At Aunt Greta's 22—Bisto & History

At Aunt Greta’s–
Bisto & History
by Gabi

Chapter 22 of a Continuing Saga…

I was wakened in the dark by the horrid wailing of the air-raid siren.

‘Here we go again,’ I thought, pulling on Greta’s baggy navy-blue knickers before traipsing out to the Anderson shelter in the corner of the back garden.

At Aunt Greta's 21— Another New Girl

At Aunt Greta’s–
Another New Girl
by Gabi

Chapter 21 of a Continuing Saga…

Miss Tickell checked off the final nine names in the register. ‘Now, I’m putting you on your honour to be quiet and remain in your places while I go and see Miss Morgan. You may talk quietly amongst yourselves, but I want no raised voices. Understand?’ She looked hard at a few of the boys huddled in the back row and bustled out of the classroom.

‘I always thought there was something weird about Rose,’ Willy Philpott, sitting in the back row, proclaimed.

At Aunt Greta's 19— Revelation

At Aunt Greta’s–
by Gabi

Chapter 19 of a Continuing Saga…

We scrambled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Farah had the first shower and I followed on. After we had dried ourselves we returned to “my” bedroom.

‘Greta! Freya! Hurry up!’ came a voice from downstairs. ‘Brekky’s ready and we have to go to church this morning.’

At Aunt Greta's 18— A Bolt from the Blue

At Aunt Greta’s–
A Bolt From The Blue!
by Gabi

Chapter 18 of a Continuing Saga…

Farah and I went to bed that night wondering if we would find ourselves back in 1944 again. In spite of the first couple of times I had time-slipped, since then it seemed it was the bed that had acted as my “Tardis” to wartime.

‘It was great meeting your bro,’ Farah said as we undressed. ‘He’s cute and soooo cool, and he doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve changed into a girl. In fact he seemed quite pleased.’

‘Well, I guess he’s always thought I was a bit girly,’ I confided; ‘but he was never mean about it–unlike a lot of other boys.’

At Aunt Greta's 16—Freya and the Doodlebugs

At Aunt Greta’s–
Freya and the Doodlebugs
Doodlebug_V1.jpgby Gabi

Chapter 16 of a Continuing Saga…

Recognising the now-familiar wailing of the air-raid siren, I was awake in an instant. ‘It’s an air-raid, I can’t explain now but we have slipped back in time to the second world war and you must call me Greta. This has happened to me before; we have to get up and go to the air-raid shelter.’

At this moment the door opened, the light was switched on and Mummy was there. ‘Greta, Freya, get up quickly, girls. Put on your underthings, socks, shoes and dressing gowns, bring a blanket and come with me to the shelter immediately. And don’t forget your gas masks.’ She hurried away towards her own room leaving us alone.

At Aunt Greta's 15—Farah, Bryony & The B.B.C.

For a Very Special Girl on her birthday–I hope you’re having a wonderful day, poppet

At Aunt Greta’s–
Farah, Bryony & The B.B.C.
by Gabi

Chapter 15 of a Continuing Saga…

We waved them goodbye as Mrs Rose drove off and then returned to the house where Farah and I went back up to my room. Everything had been left neat and tidy.

‘I hope everything goes okay for Bryony at the doctor’s,’ I said. ‘It’s not going to be easy for her having to pretend to be a boy at school and only being a girl at home and the weekends.’

At Aunt Greta's 13 — Meeting Bryony

At Aunt Greta’s–
Meeting Bryony
by Gabi

Chapter 13 of a Continuing Saga…

‘So, Bryan, what’s the problem?’ I asked gently.

‘Well, you used to pretend to be a boy until this term, and now you have decided to be yourself.’

‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t have much choice, coz these funny lumps started growing on my chest. So is there something you're unhappy about?’

‘Yeah. You see I gotta pretend to be a boy too, coz I’ve always known I’m a girl trapped in a boy’s body!’

At Aunt Greta's 12 —A Rose By Any Other Name

At Aunt Greta’s–
A Rose By Any Other Name

by Gabi

Chapter 12 of a Continuing Saga…

‘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.

At Aunt Greta's 11 — Farah Way from the U.S.A.

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.’

At Aunt Greta's 9 — Encounters With Friends

At Aunt Greta’s–
Encounters with Friends

by Gabi

Chapter 9 of a Continuing Saga…

I went into the last vacant cubicle, closed the door, but discovered that the bolt was missing. ‘Bum!’ I thought, ‘Oh well, we’re all girls here,’ and with my thumbs hooked in the waistband, eased my knickers down to my knees before sitting “on the throne”.

Suddenly, before I could sit down, the cubicle door burst open and there was Lucy Barker. She took one look at me and screamed.

I looked down at myself and discovered to my horror that, once again, I had a PENIS!

Aunt Greta's Woolton Pie - Pt 2

A Second Helping of
Aunt Greta’s Woolton Pie

By Gabi
Chapter 3 of a Continuing Saga

I closed the door after waving goodbye to Sue and Judy and returned to the dining room where I had been doing my prep. Mummy had laid a cheerful checked cloth on the table so all I had to do was put out place mats and lay out the cutlery. Auntie G kept the "dining-room cutlery"–as she called it–in one of the drawers of the Welsh dresser, so I went straight to it and opened the drawer, and sure enough, there were knives, forks and spoons for all occasions–many of them strange to me–but I was able to select what I thought was needed and laid up two places.

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