Cross dressing and gender repudiation - the stories I loved as a kid

Speedblog, by Katherine Burgdorf.

Girls are silly, weak and annoying. Not even subconsciously this has always been my standard worldview. Or am I wrong about ‘always been’? Until about three months ago I just thought I was just born angry, but suddenly it suddenly occurred to me that all the ‘series’ books I’d loved as a kid were all dominated by girls who didn’t want to be girls or, at the very least, girls who gave two fingers up to frills and knitting. Was this the reason I’ve turned out the way I have? Is it why I get annoyed when people announce their pregnancies and engagements, or why women tottering around on too-high heel irritates me so much?

I specialised in post-war British and American fiction...from the 40s up to the 70s. The most important book series in my life was The Famous Five (first published in 1942). I read so many Enid Blyton books I have forgotten most of them but the character George (Georgina as her parents named her) in this series is the ultimate tomboy hero. I didn’t particularly care for Timmy, her dog (I thought he was badly behaved and responsible for most of the group’s life threatening situations) but George and her swimming, rowing, camping and rescue skills, was an idol. She refused to be called by her girl name, and delighted in dressing, talking and behaving like a boy to the extent people thought she was.

The other huge influence on my life was Trixie Belden, a dungaree-wearing girl detective. Trixie was smarter, braver and tougher than any of her brothers or ‘Bob-Whites of the Glen’ club friends. She was selected to be a positive influence on girly girl neighbour Honey, and even with her short sandy curls, freckles and mannish ways she attracted Jim Frayne’s devotion. She also solved all crimes committed in the greater Westchester area from antique theft to fraud and family imposters. In a strange community of prissy millionaire ladies, Trixie was a lion.

In the same vein my other heroines were go getters like Jill Crewe, who rode horses in the fictitious Chatton area, had the respect of military men like Captain Cholly-Sawcutt and set up her own pony club, Nancy Drew (more crime busting) and Ginny, who lived in wild Scotland with her mystical Arab mare Shantih...and hated her frilly sister Petra.

These were the grrrllls of my childhood. If I had to write the sequels to their lives I suspect they all moved to Manhattan and ate their twin-set wearing counterparts for second breakfast (they were all good eaters). I don’t know if they still write characters like this – I’m sure they do – and I’m not saying these women were perfect but when I think about the risk to our lives from hideous boredom, the confines of having kids and all the dreary suburban lives of others, I have no fear for these friends.