we helped her into her dress, calming her anxiety that without a waist slip the line would not hang quite right - a legacy, we supposed, of a time when you wore a slip with everything. The finishing touch was a spray of her favourite Miss Dior. When the time came, she gave a quick look in the mirror and pronounced herself ready for the fray. Understandably nerves had started to act up a little. She reached for her handbag and picked up her cane. We helped her down the corridor to the lounge, her new heels clicking on the parquet flooring. When she entered the room there was no cry of "Surprise!", which would have been pointless. Instead the guests all started to applaud and call out birthday wishes. The room had been decorated with balloons and party favours. At the head of a long table we could see the cake, with icing of pink and Olivia's much loved purple. A place of honour was reserved near some easy chairs alongside the table. After we all sat down, both members of the staff and fellow residents came up to congratulate Lorna both on her reaching the big 8 and also complimenting her on her appearance. She did look lovely, her pretty dress set off by the smart accessories. I doubt if there was a more attractive eighty year-old anywhere in the country that day! Her friend Kathleen kissed her on the cheek and said, "My, what a bobby dazzler," while a cheeky member of the catering firm pretended to blow a wolf whistle. One of the younger residents patted her on the arm as she passed us and called out, "Go for it, Lady L!" In due course the champaign was opened to a big cheer. At 5.30 Miranda rattled her glass to get everyone's attention. First she presented the guest of honour with a beautiful bouquet of red and pink roses. Then she made a very brief but suitable speech, paying tribute to Lorna's involvement in the life of the Mansions and her kind attitude towards everyone (many claps and hear hears). Then she asked us to drink to the health of the birthday girl, and no second invitation was needed. Lorna was led up to the cake and asked to blow out the eight candles, which she did in two puffs. At that, a pianist in the corner I'd not noticed - it turned out to be Kathleen - struck a chord and the assembled "choir" launched into the strains of Happy Birthday. After this came a warm round of applause. Lorna, visibly moved, took off her glasses and dabbed her eyes with a tissue from her new handbag. To be honest, I felt quite teary as well. That was the climax of the evening. Another pianist took over to accompany some songs well loved by people of the older generation. Lorna made a show of joining in the choruses, though she admitted she was not much of a singer. Kathleen came over with Gillian to make up a small family party. The children behaved very well most of the time, considering they were the only young people there, and when they began to get fractious Jeff led them away to distract them with some board games kept in the lounge. We left promptly at seven, as Lorna gave us a grateful good bye. The night carer would see that she got to bed safely. The last thing I remember is Olivia holding on to her tightly, still in a state of wonder that anyone could live to such an immense age. Privately I felt wonder that she could have endured so much, and also survived into a time when she would not have been such a freak and could have lived a more normal life. Epilogue For a long period we continued to visit Lorna regularly. We also took her out for the day with trips to Kew Gardens and Marble Hill which weren't too far afield. Gradually her mobility problems increased, and she had to begin using a wheelchair. On the next two birthdays we had a party at Teddington Mansions, though on a smaller scale than the first occasion. Sadly in 2003 came the onset of dementia, which gradually robbed her of all memories, good and bad. She had to go into special care, and the brief window was over during which Deb and I were able to communicate with her for the first time in our entire lives. Eventually she died, two months after her eighty-seventh birthday. She had earlier left instructions that the funeral was to be private with no frills, and we honoured her wishes. James, Deb, Jeff and I made up half of those attending the short ceremony at the crematorium. Luckily nobody in the media got to know of the event, though by this time there were quite a few more stories about her on the internet. We scattered her ashes in a favourite place that she did not want us to reveal. I'm sorry to have to say that my mum also passed away, some years ago, never having reconciled herself to what had happened. But Deb's children, who are now grown up, have fond recollections of the times they met their kind Aunt Lorna. Recently Olivia said that she really admired her as one of the positive role models she had to follow. And I too feel privileged to have got to know her, too little and too late as it may have been. I am proud to think that I finally saw something of the exceptional woman who turned out to be the grandmother I had never met. Lorna