(New month old post) First posted 28th June, 2015. 1,600 words)
The life of an intersex man born in the 1890s
My mother always said it would have been better if Uncle Jimmy had been
brought up as a girl. When I was older, she added: “You
see, he didn’t develop properly when he was a little boy.” She also said: “His sister was completely the other way round.”
Uncle Jimmy was not really an uncle or indeed any relative at all. He attached himself to the family just before the First World
War when he crossed the Pennines to take a job in the
local branch of the clothing and furniture retailer where my
grandfather worked. As Jimmy had nowhere to stay, my grandfather took him home
and asked whether they could put him up for a time. Jimmy soon found his own
accommodation and later, perhaps surprisingly, a wife, but he remained a close
friend of the family for the rest of his life. He appears in no end of our family photographs: a surrogate uncle.
“A jolly little fat man with a high voice,” is how my brother remembered him, “Uncle Jimmy Dustbin,” not his real name but a pretty good homonym. He had been slightly built in his youth. His army attestation papers show he was five feet two inches tall (157 centimetres) with just a 31 inch chest (79 centimetres). He must have suffered terribly at the hands of childhood bullies and may have left his native Cheshire to begin life afresh where nobody knew him.
He tried to join up for war service six times but was rejected because of poor physique. After being accepted at the seventh attempt, he found himself passed rapidly from regiment to regiment like a bad penny. He first joined the York and Lancasters, but on mobilization was transferred back into the army reserve to grow and gain strength. He was mobilized again eight months later but within another six months had been transferred to the Yorkshire Regiment. He managed three months there before being compulsorily transferred to the 5th (Cyclist) Battalion of the East Yorkshire Regiment. This was part of the Army Cycle Corps used for coastal defence work inside the United Kingdom. His situation seems to have improved for a while because he qualified as a signaller, but within a year his difficulties had returned and he was transferred to the West Yorkshire Regiment. A month later he was judged physically unfit for war service, permanently discharged, issued with an overcoat and sent home. Jimmy’s war was thus based in such far flung locations as Durham, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Hartlepool and Aldershot. At no time did he see service in France.
Jimmy married while still in the army. He was almost
twenty-five and his wife, let’s call her Beatrice, almost twenty-seven. They remained
together for forty-seven years until she died. For some years they looked after one of Beatrice’s
nephews but were unable to have children of their own. What Beatrice expected is not
entirely clear, although she did once say to my grandmother she had little idea
of what was supposed to happen on wedding nights, and remained just as mystified afterwards
because nothing did. She seemed content to have settled for a marriage of crafts,
hobbies and companionship.
Jimmy and Beatrice became grocers. Beatrice’s widowed mother had a corner shop in one of the town’s dense grid of terraced streets, so Jimmy
moved in to help with the shop and eventually became the nominal
owner. Beatrice did most of the work as Jimmy
always found plenty of other things to occupy him. He became a churchwarden along with my grandfather, and a
Sunday School teacher. He collected glassware and was a natty dresser, but his greatest
joy was motoring. He advertised his services as an express courier and hence
became one of the first in town with a private telephone and private
motor car.
 |
Uncle Jimmy with his 1922 ‘Bullnose’ Morris on an outing to Bridlington in 1928.
In the car (right to left) are my
father (in cap), his sister (in bonnet) and Jimmy’s wife’s nephew. |
His first car was a 1922 ‘Bullnose’ Morris. My father said that
whenever his own family took their annual week’s holiday, in those days always
to one of the Yorkshire coastal resorts, Jimmy would arrive in his car to join
them for a day. On other occasions he would take my father and his sister on trips to
the coast. They had a clear memory of one happy outing when they
drove under the arched bridge between Bridlington and Filey where the railway embankment
crosses the road, when Jimmy jokingly forbade them to shout as they passed through,
which of course they did, their high spirited voices echoing back to them in
the open-topped car. On another occasion he took my aunt for a
ride in an aeroplane at Speeton airfield.
In later years, after my grandparents had died, Jimmy and Beatrice
became surrogate grandparents, especially to my cousins. In fact they
remember Uncle Jimmy and Aunty Beatrice by far the more clearly. They spent hours reading, singing,
playing games and looking after them. Beatrice shared her jigsaw puzzles and
taught them to crochet. Jimmy was the only one with the patience to feed to my elder
cousin her breakfast in the way she wanted, one cornflake at a time, even
though he was supposed to be at work in his shop. My uncle described him, in bemused admiration, as the only man
he knew who had managed to get through life without working.
Eventually Jimmy and Beatrice retired from the grocers shop and moved
for around fifteen years to a large house in a green and leafy part of town overlooking
the river, but after Beatrice died Jimmy moved back to the same terraced street
they had lived in previously, and was very lonely and unhappy. It was by then the nineteen-sixties. Society was
changing and the street had lost its sense of community. Jimmy was a frequent
visitor both to our house and my cousins’, arriving in his car, always a
Morris. He showed a lifelong loyalty to the Morris marque.
Jimmy lived to eighty-one. During his last illness, unable
to eat, he turned to my aunt for help and she told him she thought he should
be in hospital. “All right,” he said, “but let’s have a cig first. We’ll have
one of yours.” It was his last one. My aunt, a nurse, looked after him during
his final days, and in dealing with his most intimate needs was disturbed to
observe just how incompletely developed he was, “more female than male” she later
confided.
Again, we were spared the details but some years ago, thirty
five years after his death, I looked at Jimmy’s army service record in an
online genealogy resource. It included Army Form B, 178A, Medical Report on a
Soldier Boarded Prior to Discharge or Transfer to Class W, W(T), P or P(T), of
the Reserve. Across the various sections of the form I was dismayed to read:
Feminism.
Undesirability of retaining with hommes militesque. Congenital. Poor physique
from infancy and puberty. Pain with equipment. Tastes and habits male. Married
12 months, no children. Enlarged breasts, female type. Poor general physique.
R. testicle incompletely descended. Penis abnormally short. Embryonic pocket in
scrotal line. Voice female. Was rejected 6 times on grounds of physique and
accepted the 7th time. Discharge as permanently unfit.
And what of his sister, a back-slapping sporty woman who my
mother said should have been brought up a boy. She also married but after
several years her husband was granted an annulment. She then became a champion
ladies golfer who represented her county. It was said she astonished
other golfers by driving consistently long distances from the men’s tees. She
spent her life organising competitions and golfing associations, and was still playing
in veterans’ tournaments at the age of seventy. Did she have a
similar congenital condition? We can now easily see that there were four other siblings who survived into adulthood. What about them? They seem to have produced few children and
grandchildren.
Today, abnormal sexual development is much better understood than when Jimmy and his sister were born in the
eighteen-nineties. For example, research into sex hormones did not make any real progress until the nineteen-thirties. The various conditions are now handled sympathetically and have a range of treatments. How very different from when Jimmy and his sister were young. What desperately miserable and lonely episodes they must
have endured. Yet to us, Uncle Jimmy always seemed happy and jovial. He was
kind and thoughtful, very much loved. I think we must have given him
something of the family life he would never otherwise have had.
There was one last thing we could do for him. It was saddening to see his medical record on public display. Although British Army First World War service and pension records, if they survive, are now accessible through online genealogical resources, medical records are usually confidential. We wrote to the National Archives at Kew to ask whether it was possible, on the grounds of respect and decency, to remove the medical report from the online resource, to which they agreed. Genuine researchers can still go to Kew, look up the microfiche copy of his army service record, and find Army Form B178A included, but in the online version it is no longer there.*
In wanting to tell Jimmy’s sad and touching story, albeit with names changed, and in quoting from the form, I hope I am not indulging in the kind of prurience we want to avert.
* Unfortunately, since the original post, other genealogical resource providers have been permitted to scan the documents and it is now visible on several sites.
