The sun was warm, even at 10AM. I collected the oars of the rowing boat from the machinery shed where we kept two pairs hung carefully on the wall. This was my first time using the boat this year, the first time I had felt able to bring it out. I walked the 200 yards to the lake and waded in. The boat, fastened by its painter to a post on the shore, was deliberately left some way out to stop the cows causing damage by scratching themselves against it. Even out there it wasn’t quite safe now; the last week had been a scorcher and the cows were regularly found standing in water up to their knees, presumably to cool off. I started to bail the boat with the canvas bucket that we kept tied to a seat for that purpose. Canvas was less damaging to the interior wood and paint than either plastic or metal, and easier to fill. The floorboards had been floating within the boat and I carefully laid these on the bank to dry off whilst I bailed, gently lifting the bucket with my left hand, still nursing my, now hopefully mended, right ribs.

It didn’t take long as most of the water had evaporated over the last week. If I wasn’t actually taking it out, I would probably be putting water into the boat to stop the timbers cracking in the heat. Eventually, I put the floorboards back in place, untied the painter, climbed in and carefully dragged the very wet sandbag that acted as bow ballast to the centre of the boat, thus raising the bow. I punted off with an oar, pushing the boat through the bullrushes that lined the shallow shore into the deeper waters beyond. Once free, I slipped the oars into the rowlocks, swung the boat around, and pulled off gently, testing how much pressure I could exert without straining my right ribcage. Actually, quite a lot as it turned out; I must be almost completely healed.

I rowed slowly, away from the shore, making my way around the hill and headland on which Niamh’s house sat. I could see the studio clearly and as I got around the headland, the back windows of the house itself. Niamh and the Twins had returned yesterday from a six-week holiday in the US; my mother had picked them up in the airport in Niamh’s Landcruiser. We had looked after their house whilst they were away and I would call over tomorrow; they would be resting today after a long flight and road trip from Dublin. I rounded the headland, out of sight of my own house, and shipped the oars. The sun was beating down, its intensity increased by the surrounding water: It must be at least 22 or even 23 Degrees Celsius!

The floorboards were already dry so I took off my t-shirt and shorts and lay them carefully across a seat. There was still some water under the floorboards and I didn’t want to have to go home in wet clothes. The shorts were my sister’s, passed on to me as she grew out of them. They were all the feminine attire that I got to wear these days, and these only around the farm as they were far too short to be worn by a boy anywhere else. I lay down on my back along the length of the boat under the seats, manoeuvred myself until my face was shaded fully by a seat, and closed my eyes. The water was gently lapping against the sides; slap, slap, glug, slap; I drifted off, not to sleep, but to dreaming of the year just passed, well almost just passed. It was now August, one month to go and we would be back in school for Year 2.

We had almost peaked too soon for the Christmas School Show so after the relatives’ concert on the 7th December, we got back down to study once the fathers had restored the Barn to its usual state. We still did our exercise routine every day, but only practiced our act every second day. Our exams were over 4 days, 16th, 17th, 20th, & 21st. 22nd December was the last day of school and the show would start at 5PM on 23rd. Although not an official Public Holiday, most people would be taking 24th December, Christmas Eve, off. We were happy enough with the exams, even French. We thought it unlikely that Mon Sewer would try to get us back for our little rebellion earlier in the term as his marking was potentially subject to scrutiny by other French teachers or even The Madra should we have a problem.

We did practise on the evening of the 21st, quite a bit. We did a dress rehearsal and decided to change the opening pose of our second act. Niamh had suggested that the outfits that we would be wearing, our white skirts, did not lend themselves to our “twirl around” start and that to do this twice was a bit repetitious. We decided to stand, facing sideways to the audience, in “Egyptian” poses as the curtain went up to the opening music of Walk Like An Egyptian, and do a less dramatic half turn to face the audience as we started to sing.

School finished at lunchtime the following day. Apparently, if a school stayed open for a number of hours in a day, the Department of Education counted that as a full day and virtually every school in the country used this loophole to give a half-day on the last day of term. My mother collected me separately whilst Niamh picked up the rest of the girls; I was to go to Ballyhowan for some “final work”. Whatever it was to be, I was rather looking forward to it. I changed in the car again and we arrived at the Beauty Salon where I was re-equipped with talons, the same long, pink and sparkling false nails as previously, before they set about my hair. This time a small trolley was parked just behind my chair while a young hairdresser started to slide what looked like pieces of plastic onto my hair, pulling strands through, before painting them with some rather foul-smelling stuff: Apparently I was getting “highlights”. Then, just as I thought all was finished, I had a gun put to my head, or rather a piercing gun to my ear. Ouch! Ear two; Ouch again! I wonder is this what calves feel when the farmers punch their ears to attach the mandatory yellow tags? Instead of yellow tags I was given small gold-coloured earrings. I looked at myself in the mirror and positively purred, silently of course. I was back at the barn in time for a practice session and the first five minutes were taken up by the girls admiring my new hair, nails and earrings. We did another dress rehearsal before Ciara’s mother dropped me at our house.

The Christmas tree was just about finished and my father was fiddling with the lights. He didn’t notice me at first as I made four mugs of cocoa to have with some panettone. He took a second glance as four of us sat down; my sister had arrived home that day. He said nothing.

On being informed that we had an early start and a long day tomorrow, I decided to call it a night. My sister retired early too as she was also going to be busy tomorrow. Apparently, she would get extra “credits” for her Transition Year (TY) report by being our “manager” for the show. Nobody minded that the credits meant nothing in relation to formal results, nor that she wouldn’t really be our manager. Transition Year teachers have to have some way to justify their year!

It took me a while to go to sleep…

“Won’t he have problems going back to school with the ears pierced and blond hair?”

“He had to have the ears pierced; the clip-ons won’t stay on. The school will all know by then anyway. And the ears will close up in a few weeks and the hair will eventually go back to its normal colour…”

*******************************
The next day was manic!

We had to be in the town hall by 08:30 to see the stage and our own position on it, how we would get on, how we would come off, and when. This was arranged by my sister with the Ballymore TY teacher via her own TY teacher. She was to collect the key from the local filling station and return it when she was finished. Maybe she was earning her credits; the whole purpose of this early morning foray was to keep me from prying eyes. We were not able to check out where we would be changing in the adjacent school; the various acts had been allocated different classrooms as preparation rooms, some segregated by sex if actual changing was required. We had been allocated one room at the back of the school. We did see, thankfully, that a tent corridor had been constructed from the school door to the hall stage door. These were large, military frame tents, courtesy of and erected by the local Reserve unit, so we would have plenty of room.

Then off to Ballyhowan, my mother and sister up front in the Volvo, us four in the back, Saoirse and I sharing a seatbelt. I wasn’t complaining. Back into the Beauty Salon for some hair washing and setting, make up jobs and talon fitting for the other three girls. While this was going on, my sister went to a costume jewellery store and returned with a selection of “danglers”. Everybody, including the Beauty Salon staff, debated which were the best and, decision made, she headed off to get four sets and return the samples. Eventually, all warpaint and primping finished, earrings fitted, we headed back to Ciara’s house where a cauldron of curry and a mountain of rice required demolishing. It being Christmas, the adults, my sister included though not quite an adult, had a beer.

One final rehearsal, in high shoes but not dressed, and Niamh headed off with Ciara’s mother to get the karaoke machine wired into the hall sound system. Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh had to do a final tooth wash and start getting ready. We were to dress in our various coloured dresses, tights, et al. We would don warm opaque tights over our nude tights and wear our normal shoes and coats. We each had a large headscarf to drape over our heads if required to hold our hairdos in place. That way there would be less changing for the first interval act. We each had a bag with our second act outfits, both sets of shoes, spare tights and white gloves. My sister checked each bag meticulously. My mother drove us to the school and parked in the school yard, now operating as a parking lot for the show.

Now for the first test, getting into our allocated classroom without being recognised. Actually, it was easy; nobody heeded us and barely glanced as we made our way into the school, down a corridor filled with muppets and actors in varied costumes. We got to the room, rearranged it to our liking, laid out our second act costumes along with the shoes and spare tights for our first act, on tables under my sister’s fussy management. She herself occupied two desks with a load of makeup and some bottles of water. Satisfied, we headed off to the town hall, my sister locking and retaining the room key.

Nerves make me want to pee… even now. I turned towards the toilets to be grabbed by Aoife who steered me to the Girls’ Room. This was tricky, she came in with me to deflect any trouble, waited until I was finished and accompanied me out. I kept my scarf pulled forward and got out unscathed. We headed down the tent corridor towards the stage door. There a covered fire escape led up to a gallery above the main auditorium where the performers could watch parts of the show without disturbing the audience. We got seats at the back; everyone would be facing away from us once seated. We had left it as late as we could and the lights soon dimmed. There was no introduction…the Muppet Show music started and the curtain went up. The second years were in fine form….

It's time to put on music
It's time to light the lights
It's time to meet the Muppets on the Muppet Show tonight.

It's time to put on makeup
….

They sang the full song and even had the two grumpy old guys at the corner…

One more short light act was followed with the main event for part one of the show, an abridged play by the 5th Years. This meant we had a planned-for 45 minutes. It might be shorter; sometimes nervous actors rush their lines so we had to be ready to be on stage in 30 minutes. We slid out of our seats and made out way to the balcony fire escape door, now guarded by a PE Teacher. She opened it and we crept downstairs, then through the tent tunnel to the school, and all went to the Girls’ Room… very important before going on stage! This time I felt more comfortable with the whole gang around me. My sister was in our dressing room ahead of us, handing us each a pair of white gloves as we doffed our coats and scarves. We removed our warmer tights, slipped on our show shoes and, hey presto!, we’re ready. Not quite: My sister had us redo our makeup, particularly our lipstick.

Next big test: Make our way to backstage without me being recognised, no coats or scarves this time. We headed off, attracting more attention this time in our mix of brilliantly coloured dresses, makeup, heels and hair. I did attract some attention, curious looks, who’s that with the Twins & Ciara? We just smiled and minced our way through the tent tunnel to the backstage entrance. Once in, we moved towards the sound desk where Niamh was standing alongside the students and teacher running this aspect of the show. She passed us our four mics, turned off, and waited with us. We continued to get attention, more for the shortness of our dresses than curiosity about me, and the Twins were the centre of attention. Suited me; I made sure not to catch anyone’s eye.

The stage manager held up an open hand, fingers spread, five minutes. Then, applause for the previous act and we’re on. Sound system connected to Niamh’s machine, mics on, tap each in turn to check working, then climb on stage and wait. We could hear the compere talking; he had had to fill the time until the stage manager indicated ready. Then…

“And now, before we get to the interval, we have a treat for you, our brand-new Girl Band, Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh”.

The music starts, the curtain raises, and we’re off. Twirl around, dresses float up, expected whistles, cheers, ignore them, keep going. No earrings flying off this time. Everything goes like clockwork, lateral switches to keep the lead singer off the flanks get more whistles and cheers and, quite quickly, we’re finished. Deep bow; the curtain falls to a good round of applause. Adrenaline rush over, we exit the stage quickly and start to make our way out of the backstage area.

Third big test: The last act before us has vacated the backstage but the next act, another light contribution, this time from our own year, is making its way in to get ready to come on in 15 minutes. The backstage crew are still there and, with the lights full on, I felt like a rabbit in the headlights. Our own classmates naturally recognized Ciara and the Twins, but not me. They were more than curious but we just smiled acknowledgement of the raft of congratulations on our performance and made our way out through the tent tunnel to our dressing room. Niamh had headphones on resetting her machine for our next performance. She would not leave the kit unattended to prevent accidental interference. My sister had the room open and noticed that we were each still holding our mics in our hand so she collected these to bring back to Niamh. We had forgotten to organize this in all our preperation..

Left alone in the room, we started to change when there was a gentle knock on the door. We got ourselves somewhat sorted.

“Who’s there?”

“Ms Jones; can I come in?”

Ms Jones was our popular young Civics teacher.

“Come in.”

Aoife had taken over again, naturally.

Ms Jones came in, wearing jeans and a jumper, not at all like we knew her from class where she dressed much more formally, as did all the other teachers. She was every bit as friendly as we knew her to be.

“Girls, sorry to disturb you. There’s been a bit of a…, I won’t say complaint…, more a question raised.”

We looked expectantly.

“You see, all performers have to be from the school. I know Aoife and Saoirse and Ciara are, but, I’m sorry, you’re not.”

She was looking directly at me, not unkindly.

“Actually, I am from the school Miss. You have four Ghleann Dhubh students in your class.”

She wasn’t slow, but it still took time for my answer to sink in. Her eyes opened wide before a big smile covered her face.

“You’re not…?”

I nodded as the Twins and Ciara broke into whoops of delight.

“We did it; no, you did it, Aisling!”

“Aisling?”

Ms Jones was curious.

“My stage name for the night.”

She sat on a desk and we chatted away for a while. Our act was great, but how did we get it together? How did we pick the songs? How did the girls persuade me to join in? Then, more seriously, how would we handle the “issue”.

“Well Miss, I thought that I would be recognised in any event, so maybe we should just tell them?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes; they’ll eventually work it out. My sister’s even our manager.”

My sister had returned by now; manager or not, Aoife was now the boss. She quickly agreed with Ms Jones that at the end of our next act, the compere would mention that some questions had arisen and ask her to name her team. We got changed, makeup touched up again, usual visit to the Girls’ Room and back to the backstage area. This time I was more confident as we manoeuvred through the oversized backstage crew to get to Niamh, calling people by name as I wormed past them.

“Excuse me, George” and “Can I get past, Fergal?”, all in a whisper of course.

The five-minute signal; it was nearly time to go on again. Line up, wait for applause to start, mic’s on, tap check, climb on stage, “Egyptian” pose.

The compere is announcing our second appearance.

“Who’s the ringer?”

A shout from the auditorium; a “ringer” is someone, usually very good, smuggled onto a team that s/he’s not entitled to play for.

“All members of Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh are students at the school, and we’ll introduce each of them at the end.”

The compere, a teacher from the school, should have been a lawyer; that was a neat answer, skirting the fact that not all members were girls!

“And now, our last act, and for the second time, Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh”.

Music starts and curtain raises; we swing into it. The “Egyptian” song was fun to perform and like at the relatives’ concert, we were now flying. We got through our numbers without any problems, and I enjoyed every minute of the performance, my last public performance as a girl. We finished and took our bow.

“And now Aoife, can you tell us all about Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh?”

“Go raibh maith agat a mháistir. (Thank you Sir)

We decided to form a Girl Group in Ghleann Dhubh so Ciara, (Ciara steps forward and takes a bow), my sister Saoirse (Saoirse likewise takes a bow) and myself, Aoife, got together to make it happen…

Only we wanted a fourth member; it makes for a better show, so we persuaded our fourth member, stage name for tonight, Aisling, (I step forward, bow & step back), the fourth Ghleann Dhubh student in the school, better known to you as…”

Her voice was drowned out by a chorus of applause, whistling, cheering and general pandemonium. Aoife beckons me out to take a further bow, then we all bow together and get ready to leave the stage.

“Can you hold on a minute girls?”

The compere had been talking to another teacher just at the corner of the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the judges have asked for another five minutes.”

He looked over at Aoife, she nodded and disappeared into the wings. She came back in a few seconds, nodded to the compere again, and whispered “ABBA” to us.

“So, our superlative and surprising group will do another few numbers for us… Ladies and Gentlemen, for the third time, seo libh (here are) Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh.

We did our two ABBA numbers. The extended version of Voulez Vous gives plenty of time to the judges and, as we were finishing, the compere was back on stage.

“Aren’t they great?”

Another round of applause during which he turned around, clapping, and said,

“Stay put girls”.

This was a little concerning as we had no more numbers to do. We waited while the compere invited The Madra on stage to say a few words; thankfully he kept them short. Then the chair of the judges, a mixed panel of 6th year prefects and teachers, climbed on stage and droned on a bit about how hard it was to pick from two such fine plays as put on by Transition and Fifth Years, and the great Muppet act by the Second Years, and all the other acts but finally confirming the Transition Year’s play as the winner. Not surprised, we all clapped as the Student and Teacher leads climbed on stage to accept a small plaque marking their triumph.

Now it was time for the compere to say the final words and send us home, but instead the judge continued on…

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we have one other award, of a sort, to make. We are allowed to put forward a nomination to the County Schools Musical Competition where we think that an act has particular merit. It is a separate competition from Réaltaí Scoile with its own selection process. Only ten acts from the County go through to the final which will be held in Ballyhowan at Easter and our nomination, if accepted, will join this competition at semifinal stage.

This year, we are delighted to nominate Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh.”

Having been asked to stay on stage, we had begun to suspect the reason during the judge’s introduction, but confirmation still elicited some joyful hugging amongst the four Ghleann Dhubh girls. Amidst the applause, as the curtain was descending, was I dreaming, or did I hear my father moan…

“Jesus, not again!”

*****************************************

Christmas came and went, as it always does, full more of promise than fulfilment. December 26th, (St.) Stephen’s Day in Ireland, dawned clear and bright. The traditional Christmas Day family lockdown was lifted and we were all free to set forth the to harass our relatives and neighbours. As they were new to the area with few, if any, close local relatives, my sister and I headed over to Niamh’s house. With Niamh and the Twins in tow, we then all headed for Ciara’s house for an hour or so of general merriment before returning to Niamh’s where our parents were to join us in due course. Aoife tarried somewhat longer in Ciara’s; on our way back to Niamh’s, we joked that the arrival of one of Ciara’s cousins, whom she had met at the family concert, has absolutely nothing to do with her reluctance to leave. Eventually, seeing a cousins’ car heading for our house, we scarpered back, bringing Niamh and Saoirse with us, to our own house for some more chat and socialising. All that was missing was a visit from the Wren Boys, but in a townland of three houses this would have been quite a stretch. This was an old tradition, somewhat modified and revived in modern times, where groups of lads and young unmarried men would dress up in straw disguises and go from house to house in a village, singing, playing traditional music and generally clowning around, being rewarded with a drink, or some food for their entertainment.

But the tradition did come up for discussion as Niamh and Saoirse were not familiar with it. Eventually my sister printed off the lyrics of a Chieftains’ song. The Chieftains were probably Ireland’s premier traditional and folk music group.

The wren, oh the wren; he's the king of all birds,
On St. Stephen's Day he got caught in the furze,
So it's up with the kettle and it's down with the pan,
Won't you give us a penny for to bury the wren?

Well it's Christmas time; that's why we're here,
Please be good enough to give us an ear,
For we'll sing and we'll dance if you give us a chance,
And we won't be comin' back for another whole year!

We'll play Kerry polkas; they're real hot stuff,
We'll play the Mason's Apron and the Pinch of Snuff,
Jon Maroney's jig and the Donegal reel,
Music made to put a spring in your heel!

If there's a drink in the house, would it make itself known,
Before I sing a song called "The Banks of the Lowne",
And I'll drink with you with occasion in it,
For me poor dry throat and I'll sing like a linnet!

Oh please give us something for the little bird's wake,
A big lump of pudding or some Christmas cake,
A fist full o' goose and a hot cup o' tay,
And then we'll all be goin' on our way!

The wren, oh the wren; he's the king of all birds,
On St. Stephen's Day he got caught in the furze,
So it's up with the kettle and it's down with the pan,
Won't you give us a penny for to bury the wren?

Eventually, the adults having had a glass or two, and us younger folks being always up for some fun, practiced the song, strolled over to Ciara’s house, formed up outside, and, lyrics in hand, sung it for them. Although invited in, we declined as, with that house already full of Ciara’s relatives, there wouldn’t have been room for us all. We headed back chez nous, joined by Aoife and her now very definite boyfriend! Eventually, as it became dark, quite early at this time of year, the cousins departed all the houses and the population of Ghleann Dhubh eventually ended up in Niamh’s barn, our study room, for a karaoke session. It was a Stephen’s Day as it should be, spent having fun with neighbours and relatives.

The following Monday and Tuesday were displaced Public Holidays, the 25th & 26th having been weekend days. That didn’t much matter on farms where routine winter work continued as normal. Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh now had a new task; get some more material together for a competition of which we knew very little. We agreed to resume our evening routine, exercise, practice and, unbelievably, study. That left the day’s free for family. For me this was slightly tense as my father felt aggrieved that this “ridiculous playacting” was continuing past it’s scheduled end point. My mother and sister felt that I had to play it out and not let down the girls.

We added some more songs to our repertoire, both to have a better show, and to keep us from getting bored: Tina Turner, more ABBA, Carly Simon, Blondie, Bonnie Tyler, Cher, Dixie Chicks, & Everything But The Girl. We also needed some more country numbers; Pussycat’s Mississippi, Shania Twain’s Man, I feel like a Woman (I should have led on that, but we decided to play it a bit safe) and two from Trisha Yearwood, She’s in Love with the Boy, & An American Girl. New Year’s Eve & Day passed by little noticed; neither were much observed in Ghleann Dhubh.

Then it was time to go back to school. This would be my first day back after having put on a show as a girl. I still had highlights and had to wear “sleepers” to keep my ear piercings open. There was some good-natured banter in class; nobody would overstep the mark with the four of us present. But, first break, first day, a second-year footballer twice my size cornered me with a few of his mates in tow.

“Hi Sugar; can I have a kiss, or maybe a BJ”?

His mates laughed uproariously at this high humour. I waited for the ruckus to die down so that I could be heard.

“I’m sorry Gerry; I didn’t realise that you were gay. Even if I was, you’re not my type.”

His mates found this funny too…

“He got you there!”

Football Gerry, being cerebrally challenged, had no adequate response and decided to resort to tactic number two, punching me in the face. He was restrained by one of his mates.

“Look, a bit of slagging is one thing; no bullying!”

I suppose the restrainer didn’t count verbal abuse as bullying, but at least he did draw a line somewhere.

The Twins must have told Niamh as she showed up at our study the next day in a sports top and leggings just as we were about to start our exercise session.

“OK Girls, time to do a few lessons on how to look after yourself.”

We looked on as she continued…

“The first thing is RUN! People who attack you are mostly stronger, so just get out of there. Get among other people, into a shop, wherever you can find.

The second thing is to SCREAM! Someone might hear you and come to help. And the attacker might just be afraid of that too and run away himself.

What I’m going to show you is for the last resort. You won’t be able to win, but you might just cause him enough injury to help you escape.”

It did strike me that I was being shown how a girl might defend herself from my own gender. I felt a bit ashamed to be a male and wondered if girls lived in perpetual fear of being attacked.

Niamh, I learned later, like her now deceased husband, had spent some time in the US Reserves before quitting when the Twins arrived. She was rusty, but had some useful tips, like raking your heel down the shin onto the foot of someone who grabs you from behind, poking eyes as opposed to uselessly flailing fists at someone’s face, punching in the throat as opposed to the chin, heel of hand into nose, groin kicks, elbow jabs… and a few other little tricks. We did a bit of roleplay; we were very mismatched in terms of strength and size. I was the same size but much stronger than Ciara. The Twins were evenly matched and stronger than me. Niamh had to pitch in herself to give the Twins some practice with dealing with a stronger opponent. At the end of what was just a demo, we all agreed that it was worthwhile learning, and we would do some practice once a week in lieu of a cheerleading session.

My father seemed pleased that I was doing something “manly” like self-defence; I suppose he just missed the point.

****************************************

Eventually, the school heard back from the County Schools Musical Competition; the judging panel wanted to see us perform to see whether we would make the grade. We didn’t want our fathers to have to go to the trouble of rebuilding the stage, and mine might not have been enthusiastic about that task in any event, so it was agreed that we would do a show in the town hall featuring almost our entire repertoire and lasting an hour, at 5pm on Thursday, 27th January. This would give time for us to get ready after school, and still finish the show in time for any of the students who cared to attend to be on time for study in the School Study Club. The Parish Priest grumbled a bit about having to heat the hall; he had been at the School Concert and didn’t approve of our act, too much leg and knickers, and particularly as one of the girls was a boy. The Madra persuaded him by announcing that the show was to raise money for the school football teams, boys and girls, was open to the town, and would have an admission fee, all without consulting us! We had just needed the stage to do a private show for the judging panel.

We suddenly had an organisation to back us as Transition Year took over the running of the event, leaving us to concentrate on the show itself. The football teams sold tickets all over the town and to all their relatives, ensuring a full audience. We enlisted the two first-year classes to put on two five-minute interval comedy sketches as we developed three singing sessions of about 15 minutes each. We would start with some slower, ballad-type numbers, then a session combining all our country music, and finish with our most upbeat numbers. We would change outfits each time, backstage as there was no time to do it anywhere else, and a quick trip to Ballyhowan secured four matching denim minis and as close to country-style shirt blouses as we could find.

For something put together in a hurry, the show was a resounding success and quite a bit of money was raised. No-one offered to cover our expenses so we didn’t ask. We would have to wait a few weeks for the results from the judges.

Niamh solved the expenses problem: We headed off to Galway to model the Department Stores “Spring Collection”. No drama this time and we had our meal in Eyre House, somewhat more upmarket than the pizzeria.

Notoriety was beginning to develop on two fronts. There had been some queries in Galway in relation to the teen models and word had also seeped out to schools in towns adjacent to Ballymore that there was a girl group which included a boy. Nobody put the two together, yet. Galway was at least an hour’s drive away from Ballymore and, being a different county, was not involved in our County Schools Musical Competition.

Finally we heard that we were in the Semi-Finals, ours to be held in Ballyhowan on Thursday, 17th February. We would be on stage for three songs and we decided to go upbeat. As half the acts would go through to the final, we were hopeful.

And we aced it again; through to the final. There was one less than edifying incident when the representative of one of the Ballyhowan schools which had been knocked out objected to our going through on the basis that Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh were not a girl band as stated, but had one boy included. The chair of the judging panel probable erred in responding that, even in Ballyhowan, it was now 2005, not 1905. Rather annoyed, the objector remarked that at least there were three girls in the group, and only one, not four, Transvestites. This earned him another sharp rebuke.

We got some feedback from the judges at the semifinal. Our act was good, but we needed to vary the songs to be in with a chance in the finals. We decided to do Missing by Everything But The Girl, Mississippi by Pussycat and Voulez Vous by ABBA. We kept up our normal routine, our only concession being to get off school early to get dolled up in the Beauty Salon in Ballyhowan before the Finals on Wednesday, 16th March. It had to be before Holy Week; there was still some residual church influence in the schools.

All tarted up, coats over our dresses, leggings over our tights, my mother drove us to the hall where the Finals would be held. Niamh was already there, with other “sound” teams, setting up our machine. We went over to her.

“OK, I just need to go out and get the mics for a test.”

“I’ll get them.”

Niamh handed me her keys; I preferred to be doing something rather than standing around. I went out to the car park; it wasn’t quite dark yet. There were a few lads in one corner of the carpark, no one else around. I walked towards the Landcruiser.

“Here, that must be him! That’s the fucking Tranny!”

No 1 Defence, run.

I turned around intending to sprint for the door; I was cut off.

No 2 Defence, scream.

“Back off!!!”

Black Out.

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