At Aunt Greta’s–
Farah Way From The U.S.A.
by Gabi
Chapter 11 of a Continuing Saga…

‘There’s a surprise for you tomorrow,’ Auntie Greta told me as soon as I was in the house. ‘Miss Morgan phoned and she wants you to be a friend to a new girl who’s starting school the day after tomorrow. She’s the same age as you, an American and she’s over here for a few years because her parents are working here now. She sounds really nice.’

‘D’you know her name?’ I asked.

‘Yes. She’s called Farah Way and she’s from Boston.’

‘That’s in Lincolnshire, isn’t it?’ I queried.

‘Well, the English Boston is,’ replied Auntie G. ‘But Farah comes from America and her Boston is in Massachusetts. Her parents are bringing her round tomorrow morning and have offered to take you out to lunch so you can get to know each other a bit before school starts. We must make sure you wear something pretty. How are you feeling now after your horrid experience this afternoon?’

‘Not too bad, Auntie; a bit shaky still. The worst bit was being unable to defend myself properly against three of them; at least I was able to knee Quinn in the goolies. WPC Kate was very understanding and her letting me have a shower so that I could wash the horribleness away helped trimmensely. Angela was sooo helpful and I wasn’t at all shy being naked in front of her.’

‘That’s because you’re both girls, honey. How’s your tummy now? Still got cramps?’

‘Not just now. It’s much better than it was this morning.’

‘I’m glad, sweetheart.’

‘It was sooooo kewl the way you came to the rescue on your bike,’ I said. ‘I think you gave those beasts the shock of their lives.’

‘That was the idea, Gabs. The look on Quinn’s face when he saw me was an absolute picture. It was even more of one when his mother turned up and started tearing a strip off him. I almost felt sorry for him.’

‘But you didn’t?’

‘You bet I didn’t,’ Auntie replied. ‘That young man has had it coming to him for a long time.’

‘What d’you think will happen to him and the other two?’

‘Not enough, I’m afraid. When I was your age, if boys had done to me what those three did to you today, they would have been sent to an approved school § or even borstal. ¶ As it is now, the worst that’s likely to happen to them is to be told by social workers that they’re naughty boys and not to do it again.’

‘Borstal? Auntie,’ I asked.

‘Youth prisons,’ Auntie explained. ‘They abolished them in 1982.’

’Pity,’ I thought to myself, adding out loud, ‘A spell behind bars would serve Quinn right.’

‘Yes, it would probably do him a lot of good,’ Auntie agreed. ‘If the threat of Borstal was there, it might make some of these hooligans and yobs think twice.’

‘It’s hard enough for them to think once,’ I countered with a giggle, adding, ‘Why can’t all boys be like Timmy?’ just as the ’phone started ringing.

‘Nine, four, nine, seven, six, three,’ said Auntie after picking up the handset. ‘Talk of the devil. How are you Tim?…good, I’m glad. I’ll pass you over to her–’

I took the ’phone from Auntie; ‘Hi, Timmy, are you any better or have you still got a gross-looking strawberry tongue?…it’s getting better, good. Oh, you’ve heard, I s’pose mummy told you…yeah, they were being really gross, but luckily Auntie G came riding to the rescue on her BMW–it was sooooo kew-ell! Dickhead ran away, Quinn looked gobsmacked, and Ray Gunn was caught in the act of pulling my knickers down; he got two–no three–shocks; first that I’m a proper girl, second I’m on my period and third, when Auntie grabbed him by the collar…’

‘Oh, Gab, that’s sooo gross! I’ll kill that Ray Gunn when I see him. I’m not gonna have him mucking about with my little sister. So what was Quinn doing?…’

‘Oh, Quinn? Yeah, I kneed him in the goolies so he had other thoughts on his mind; he was clutching himself like he was desperate for a wee. I’d have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t done the same thing to me about six months ago–when I was a boy!’

I could hear Tim giggling while I told him about what I did to Quinn. ‘So what about you, brother dear, when will you be bug-free?…’bout ten days? that’s kewl…’ He wanted to know what else happened so I told him about how nice WPC Kate had been and how the other Angela and Kristal had comforted me. We must have been chatting for about fifteen minutes when Auntie said I should come and have some supper. Before he rang off, Tim said that if nothing happened to Quinn he would deal with him himself, so I told him to be careful. He told me I sounded just like a girl so I replied, ‘Doh! ’course I do, you loony, coz I am a girl,’ and I could hear him giggling.

I was glad to get to bed that night. Auntie gave me a paracetamol for my tummy and a mug or gorgeous hot chocolate to help me sleep. When she kissed me goodnight she said she would leave my door open so she could hear if I had a bad dream and she left the landing light on so my room was not totally dark. Actually I was so tired I went straight to sleep and never stirred until she wakened me in the morning by drawing my curtains and letting the sunshine in; I felt much better for a full night’s sleep.

After a shower and the other morning procedures I dressed in a pink tank top with spaghetti straps that–rather daringly, I thought–left my bra-straps showing and a denim miniskirt, white ankle socks and my new girlie pink Nike trainers. I put my hair in a ponytail with a pink scrunchie. Auntie said I looked very pretty and most suitably dressed for welcoming my American guest.

Brekky consisted of freshly squeezed orange juice, a soft-boiled egg with Marmite on my soldiers, one other piece of toast with marmalade and a mug of tea. Auntie had almost the same, with an extra mug of tea. We cleared the table, rinsed off the crocks and put them in the dishwasher. We went upstairs to make our beds and I tidied my room in case Farah wanted to see it. Then I went downstairs again and did a bit of housework so we were respectable to receive our visitors.

It was eleven o’clock when I heard the front door bell ring. ‘Will you answer it please, Gabs,’ I heard Auntie call from upstairs; ‘It’ll probably be the Ways. I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘’Kay, Auntie,’ I called back, and went to open the front door. A girl of my own age, wearing camo Bermuda shorts and an olive green tank top was standing on the step; behind her stood a tall man with a bushy red beard wearing a light green polo shirt and grey trousers and an attractive lady wearing a sky blue dress. ‘Hi,’ I said to the girl; ‘you must be Farah. Please come in. My Aunt will be down in a minute.’

‘Hi! I guess you’re Gabrielle,’ the girl said with an American accent and a friendly smile.

‘That’s me, but most people call me Gaby or Gabs. I guess you’re Farah. Please come in.’

‘Thanks. May I introduce my Dad and Mom, Dr Miles A. Way and Mrs Clara Way.’

I had to bite my tongue to stop me guffawing. It was bad enough her being Far away, without her ’rents being called Miles away and Clear away–it was obviously a hazard in the Way family–‘Kinda way out!’ I thought. ‘How d’you do, Dr Way,’ I said, holding out my right hand to be shaken and wondering what sort of doctor he was. ‘How d’you do, Mrs Way.’ I held out my hand again, but Clara bent down and air-kissed me on each cheek making a ‘Mwah, mwah,’ sound as she did so. So I went ‘Mwah, mwah,’ too.

‘Please come in,’ I told them. ‘My aunt will be down in a few minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ said Dr Way, following Mrs Way in. ‘Glad to meet you, Gaby. Say, whose is that cool looking BMW motorcycle outside?’

‘Oh, it belongs to my Aunt Greta. It’s her pride and joy. It’ll do well over a hundred miles an hour.’

‘I’ll bet,’ he replied and I couldn’t help wondering what sort of picture was forming in their minds of my ton-up Auntie, and what their reactions would be when she finally came downstairs to join us.

‘Would anyone like a coffee?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps you’d like a soft drink, Farah?’

‘A soft drink?’ queried my new American friend, and I realised that while we both spoke English, they were like two different languages.

‘You know, a Coke or a Fanta, something like that.’

‘Oh! You mean a soda,’ she said as Auntie G came into the room.

Dr Way stood up. I don’t think he was expecting Auntie like this. She was wearing a royal blue dress, a pearl necklace and her grey hair was immaculate. She certainly did not fit in with the image of a ton-up auntie with a BMW R1200R! His jaw dropped, as he clearly thought she was old enough to be his mother! Which, of course, she was.

‘This is Dr Miles A. Way,’ I said, introducing him and suddenly realising that perhaps I should have introduced Mrs Way first. ‘My aunt, Miss Greta Chambers.’

‘Glad to know you,’ said Dr Way, holding out his hand. This is my wife, Clara.’

‘How d’you do?’ said Auntie, shaking hands and then air kissing. ‘Please call me Greta. May I call you Clara?’ Mrs Way was clearly as gobsmacked as her husband and I could imagine her thinking, ’surely this fragile-looking old lady doesn’t ride that monster bike outside.’

‘Please do, Gredda,’ replied Clara. ‘I can’t believe what Gaby was saying about you riding that ee-normous motor bike.’

‘Oh, it’s true enough. It’s much better than a car and I can weave through the traffic on it so easily it takes me less than half the time compared to when I take the car.’

‘I sure am envious of it,’ said Dad Way. ‘I used to have a Harley some years ago, but I always thought the BMW was a classy machine.

‘I must say I always fancied trying a Harley,’ mused Auntie G, ‘but I never got the opportunity. But I love my BMW. She’s so responsive.’

‘I bet she is and I’ll bet you don’t ride her dressed like that.’

‘No way, José,’ laughed Auntie. ‘I have a full set of racing leathers and lots of people have got the shock of their lives when I’ve taken my helmet off. Nobody expects a little old lady to ride such a machine. I adore surprising people.’

‘I don’t know how you dare, Gredda,’ added Clara. ‘I couldn’t ride a thing like that to save my life–and you drive on the wrong side of the road too! What do you think of your auntie’s bike, Gaby?’

‘I think it’s sooooo kew-el. I love it when she takes me for a ride on it. The feeling I get from speed is awesome.’

‘What do you wear?’ asked Farah.

‘I’ve got my own Bellstar helmet and I usually wear jeans and a windproof jacket. I wish I had a set of leathers like Auntie’s.’

‘Would you like a ride on it, Farah?’ Auntie asked. ‘I’m sure Gabs would lend you her helmet.’

‘Oh WOW! I don’t think I’d dare, Ms Chambers.’

‘You don’t need to worry, Auntie would go slowly to start with,’ I assured her.

‘Would you like to have a ride, hon?’ Dr Way asked. ‘Your Mom and I wouldn’t stop you, because we’re sure Ms Chambers would take good care of you.’

‘How about sometime next weekend, pet,’ Auntie said. ‘And please, Miss Chambers makes me sound like a schoolmarm, so why don’t you call me Auntie Greta like Gabs does.’

‘Gosh, may I? You’re sooooo kewl, Ms Ch–I mean, Auntie Greta.’

‘Thank you, Farah. I reckon that’s a really nice compliment.’

‘No problem.’

‘So, are you all set for school tomorrow?’ I asked Farah.

‘I guess,’ came the reply.

‘Got your uniform?’

‘Yeah. Oh my God, it’s AWful–sooooo LAME. I don’t know why you guys put up with it. And being made to wear a skirt to school is sooo gross. Don’t you ever wish you could wear pants?’

‘We always wear pants–under our skirts, don’t you?’ I replied, being a bit naughty and she did a double take.

‘Those are panties!’ she giggled. ‘I mean long pants, like jeans.’

‘We call long pants trousers over here, and we often call panties knickers.’

‘Dad wears knickers when he plays golf,’ Farah replied, giggling again and a strange picture came into my mind; were they like the chicken bum knickers some of my friends wore for tennis or badminton? My mind boggled.

‘So what’s school like?’ Farah asked.

‘It’s kewl,’ I replied. ‘Ask Auntie, she was a student there during World War 2.’

‘Wow, that’s way kewl,’ gushed Farah.

‘Yeah, she came and gave a talk to us about it last term, and upstairs she’s still got her old uniform. It fits me perfectly.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘No she’s not, sweetie,’ Auntie said. ‘You can try it on sometime if you like. Then we’ll take some digital photos of you and you can email them to your friends in the States.’

‘Oh Wow! That sounds like really fun; I could kid the guys back home it’s the uniform we have to wear now,’ she laughed. ‘Gaby, I’ve been told I’ll be in the same form as you. Is that something like our Homeroom back home?’

‘Homeroom?’ I queried. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Homeroom is where we go as soon as we arrive at school so our homeroom teacher can register that we are there and give out any notices.’

‘We go straight to our form room which is where we also do our lessons. We have a form teacher who does registration and she also takes us for English and history.’

‘So what’s our form teacher like? What’s she called?’ Farah asked eagerly.

‘Well, I was in year 6 last year and we had Miss Watson,’ I explained. ‘But in year 7 our teacher will be Miss Tickell.’

‘Mystical?’ squealed Farah. ‘Oh my God, why will she be mystical? Does she hold séances or something?’

‘No, no,’ I giggled. ‘She’s not mystical, her name’s Miss Tickell, T-I-C-K-E-L-L. Her first name is Theresa, but last term I heard one of the other teachers call her Tess.’

‘Tess Tickell?’ said Dr Way, chuckling. ‘The mystical testic–’

–‘Miles A Way!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘Not in front of the children, if you please. Whatever will Gredda think us Americans are like?’

But she spoke too late because Farah, being bright, was already in a giggle fit. ‘Oh my God, the poor lady; I’d die if I was called that.’

‘Now you just forget your father ever said that, young lady,’ Clara Way said firmly. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Mom,’ replied the still-giggling Farah, who was trying to look serious and chastened, but of course she just set me off too and Auntie was grinning like a Cheshire cat, so we all ended up in a giggle fit.

‘When I was in that form, our form mistress was a Miss De’Ath,’ Auntie told our guests when we had calmed down a little. ‘We gave her the nickname The Grim Reaper which was very unfair of us, but little girls can be very horrible sometimes.’

‘So can little boys,’ said Dr Way with a chuckle. He looked at his wristwatch. ‘We have a reservation at Rollers, the restaurant you recommended, Greta, for half after twelve so it might be a good idea to head in that direction in half an hour or so. There’s plenty of room for all of us in our SUV.’

‘Would anyone like to freshen up first?’ Auntie asked. ‘Gabs, why don’t you take Farah up to your room then you can brush your hair and go to the loo. Miles, I’ll show you where the downstairs loo is and if you, Clara, come with me we can titivate ourselves in my room.’

I led Farah upstairs to my room. ‘This used to be Auntie’s room when she was a little girl,’ I explained. ‘I don’t normally live here, but I have to stay away from home at the moment ’coz my big brother has scarlet fever; he caught it at Scout camp. Do you want to go to the loo?’

‘The loo?’ she queried.

‘You know, where you have a wee,’ I said.

‘Oh, you mean do I wanna use the bathroom?’ she said.

‘Yeah, except there’s no loo in our bathroom. The loo’s in a wee room on its own.’

‘It must be a wee room then,’ she countered with a giggle. ‘I guess I’m okay.’

‘I’ll go as I probably need to change my pad,’ I said.

‘Are you on?’ she asked.

‘Yeah–it’s my first time.’

‘Poor you. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, but I had bad tummy cramps yesterday.’

‘That’s the part I don’t like,’ she sympathised. ‘Sometimes I get them real bad.’

I went to the loo and did the needful. When I got back Farah was sitting at my dressing table fixing her lip gloss. ‘Don’t you use makeup?’ she asked. ‘You don’t seem to have any here.’

‘It’s a long story,’ I replied. ‘You see, I’ve only recently started wearing girls’ clothes.’

‘Why, for Pete’s sake? You’re so cute. Do you mean you used to be a boy? No, you can’t have been ’cause you’re having your period.’

I felt myself blushing regarding my dichotomy. ‘Up to now I’ve been a tomboy,’ I began; ‘So much of a tomboy that I dressed and lived and went to school as a boy. But things have started happening–like my boobs starting to show–that makes it impossible now ’cause I’d hardly be able to go to school wearing a bra with boys’ clothes; so I’m now being my real self for the first time in my life.’

‘You mean you wanted to be a boy?’ she asked, wide eyed. ‘But why would anyone want to be a boy forchrisake?’

‘I just wanted to be like my big brother who is very special,’ I replied. ‘I know you must think I’m feeble-starkers-bonkers, but that’s how it was. If other boys had thought he was playing with his little sister they would have teased him and made things difficult for him, so it was easier for me to pretend to be his little brother. The thing is that it caused a problem for me yesterday; a bully from school and two of his mates attacked me yesterday ’cause they thought I was a boy wearing a skirt.’

‘Oh my God, what happened?’ She drew in a sudden breath and her eyes widened again.

‘I managed to knee Quinn–the biggest one–in a painful place, so he had his own problem to think about.’

‘Kewl. Serves the monster right. Did that stop the others?’

‘Nah. One of the others held me while the third pulled my knickers–I mean, panties–down; there was a bit of blood there and one of them thought I’d cut my non-existent willie off.’

‘Oh my God, girl! Eeewwww, that’s sooooo gross!’ Farah exclaimed. ‘What happened after that?’

‘They got quite a shock when they saw I really was a girl, and even more of one when Auntie Greta zoomed up on her motorbike and caught them in the act. She was in her black leathers and helmet, so they didn’t realise she was a lady at first. The one that was holding me legged it when Auntie collared my attacker. Quinn–the bully– was so busy nursing his goolies that he didn’t even see Auntie arrive. Then the police turned up and I was allowed to go to my friend Angela’s house nearby. There’s not time to tell you all about it now, but I will later if you like.’

‘’Kay. Say, would you like to try some of my makeup? I’ve got some in my pocketbook,’ she said, holding up her handbag.

‘I’ve never tried any yet, so I’m not sure what to do,’ I confessed.

‘No problem. I’ll fix you up.’

‘Okay, but only a little.’

‘Mom would kill me if I put too much on,’ she replied.

I sat on my dressing table chair, turned to face her while she applied a little eye shadow, mascara and lipgloss. She was very competent and obviously knew what she was doing. When she had finished I turned to look at myself in the dressing-table mirror. I was amazed at the difference she had made.

‘Wow, Farah, that’s amazing. Thanks so much.’

‘You like?’

‘I like. Let’s go downstairs so I can show Auntie G.’

I took a new pad and a clean pair of panties, put them both in my handbag and we went downstairs.

‘Hi, girls,’ said Dr Way. ‘Say, you both look real cute. I guess the ladies will be down soon.’

He had barely finished speaking when we heard footsteps descending the stairs and Mrs Way and Auntie joined us.

‘All ready, girls?’ Auntie asked. She looked us over and then looked at me again. ‘I like your makeup, Gabs. I bet Farah did that for you, didn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ I answered, blushing.

‘Don’t you normally use makeup, Hon,’ Mrs Way asked.

Not knowing what to say, I shook my head.

‘Until recently, she’s been such a tomboy she wouldn’t even wear girls’ clothes,’ Auntie said, coming to my rescue; ‘so we’ve never persuaded her to try makeup yet.’

‘I just can’t see her as a tomboy,’ remarked Mrs Way, ‘she’s such a cutie patootie.’ This made me blush even more in spite of not knowing what a cutie patootie might be.

‘Mo-om! You’re embarrassing her?’ Farah said, and turning to me added; ‘She does it to me all the time, Gaby.’

‘Right, folks,’ said Dr Way. ‘I guess it’s time we hit the trail. Got everything?’

‘Come on, Gaby,’ Farah said grabbing my hand and leading me out of the house. We waited for Auntie to lock the door and then went out to the car–a red Jeep Cherokee.

* * *

Rollers, is a sea food restaurant situated overlooking the harbour. As Dr Way swung the Jeep Cherokee into the car park I saw Mummy’s Volvo V70 was there too so it was going to be a slightly bigger party than I had expected. We disembarked and headed into the restaurant. I had just expected to find Mummy waiting inside for us, but there was a surprise awaiting me.

Once inside, Farah tugged my arm; ‘Gaby, this is kewl. It’s like a place we go to back home in Boston called Legal Seafood. They have great clam chowder.’

‘Really? I don’t think you’ll find clam chowder here, but they have the best fish and chips I’ve ever eaten. Mummy sometimes brings Timmy and me here as a special treat.’

Dr Way identified himself to the head waiter. and we were escorted through the main restaurant to a separate room with two tables laid with dazzling white cloths. Waiting for us was Mummy, Angela and her Mam, Kristal and Mrs Ball and Kristal’s best friend Lacey Nickerson and her mother.

I introduced Mummy to the Ways, and then she introduced them to the others. Lacey came straight to me and hugged me.

‘Gaby,’ she gushed, ‘Kristal explained to me about your transformation and it’s great to meet the real you. I can’t understand why you wanted to pretend to be a boy all that time; you’re such a pretty girl. She is, isn’t she, Mum?’

‘Very pretty,’ replied Mrs Nickerson, looking at me. ‘You’ll have to look to your laurels, darling, or she’ll be stealing all the most handsome boys.’ I realised I was blushing again. ‘So, it seems that Gabriel has been Gabrielle all along. I must say you’ve turned out to be a very beautiful swan.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Nickerson,’ I mumbled felling my cheeks get even hotter. ‘May I introduce Farah Way; she’s from Boston in America and she’s going to be at school with us now she’s living in England. Farah, this is Mrs Nickerson and her daughter, Lacey.’

‘Glad to meet you, Ms Nickerson, and you, Lacey.’

‘You girls go and get to know each other,’ said Mrs Nickerson, ‘because that’s the main reason for this little get-together.’

‘I guess I’m outnumbered,’ joked Dr Way. ‘I am such a lucky guy to be surrounded by so many beautiful girls. Why don’t we sit down, the smaller table is for the young guys, and the bigger one for us old guys.’

‘Farah, these two are Angela Williamson and Kristal Ball. Angela and Kristal, may I present Miss Farah Way from Boston, Massachusetts.’

‘Hi, guys,’ Farah said, going to each one and hugging them in turn. ‘I sure am glad to meet you. It’s kewl, ’cause it means there will be at least four friendly faces I know when I get to school tomorrow.’

‘Hi, Farah,’ Angela replied. ‘I think your Bermudas are sooooo kewl. I have some camo jeans that I really like.’

‘I love the embroidery on your jeans, Angela,’ Farah told her. ‘I’m glad I’m not the only one wearing pants, or trousers as I must learn to call them, or y’all will think I’m talking about panties!’

‘Gaby’s got some jeans like these, haven’t you, Gabs?’ Angela said. ‘You should have worn them today.’

‘I decided I have to get used to wearing a skirt because of school tomorrow,’ I admitted.

‘Oh my God,’ said Farah. ‘I’m sure not looking forward to wearing that dorky school uniform.’

‘You’re not alone there,’ Lacey said. ‘My last school let us wear trousers if we wanted to.’

‘And skirts are really cold in winter, even with thick tights,’ added Kristal. ‘It’s not fair that the boys wear trousers and we can’t.’ She giggled. ‘I say, my brother, Kevin might not be so awful if he had to wear a skirt. By the way, Gabs, Dad’s grounded him till Christmas for what he caused to happen to you yesterday.’

‘Right, ladies,’ said a new voice behind us. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll take your orders.’

We looked round and saw our waitress, holding several menu cards, so we sat down and tried to decide what we’d like to eat.

‘While you’re deciding, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’d like to drink,’ said our waitress who’s name badge said she was Cleo Waters.

 § Approved Schools: UK equivalent of reform school in the U.S. Approved Schools were fairly “open” establishments, so it was comparatively easy for inmates to abscond, unlike the fully enclosed youth prisons known as Borstal . See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Approved_School

 ¶ Borstal: : A special prison for young offenders run by HM Prison Service so that youths could be kept out of adult prisons where their criminal careers might blossom. The court sentence was officially called "borstal training". Borstals were originally for offenders under 21, however in the 1930's the age was increased to under 23. The Criminal Justice Act 1982 abolished the borstal system in the UK, introducing youth custody centres instead. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borstal

---

To be continued…

Thanks are due to Bonzi’s Mum once again for her splendid proofing,
(evidently Bonzi was tired and fell asleep–probably from boredom…Gabi).
Thanks are also due to Kaleigh for advice on Farah and Boston
Any mistakes remaining are the entire responsibility of the author.

Comments gratefully received