No, I don't mean a Rolls Royce ......
The 2nd December 1999 was the date for the FXG Christmas dinner, to take place at the Fox and Hounds public house in Little Bromley, near Manningtree. As usual, I was to be the guest of honour, collecting money for the raffle which would be used to fund future issues of the FXG magazine. Every year, I manage to find something a little more outrageous to wear for the occasion, and manage to raise a little more money, and this year was to be no exception. On a recent trip to Debenhams in the Meadowhall shopping mall, Sheffield, I'd bought two sequin-encrusted boob-tubes - one red, the other silver [1]. The red one I planned to wear to the FXG dinner as a boob-tube, but the silver one was to be my skirt - all 12½ inches of it! Under this, leopard-print knickers would just about cover my modesty. With a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals on my feet, and a spiky green wig on my head, I reckoned that I'd be able to coax vast sums of money from the assembled masses!
And that's exactly what I wore - no more, no less. At 6.45 - a little later than planned as a result of a minor mishap with some liquid eyeliner - I threw a raincoat in the car and went to collect Rikki, and after a quick needle-and-thread job on her dress, we were both ready to leave. The journey was pretty uneventful with the A137 completely free of roadworks, for once. So it was that at about 7.30, we'd just turned into the road leading through Little Bromley and on to the Fox and Hounds - then disaster struck, as a left bend took me a bit by surprise. I wasn't going that fast - but for some reason, I totally lost control of the car - despite braking and turning the steering wheel, we continued on in the same direction. Everything appeared to be happening in slow motion - but in what was probably only a couple of seconds, the offside wheels had mounted the bank on the opposite side of the road. The car came almost to rest at a crazy angle, then tipped over onto the passenger side, and thence onto the roof. My window had exploded outwards, so I squeezed out the gap, oblivious to the fact that I was crawling over broken glass, and Rikki followed a few seconds later.
With remarkable calmness considering our predicament, we took stock of the situation. There was a strong smell of petrol, and the engine was still running, although it was kicking out a lot of smoke, indicating that oil was being burnt. So the first thing was to turn off the ignition. Temporarily unable to comprehend the car's novel geometry, I opened the door on the driver's side (which was now the passenger door, of course), so had to crawl across the whole width of the car to get the keys. Secondly, we rapidly became aware that it was very cold. Rikki was wearing a dress, a sweater, and tights, but without the benefit of any of these, I was already starting to shiver, so we located our coats in the upturned car and put them on. By this time, two members of the public had appeared on the scene, and introduced themselves as Gavin and Bob. Between them, they decided that it was too dangerous for other vehicles to try to squeeze past the wreck of my car, and immediately implemented a makeshift roadblock on either side of the accident. Meanwhile, I phoned the police on my mobile, and attempted to give them our location.
Since we were on the main route between Ipswich and the Fox and Hounds, we anticipated that the road would soon be crawling with other trannies on their way to the Christmas dinner, so it would be easy enough to send a message about what had happened. However, someone on the way to the pub had already recognised us, and within fifteen minutes of the accident, John, one of the landlords, arrived to check that we were alright, and to offer help. He stayed until a police car turned up, which was just before 8pm - the delay was due to my poor directions, unfortunately, as I wasn't entirely sure where we were. A single officer got out, and introduced himself as Peter, then began co-ordinating a clean-up. First of all, he checked that my car was 'safe' - while oil had now started to leak out of the bonnet, the smell of petrol had dissipated since I'd turned the engine off. I remember thinking how fortunate that was, as I'd only filled the tank some thirty miles earlier. Next, he breathalysed me, although I'd had nothing to drink since the previous evening, and was completely clear. Finally, he took some details of the accident, then checked my tyres for indications of skidding, although there were none. He concluded that there'd probably been something slippery on the road - in any case, he decided not to pursue the charge of reckless driving, and simply ordered me to produce my licence and insurance documents at Ipswich police station within seven days.
With Gavin's help, Peter then identified a nearby vehicle recovery company, and requested their presence at the scene. In the event, it was another half-hour before the lorry arrived, during which time several vehicles had stopped at the roadblocks, and their occupants had come over and asked if we were hurt, and if there was anything they could do. Rikki and I had thanked them all, and assured them that we were both fine. It was interesting to observe that not once was there so much as a hint of a reaction from anyone to the way that we were dressed. In fact, the only comment made at any time was a humorous one-liner from Peter to the effect that "no wonder you're cold - you aren't exactly dressed for December". That was for sure, and he kindly offered us the use of his police car to keep warm.
The recovery truck eventually righted the car, at which point Rikki and I were able to collect the important stuff from inside. It was then winched on board to be taken to a pound to await an insurance assessment the following day. As Peter cleared the road of glass and other debris, Gavin offered Rikki and me a lift to the Fox and Hounds, if we wanted to still go. We decided that we may as well take up his offer - if nothing else, we stood more chance of being able to get a lift at least part of the way back home from one of our fellow trannies.
Well, the party was a bit of a damp squib, of course - neither of us were in the mood for celebrating. But everyone was really supportive - our wounds were patched up, and our nerves were calmed. We were offered a lift home by a number of our tranny friends, and we chose someone who already owed us both a favour anyway, and who also happened to have arranged to stay with Rikki for the night. However, after the pub had all but emptied, he announced that his car was some thirty miles away on the far side of Ipswich, and that there were no spare seats in the one remaining car going that way. Some choice words were uttered, I can tell you! In the event, Rikki and I took a cab home, which is a very expensive way to travel. Needless to say , there's one 'friend' who won't be getting any more favours from either of us.
But at times like this, one's real friends become apparent. Carole had been staying over at Mary's after the party, and spent the following day driving me around to identify a replacement car - even if my old car was repairable (which Peter had been very doubtful about), it would be several weeks before I'd get it back. Later that afternoon, I managed to secure insurance and finance for the purchase of a new car, and the next day, Rikki ferried me into town to pick it up. Thanks guys!
Of course, no-one wants to be involved in a potentially-fatal accident. And the very thought of it is doubly terrifying for a closet tranny. But neither Rikki nor I fall into this second category, and since the accident had already happened with no-one being hurt beyond a few minor cuts, we decided that it would be a shame if we failed to record the event on camera. Macabre? Perhaps. But pictures were taken nevertheless, and I've included a couple in my album as a reminder of how supportive and non-judgemental total strangers can be in times of need [2], [3].
Extract from personal notes.