My policeman husband went from THIS to THISInterview by Clare Campbell
THIS week, a transsexual Falklands veteran who was thrown out of the Royal Navy was expected to receive a six-figure compensation sum. The case highlighted the increasing recognition given to transsexuals in Britain. But how would a woman feet on discovering that her husband of 13 years had always secretly thought of himself as female? Here 63-year-old former teacher Barbara Ashton tells how she coped when her 47-year-old husband Tony, a former police firearms expert, suddenly announced his decision to change sex. DURING 13 years of marriage I never had the slightest hint or suspicion that my husband Tony was anything but a full-blooded man. Nothing had prepared me, or could have done, for the total shock of discovering that he was a transsexual. I had first met Tony, 16 years my junior, shortly after the break-up of my first marriage. I was 44 and on a hill-walking holiday in North Wales, and Tony - who was 28 - and his brother, being expert climbers, had stopped to offer me advice. We quickly became friends, despite the age gap. As a woman over 40 with two grown-up sons, the last thing I was looking for was romance with a man so much younger. But I was attracted to Tony’s easygoing manner and gentle nature. We lived quite near each other in the Midlands and, within a matter of months, Tony confessed that his feelings were stronger than friendship. I knew I had fallen in love, too. He told me he had never been in a serious relationship, but three months after that he asked me to marry him. At first I said ’No’, worrying that the age gap was too wide for our relationship to last. But when Tony asked me again a few weeks later, I knew I wanted to marry him with all my heart and I said ’Yes’. My sons admired and respected Tony and had no objections to their new stepfather. Even my ex-husband liked him and wished us happiness. Tony and I suited one another perfectly. Not only did we enjoy one another’s company, we were also compatible sexually. Our lovemaking was passionate and intense. There was certainly nothing odd about Tony’s sexual responses. I continued full-time as a teacher and Tony worked as an HGV driver, having never excelled at school, which he left with only minor qualifications. After our marriage he became a special constable and revealed his hopes of one day becoming a police officer. With my encouragement over the next three or four years his self confidence grew, until, eventually, he applied, and was accepted, by the police force. Tony loved his new career, and excelled at it. I could see how proud he was of his achievement, and it made me happy just to see how fulfilled he had become. WE MOVED to a small country village in Shropshire. I became a parish councillor, while the rest of our social life revolved around Tony’s new friends in the police force. During our happy years together, I had no reason to think anything would change. But then something did. I was sitting in the kitchen on a sunny October afternoon, 16 years after we had first met. By this time Tony was 44 and I was nearly 60. I had been cleaning the silver when Tony came in, and I looked up only as I suddenly realised how upset he seemed. He tried to speak several times without being able to find the right words. My chest froze tight with fear. My thoughts raced ahead. I was convinced he was going to tell me he was having an affair. I watched his face in terror as he told me he had been to Birmingham. I knew he often went to look at firearms in the gunshop there and thought nothing of it. But Tony stared into the air above my head as he said slowly: ’Only I didn’t go to look at guns … I went to look at clothes - women’s clothes.’ I stared at him in bewilderment. Then he finally spelled it out clearly for the first time: ’Barbara, I have been cross-dressing for years.’ My first response was one I think many women might have. In spite of the thoughts spinning through my head, I knew I still loved Tony. So I just said ’If you want to do it, then do. But please never in front of me.’ I didn’t feel disgusted, and had heard that many men enjoyed dressing in women’s clothes without being gay. But I didn’t think I could cope with seeing my husband do it. Then Tony explained more fully. He told me that he wasn’t a transvestite, but felt like a female trapped inside a man’s body. He only ever cross-dressed in private and had never worn my clothes. I could not bear to think how confused he must have felt for all those years, and how terribly alone. I wanted to comfort him, but felt too distressed. What would this mean for us as a couple? I had been so frightened I was going to lose my husband to another woman. Now, it seemed, I had. I had to accept what Tony said. He was not saying this to hurt me, and had done nothing to betray me. I knew all I could do for now was support him and wait to see what would happen next. For the time being Tony remained very much a male. We did not stop making love after that conversation. If anything, the intimacy of my husband’s confession helped to bring us closer together. Most of all we still loved one another. Over the next few months, I could see how Tony was struggling. He told me that the need to look and act as a female was now becoming so strong that he needed to talk to someone at work about it. So he went to see a police counsellor. Thankfully, the counsellor was sympathetic and referred him to a police psychologist. He confirmed that Tony was a genuine case of gender identity dysphoria - a woman trapped inside a man’s body. On hearing Tony was married, the psychologist also suggested he should see me. He told us exactly what difficulties we would face as a couple. If I was still in any doubt, the doctor cleared up all illusions that this was a passing phase. He warned me that both our lives would be turned upside down. He also told Tony that he must support me as much as I was supporting him. Not only was I to lose the husband I had known, I also had to cope with that same person living with me as a woman. BUT TO me, it was better than losing Tony altogether. Nothing had prepared me for anything like this. Illness, and bereavement happen to everyone. But there was no one I could turn to who knew what I was going through. For the next three months I felt I was going to pieces. I kept weeping, was unable to concentrate, eat or sleep. Finally, in June, eight months after Tony’s first announcement, I went to see my GP to ask for help. I waited three weeks to see a counsellor who confessed he had no experience of a problem like mine. But by the week of my second appointment, I started to feel better. In my own way, I had worked out for myself how I would cope with Tony’s transsexualism, I could not stop loving him, but I could accept what was happening and try to take our life a day at a time. By mutual, but unspoken agreement, we moved into separate bedrooms. If I was to start seeing Tony - or Claire, as he now wanted me to call him - as a real woman, I could no longer have sex with him. Gradually, I became used to having Claire in the house. We allowed one another more privacy, especially in the bathroom, than we had before, and I was careful to withdraw from too much physical intimacy. But otherwise, Claire was much the same person she had always been. I was even amused to notice that becoming a woman did not make her any more eager to help with the housework, or remember family birthdays. It seemed there were some male habits it was worth hanging on to. In the meantime, I had to stop and take stock of my own life. I was 60, and had been teaching for a number of years. I was tired, and emotionally exhausted. So I decided to retire. At the same time, I was also frightened that Tony’s transsexualism would take away all that was important in our life - friends, family, money and status. We talked about it endlessly, deciding to tell close friends and family at the same time. Tony had had enough of deception and was pleased I felt able to cope with telling people the truth. Ours was a small village and I was amazed how calmly relatives, neighbours and friends took the news. The only person we didn’t tell was Tony’s mother because she was so old. Everything seemed to happen quickly after that. Tony went to see his superior officers to tell them about his transsexualism personally. Fortunately, at this stage, everyone remained sympathetic. In the meantime, Tony made an appointment to see a doctor in London and started hormone medication. Almost immediately this started to lessen his confusion about his sexual identity. His breasts started to develop, and his skin became softer. By now nearly all his fellow police officers knew that he was seeing a. counsellor and rumours were circulating that Tony had cancer. Senior staff decided the best way of dealing with what had happened was to bring it out into the open. Tony, volunteered to tell his colleagues at a special meeting. Men and women both responded with kindness, and sympathy. Many were simply relieved that he was not ill. One friend said that it was the bravest thing he had ever seen anyone do. After a further consultation in London, Tony was told he must live as a woman for a year before being considered for surgery. EVERYTHING seemed to be going more smoothly than we had expected. But then the Press got hold of the story, and everything changed. I found myself a prisoner in my own house, unable to leave as hordes of photographers camped on our doorstep. Tony slipped away to warn his sister and ask her to break the news to his mother before she read about it in the morning paper. It was one of the worst experiences of my life. I felt my husband and I had suddenly become a freak show. Negotiations began to get Tony back to work. Always good with computers he was given a non-uniformed post compiling records. By this stage he had grown his fingernails, and had both his ears pierced. But as he still appeared largely masculine, his presence at work did not yet seem to pose an insurmountable problem. His former colleagues were still friendly. The only hassle he encountered was from people he had arrested as a policeman. But Tony felt his long-term future was under threat. In January 1997, an agreement was reached under which he would take retirement from the uniformed police on medical grounds, but would be allowed to take up a post as a communications officer, provided he passed the probationary period. When Tony returned to the office, he did so as Claire. The first day was terrible. She was so nervous she was like a child starting school. I helped her to get ready because, at first, she didn’t have much fashion sense. However, she had been undergoing electrolysis for several months, so now had minimum facial hair. She had also taken make -up lessons. I wished her luck as she left the house. I knew she was going to need it. From the beginning Claire’s fellow officers found it difficult to accept their new colleague, and confided to me that they didn’t know what to talk to her about. There was no malice or cruelty in it. I don’t blame them, and would probably have felt the same. But Claire struggled on, determined not to lose the career she had fought so hard for. Then suddenly, in July 1997, Claire was summoned to a disciplinary inquiry. She was told that the basis of the hearing was an accusation of sexual harassment by one of her colleagues - that she had asked for a kiss from him. Claire could not believe it, and said this had been simply a joke, a response to a leaving card she had been sent with the words: ’Who gets the first kiss then?’ She was devastated to be attacked in this way and felt deeply betrayed. The atmosphere at work had changed. She struggled through the rest of that year, making frequent mistakes, simply because she felt so nervous. She constantly feared she would be asked to leave. Then, early last year, Claire was informed that she had failed her probationary period and was being dismissed. She felt she had become an embarrassment to the force, and this was its way of getting rid of her. She decided to fight for an apology, and took the police to an employment tribunal, the result of which we should hear next week. It seemed unfair. Everything she had tried to do for a job that meant the world to her had been destroyed, simply because she had told the truth about her sexual identity. In the meantime, she works as a taxi driver and I encouraged her to go ahead with surgery for gender reassignment. This was done privately, for about £9,000 which we paid between us, and involved removal of the penis and testicles, and the creation of an artificial vagina. DESPITE being pleased to see how happy she was having the operation at last, I knew I had lost my husband for ever. Watching Claire since then has been like seeing a teenager during puberty. She feels she is just starting out in life. We have talked about what we would do if she meets someone else, and I accept that I would have to let her go. I cannot keep her tied to me on the basis that we were once man and wife. At the moment I am enjoying the freedom of no longer being a wife, but instead having a close female companion and a happy grown-up family. Living through such a traumatic loss was not easy, but I have learned from it. Friends and family have stood by me, and if I have lost money or status as a result, it no longer matters as much as it did. I now know what it feels like to be hounded, and even stoned, once by local village youths. But I still love Claire, and even say so occasionally. It is now like the love of a sister, or a daughter-in-law. Whether we will still grow old together remains to be seen. Copyright © 1999, Daily Mail | |||||||||||||
