chapter six

an untenable position

Ever since the mid-1960s my holidays to the Isle of Coll had been a real tonic, an escape from my double-gender issues, and Anne and I had been going to the island together since 1985. Even in the 90s my troubles still seemed to disappear every time I set foot on Coll and Anne was also aware that I was much more relaxed when we were there. We both began to think that moving to Coll might just be the answer; the key to me shrugging off Julie for good. Looking back, I can see that even then, I really knew in my heart of hearts that I was a female inside. But sometimes people make choices and take decisions just to appease others, especially those close to us, and we end up going down a road that we know is probably the wrong one, but we do it anyway. Moving to the Isle of Coll with Anne was just one example of that in my life, and the next ten years would see me doing a lot more of the same in what would be a final push to escape what had always been inevitable.

The start of this phase in 1993 would see us buying a plot of land on Coll, the place I had loved since my childhood and the place Anne had grown to love over the past few years. Meanwhile though, back in Callander, everyone now knew about the double life I had been leading and I was having huge problems with some of the guys at the fire station. The only reason I was still there was that I had promised my workmates I had turned a new leaf. As far as they were concerned I had stopped ‘dressing up’ as they put it, and I was essentially the same as them again. But in truth I was slipping back into my old ways. My feelings weren’t going to go away, not ever, and I now had the unbelievably difficult task of again living a double life, this time knowing that all the sceptics were watching my every move for signs that I was up to my old tricks again. And they were absolutely right. I was letting them down; I was letting all my friends down; I was letting my family down and, most of all, I was letting Anne down. She was the one person who had supported and believed in me over the years. I truly didn’t want to let anyone down, but my female side was so overpowering that I didn’t actually have much control over it.

I tried to persuade everyone my ‘cross-dressing’ was a thing of the past, but it was a futile effort, and anyway, as I would soon learn, there comes a point where no one really believes or trusts you any more. I’d known deep down for some time that the day would come when I would be forced out of the fire service. The hardliners were never going to leave me alone until they got their way, and their way was the high road for me. I had resisted the inevitable because I still felt I had a lot to offer; I knew I was a good firefighter, with years of experience. Of course, I knew I was different and that there were people against me as well as those who supported me, but I thought, ‘Why should I leave? After all, I love what I do, and why should I go just because some people don’t like me because of who I am?’ I had done nothing wrong and being a transvestite certainly wasn’t illegal, so there were no grounds for getting rid of me.

To me the entire work situation was unfair. I hadn’t asked to be the way I was, and everything I was doing in so-called ‘normal life’, I felt I was doing well and making a valuable contribution to society. Someone once said to me in the pub, ‘I don’t care if you are a transvestite or whatever you are. If my house is on fire it makes no difference to me or my family what you are, we will be more than happy for you to come to our rescue.’ I thought that was very courageous of him, but it almost sparked a riot as a crowd at the other end of the bar started slagging him off and calling him, among other things, a tranny lover. They then turned their attention to me, saying that if it was their house on fire they wouldn’t call me out if they could help it, Truth is, if they called the fire brigade out they would have no control over who turned up in the engine to help them. Luckily no such situation ever arose, but in reality, people are always happy to see you when they really need you, no matter what issues they have with you at other times.

Annoyingly, the guy who had supported me in the pub that night would end up turning against me too, as he was forced to backtrack after threats from the crowd. So now I was aware of someone who wanted to support me, but who was forced to pretend that he too was reluctant to accept me as I was, bowing to pressure from a group who definitely were never going to accept what I was doing. That is a scenario that has followed me throughout most of my journey to becoming Julie.

I fully accept that it will be a long time, if ever, before society as a whole learns to live with and accept those of us who don’t conform to what is perceived to be a normal and acceptable lifestyle. But the tough thing for me, and others like me, is that the way we are most definitely isn’t a matter of choice. I wasn’t dressing up and behaving like a female for a bit of fun. This was who and what I was. I was born that way, and back then, with every year that passed, my female side became ever more powerful even although I still made a few last-ditch attempts to run away from the dilemma.

Some of those futile attempts would cause me to make some of my biggest, most expensive and just plain wrong decisions yet. But what I do know for sure is that I was slowly but surely discarding all male traits, and very gradually developing my female persona. So, regardless of all the trauma, I firmly believe that all the dark and difficult episodes in my life that took place over many years were part of that complicated process which would continue for many more years to come.

It would be another twelve years before this complex process would finally come to a conclusion and then I would have to make a whole new set of tough decisions.

However, going back to the end of my career as a firefighter; it had been about two years since the fateful night when I was stopped by the police and my lifelong secret was blown completely out of the water. In that time I had fended off all attempts by those in the fire service who had wanted rid of me. These included not only the hardliners at the station, but also some of the officers at headquarters, who said that I had brought the service into disrepute. In truth, I actually hadn’t done anything wrong. It certainly wasn’t a crime to feel that you had been born into the wrong body and then act accordingly by wearing the clothes of the gender that felt right.

I was totally dedicated to a job that I loved and had been trained to do over many years, and in which I had gained a wealth of experience. I was accepted and trusted by the majority of the public to carry out my duties as a firefighter. Even during the two years since I had been unmasked, for want of a better word, there had been good times when I thought I was getting somewhere and educating the lads on the subject. Regardless of any progress I made I would always find myself back at square one, as some people would just find yet more reasons to pick holes in my life. But I persevered and always tried to talk people round again. It is that perseverance that has got me where I am today. Without it, I think I would have crumbled and descended into despair.

Despite my perseverance, I really felt that my time in the fire service was coming to an end; my determination to stay was waning. The sheer pressure and stress on me and the rest of the crew had clearly taken its toll and was wearing us all down. But it sometimes takes an unexpected event to decide an outcome and force your hand, and that was certainly the case with myself and the fire service.

I was out on one of my Julie trips to the city one evening when I mistakenly drove the wrong way down a one-way street and was spotted by a police patrol. I was promptly stopped and charged with driving without due care and attention or something like that. Unfortunately, the media caught wind of this (I’m not sure how, certainly not from me), and my silly mistake was sensationalized in a newspaper a few days later. If I hadn't been dressed as Julie I’m sure no one would have been the slightest bit interested. This gave all the sceptics, including the hardliners in the fire station, exactly what they wanted and they seized the opportunity to make things even more difficult for me.

After a series of difficult and stressful discussions I felt the time had come to accept that my position had become untenable. Not because the lads were right and I shouldn’t be there, simply because of who I was. I had resisted the pressure on me to go for so long because I knew I could do my job and do it well, and I also knew I was morally right. However, something had now changed, and that was the fact that I had been lying to them about being a reformed character. It was all bullshit and deception and I could no longer live with that. I had to make a choice – it was either the fire service or Julie. Up until that moment I had been unable to part with either, but my hand had now been forced and I had to make a decision. There was no contest. I had to follow my heart and continue down the path that had surely been mapped out for me from birth.

With a heavy heart I wrote my letter of resignation to the fire chief at headquarters and he accepted. Astonishingly, I didn’t get a single word of thanks, nor any support or acknowledgement of my eleven years of dedicated service. It’s hard to imagine this sort of thing occurring today, and to say I was disappointed would be the understatement of the century. I was also sorry when my immediate superior officer at my home station expressed disappointment that I hadn’t told him what had happened and that he only found out from the media, but I just hadn’t been able to find the courage or the words to speak to him about it at the time. Thankfully, we left it that way and parted on the very best of terms.

Taking the decision to bow out of the fire service was definitely one of the saddest moments of my life. I had been forced to leave the job that I loved passionately; an exciting, demanding, worthwhile, highly skilled and above all, totally rewarding job. As a firefighter people looked up to you; they praised you, they thanked you, and most importantly, they were very grateful that you were there. They could sleep easy in their beds at night in the knowledge that a dedicated crew of brave people would come to their rescue, whatever the problem was, and in any circumstances, at any time of the day or night.

I truly loved being in the fire service – it was a career that I had followed my father into for all the right reasons. I had dreamed of the fire service from a very young age, even through all my struggles with gender issues. Despite believing I was female I had always wanted to be in the fire service, and it turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life and left me a wonderful legacy that would help me through many more tough times ahead. When I was forced to turn my back on it, all I was left with was sadness. I felt I had lost part of me and I could not understand why I had to leave when I had only cared about others. I felt so sorry for myself and for the fact that I had to go just because of a biological quirk – I was a person that society, even in 1992, wasn’t ready to accept. All I could do was cry – I would sob myself to sleep every night and sometimes wake in the morning, still crying. I just felt profoundly sorry for myself and struggled to find an answer as to why the world had been so cruel to me. There didn’t seem to be one.

My years in the fire service left me with a wonderful, practical and realistic take on life, and gave me an experience that will stay with me for as long as I live. The following words of Sir Eyre Massy-Shaw, who commanded the London Fire Brigade from 1861 to 1892, still ring true today:

A fireman, to be successful, must enter buildings. He must get in below, above, on every side; from opposite houses, over back walls, over side walls, through panels of doors, through windows, through skylights, through holes cut by himself in gates, walls, and in the roof. He must know how to reach the attic from the basement by ladders placed on half-burned stairs, and the basement from the attic by rope made fast on a chimney. His whole success depends on his getting in and remaining there, and he must always carry his appliances with him, as without them he is of no use.

Even in our high-tech world, it is still people who must make the final decisions in any situation. As a firefighter you must use your knowledge and experience to get what you want, resolve a problem, or react to a scenario. And although I had already developed a strong work ethic and great set of principles at a young age, all of this was bolstered by the life skills I learnt in the fire service. Be meticulous, back up your ideas with a plan B, think ahead, expect the unexpected and deal with it promptly, calmly and with decisive actions – and at the end of the task be able to stand back and work out a way of improving on it, in the event that a similar situation should occur in the future. You always have to be prepared to tackle any problem head on and deal with it. These standards have played a big part in shaping the woman I have become today.