Conventional navy blue nylon macs

Susan Mackintosh

I was educated for many years at a small convent boarding school in North Yorkshire. There were only about two hundred girls there and I stayed until I had completed my A’ levels. One of the delights of school life was the uniform that included a navy blue nylon mac and matching nylon rain scarf. I think it was a part of the uniform that reflected the austere life that we lived, as we were allowed no other coats even on the coldest day. However even on the windiest and coldest day I have never found a nylon mac that let the cold in. Eventually they do lose the ability to repel water but that sometimes adds to their appeal, when worn sodden wet clinging to and accentuating my shape.

It was obligatory to wear our macs whenever we left the school grounds. Not that we often did in the early years and so my mac-wearing was left to each Sunday when we all formed a line, in our macs and rain scarves, as we trooped off to mass. It wasn’t until the final year, when we were seventeen or eighteen, that we were allowed out, on our own, every other Saturday.

Those days out were some of the best times of my life. About twenty of us would gather in the village, all identifiable by our macs and rain scarves, waiting for the bus to York. We weren’t allowed to wear anything other that our school uniform and that consisted of a white blouse, navy skirt and cardigan, and of course the mac. As soon as we were away from the scrutiny of the sisters, though, the other girls would, one by one, discard the headscarf and eventually the mac.

I had befriended another girl there, Mary, who like me obeyed the rules to the letter. We would sit together on the bus looking so prim in our macs while the other girls would be laughing and giggling as they stripped them off. Over the weeks of the Christmas term they would even be wearing ordinary clothes having hidden them, under the macs neatly buttoned up, as we paraded before we were allowed out. These clothes must have been bought on their trips out, because the sisters inspected our bags at the start of each term, discarding any non-uniform items.

Young men from the village would descend on the bus to York and they would gather around the other girls and join in with the general fun. Many girls of course found their first boyfriends there and they would pair off before we arrived.

Mary and I would be teased for being so prim and proper, but we kept to ourselves and would disappear from the crowd as soon as we arrived. We spent our days out just walking around the shops, together in our long navy blue nylon macs, spending hours looking at clothes. I’d often buy a new nylon mac, a habit that I still have whenever I see one in a shop, and loved the days when Mary and I spent time trying on new macs. Daringly I even bought new plastic macs when I thought that I could get away with it.

Although we didn’t mix with the bus crowd, sometimes we were forced to when the bus was full. There was one young man there whom we noticed was very quiet as he sat there with his mates. He would just stare at Mary and me. If we looked at him he would blush immediately and turn away. It became a bit of a game for us to catch his stares but he never spoke to us until the last Saturday trip before Christmas. Ian didn’t seem to mix with the others but would just tag along with the crowd in York. On that Saturday, as Mary and I were leaving on our own, he came running behind, to the cheers of the others. They must have been egging him on. His voice was shaking as he asked if he could come with is. But Mary just brushed him off; telling him he’d have to be a girl to come with us. He looked hurt as he turned away and rejoined the others, to jeering laughter.

Back at school that night we were all pulled up and inspected. Unfortunately we had to undo our macs in front of the sister.. The lack of uniforms meant that all the others had their trips out banned for the first four Saturdays in the new term. That didn’t make Mary and I too popular but we didn’t care because we were able to sit quietly together and talk without interruption. The groups of lads disappeared when the other girls failed to turn up and we had the bus to our own.

It was on the final Saturday of the ban that Mary and I were together on the bus when who should get on, unusually outside the village, but Ian. We were sitting at the coveted back seat and he walked right up the empty bus straight towards us. It was a foul day and he was wearing a long shabby mac and wellies. He shook his umbrella as he approached us smiling. There was nothing timid in his look as he stood before us that day. I’d never really looked him over but he looked so fresh faced. He’d obviously spent some time doing his hair; it looked so neat, long like most boys in the late sixties, but cut in a pageboy style, just like Peter Noone from Herman’s Hermits.

He started to undo his mac as he stood there. I was very innocent then. These days it is one of my fantasies to have a guy slowly undo his mac, preferably nylon, in front of me.

Ian spoke and reminded us that we would allow a girl to join our shopping trips. He opened his mac and there beneath he was wearing our school uniform, or something like it. He stood in front of us in a navy blue cardigan, white blouse and navy skirt. The wellies looked silly. The look on Mary’s face was a picture. She was transfixed. He took off his mac and scarf, pulled out a pair of long zip-up leather boots from a carrier bag and slipped off the wellies. I was so jealous; we had to wear sensible lace-up shoes all the time.

Mary looked at me and giggled as she made room for him. He had immediately transformed himself, so looking the part. Mary reached into her bag and pulled out her spare nylon mac and handed it to Ian. We watched as he buttoned it up and tied on the rain hat. He looked like a girl from our school.

We asked why he was doing this and he told us that he had long wished to be a girl and that he hoped this trip was going to be the start of a new life. He’d planned to go away for some time and had borrowed some of his sister’s things (the boots were new) to go out and see what it was like. He knew that today was going to be quiet on the bus and hoped we would help him after what Mary had said about him being a girl.

I hadn’t thought that Mary had meant that he could join us if he dressed like a girl but I was surprised by the nod of agreement from her. She was so keen and they chatted all the way.

As the bus pulled into York he announced that we were to call him by his new name now, Joan. With that we stood and got off, his old mac etc. left stuffed under the seat. I didn’t dare look back at the driver in case he remembered only two girls got on.

For the first hour or so we wondered around the shops and I could see Joan becoming more relaxed. We went for a cup of tea and while we sat there sipping, we discussed the rest of the day. I wasn’t surprised that nobody had guessed her identity, but was surprised at Mary’s change. Joan had come to the decision that he/she was not going back to here old life so she had a few phone calls to make then we could help her buy a new wardrobe. I could see that Mary loved this.

We left and spent the rest of the day shopping for a new wardrobe, M&S for her undies and C&A for some essentials - skirts, blouses and dresses. Joan looked in her element when she tried the things on and Mary was so keen to help. We both insisted on some nylon and plastic macs. I did so enjoy helping her choose.

We all left York together, Joan with a new suitcase of clothes, make-up and toiletries was going to her sisters first and then onto some gay friends in Leeds. Back in the village we said our goodbyes and left. Unfortunately as we were entering the school grounds Mary remembered her spare mac with Joan and left me to go and retrieve it.

That’s where we came unstuck. I returned to the school but Mary didn’t until nearly midnight. There was a big search when she was found to be missing and we were both grounded for the rest of the term, unless accompanied.

Mary never told me what happened when she was missing. After a while, rumours circulated about a boy from the village being seen in Leeds working as a waitress. Nobody linked it with us though.

I didn’t know that Mary kept in touch with her. Even when my friendship with Mary blossomed at university, away from the repressive school, into an all too brief affair. That is, until the day that she left and moved in with Joan. But that’s another story.

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