So, P6 and P7 continuing…
The expectation was that we would all transfer seamlessly to the High School on completion of P7 (more on THAT later!) That meant that we started to be out of class more often, and occasionally, would be walked, still in a crocodile, to the big school. To my absolute horror, we were expected to do gym. If classroom teaching had Victorian echoes, this was positively mediaeval!! Obviously kept once more in our boxes, we had to change in the embrocation soaked dark wood locker room. About 12 or 13 boys, and me, desperately trying to fit in. No concessions to modesty, we were in voluminous gym shorts and black plimsoles. NOTHING else! Oh my God, I was utterly mortified. I’ll do a full blog on body image, but for the moment, just know that I had an immense disconnect with my body. I was ashamed of it, and mortified to be seen in any way. Out into the gymnasium… climbing bars and a vaulting horse… a what?!?!
They started to take us through various exercises, and it was every bit the torture one can imagine. Then the ropes were swung out, and we were given a thirty second brief. Personally the whole experience was an utter humiliation. Of course, I kept one eye on the girls at the far end of what seemed to a ten year old, to be an utterly cavernous gym. The girls had a much more pleasant regime, which appeared to involve bean bags, hoops and shuttle runs. Plus they were allowed gym vests, obviously. Just about everything was taunting me. It didn’t help that my height was starting to show, so I had higher expectations placed on my shoulders. I dreaded those afternoons.
A pleasant counterpoint were Tuesday afternoons. We were walked to the Art Galleries, and taken behind the scenes, occasionally in the auditorium above the main entrance hall! Each week was a different department would chat with us, then let us loose with worksheets, now that was fun!!
Two other afternoons, one good, one bad… bad first. It was a rugby school, so Friday afternoons were to be rugby. It started with about four sessions of a stunningly old man (but apparently a massively respected coach… so they kept saying… sitting at Miss MacLeod’s high desk reading us the rules of rugby… literally… no visual aids, no nothing. “So if the ball, after contacting the…” I was mystified, and when we finally got along to the playing fields, it was exactly the same. Firstly, why must men’s changing rooms stink so much?? Secondly, why must every physical exercise be so violent?? I was coerced into going to mini rugby one of the Sunday mornings, possibly to toughen me up. It didn’t work, and lasted one Sunday, as I begged not to be made to go back.
As we had moved into P7, another introduction was dancing, specifically Scottish dancing. Quite why, I didn’t know at the time. Surprisingly, it was another trial. Highland/ Scottish country dancing is, as any wedding guest knows… exuberant? Girls are graceful and move quickly, primarily I think to avoid lumps of beef hurling themselves around a dance floor. Boys… well, the rugby club personalities were starting to appear. Obviously I wasn’t keen on machismo, and I had enough self-preservation to know that if I made any conscious effort to perform the dances correctly, I would be risking my entire future. I slid into extreme self-consciousness, and was pedestrian and uninspiring. At that exact moment, that suited me fine, don’t draw attention to yourself, just get through it. I was however glad to learn some of it. The group dances were my favourites, strip the willow, the haymakers and even the dashing white sergeant. However, there were a couple of dances in hold, the gay Gordon’s and specifically the waltz. They were… bearable.
It’s interesting though, the fear of discovery was cemented into place at this time. I’ve spent my life desperately wanting to dance, but am now just about psychologically incapable. It’s not being trans itself that makes me awkward, it’s desperately trying to remove layer upon layer of “protection”
Next, time to finish off my primary schooling, and the visceral shock of Secondary School 😬
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