15

On the morning of Boxing Day I had the feeling that the worst was over and that I had done well.

I would not turn back. I would be accepted as a woman or I would not be accepted at all. I knew who I was.

In the afternoon I sat down to write a letter to Shirley. She ought to be able to understand me.

Dear Shirley, You may have wondered why I was not at home on Christmas Day. I wanted to come to be with you and Dad, but it was not possible. I hope you had a nice time. I hope Dad received the sweater I sent him. I was thinking of you both.

The reason I could not come home was that I am now living as a woman. This may be a shock to you, but I am sure that, if you try, you can understand. I know it cannot be easy, for, although people are aware that there are people who feel themselves to belong to the opposite sex from that which is stated on the birth certificate, they never expect that anyone in their own family will be like that.

I have always wanted to be a female, and the fact that I have been able to dress and live as a female for the last three months without being detected shows that I was never really a male.

I do not know why I am as I am, but I know that my desire to be a woman is so powerful that I can never express it in words. It seems to come from outside of me, for it has much more strength than I have.

People like me are regarded with contempt and sometimes with hatred, but, surely, to feel contempt for me is a sort of contempt for womankind. And, surely, hatred must be a sign of jealousy, for I do not harm anyone.

Please do not go to the police about me. I am not having anything to do with men. I am not a homosexual. I am just living as an ordinary woman. I think that, if what I am doing is wrong, then it must be in some way wrong to be a woman.

Please try to understand my circumstances and do not be upset about what I am doing. Of course you must not tell Dad about this letter. Whatever happens, I do not want him to know what I am doing now. I would only want him to know if I could get treatment so as to be legally a woman.

I would like you to write to me. But, if you hate me very much, just ignore this letter and pretend that you never had a brother.

If you do write, my name is Miss Wendy Ross.

Love Wendy

On my way to post the letter I thought about how surprised she would be.

That night I got Roy’s clothes out of the suitcase and made a parcel of them with brown paper and string.

I took it, and when nobody was looking, I dropped it over the low wall that surrounded the Y.W.C.A.

I walked back feeling proud of myself.