Barrack Room Betty Ch. 01

"Mick; thank fuck you've kept your wits about you. That might just work! All we have to do is play dress up for one day and let those four tossers take the piss out of us and then its over," Polly Perkins espoused.

"Yeah the joke will only last for a little while before they get bored with it," Ray Maine chimed in.

"We'll look like those blokes in panto who dress like women; it'll be a lark," Doc Holliday said.

"I fucking hope so," Michael whispered to himself.

"All right my buckos; let's get going, you have your orders!" Mick Nyland exclaimed.

The recruits spread out through the block wrapped in their blankets and following Mick's instruction riffled through the lockers trying on skirts, blouses, jackets, shoes and caps until they found items that fit. It was lucky that except for Dave Holliday, the recruits were slender and had no problems finding clothing that fit. Lucky for him there were a few plump Wrens and eventually Doc found clothes that fit him. They bought all the clothing they had scranned back to the cabin and layed it out. Recruits, including the Wrens, had to keep all their clothing washed and ironed stowed correctly in their kit lockers so the uniforms they had pilfered were ready to wear.

"Ok, well done boys, now go and find knickers and bras and two pairs of tights and two pairs of socks each. Also I need you to check out all the drawers in the girls desks, you can guarantee that some of the girls knit. Get me some knitting yarn, black, white, brown but no bright colours," Mick directed his cohorts.

"What the fuck for?" all three crooned.

"Don't fucking ague just get it! I'll get the makeup. As soon as we have what we need we can get some sleep ok?" Mick answered.

They were all in agreement that sleep was good idea so they all went off and did as they were told.

By one o'clock in the morning they had everything that Mick had told then to get.

"Ok boys, grab all the blankets you can, grab a bunk and get some shuteye," Mick said.

Ten minutes later the lights were out the room reverberated with the sounds of four snoring young men.

"Wakey, wakey lads," Mick banged a shit tin lid against the bin to wake his shipmates.

They are reluctant to get up but they were used to early starts and he soon had them motivated. They went down to the heads and bathroom and took care of their morning ablutions. Mick had even found a couple of razors the girls use to shave their legs and they washed up and shaved, all in freezing cold water. Then he mustered them back in the cabin and fell them in.

"Ok boys out of your uderps (Naval slang for underpants) and pull on those knickers," Mick said.

The lads pulled on the regulation white cotton knickers that the Wrans were required to wear when in uniform while at recruit school and then they struggled into their brassieres with Mick doing the rounds helping them adjust straps and clasps.

"Ok lads take a pair of socks and shove them in the cups of your bras, they are your false tits."

The recruits began to skylark and jibe each other and Mick stepped in straight away.

"Stop your fucking skylarking you grommets; those fucking arseholes are going to be here soon and if we haven't made our best efforts what do you think they are going to do?" Mike snapped.

That shut then up got them focussed.

"Now sit on a bunk and unroll your tights."

Wrens kept their black tights rolled up in neat balls when stowed in their lockers to meet locker inspection requirements. They usually wore 40 denier tights when on duty but nearly all of the girls kept some sheer 15 denier tights hidden away for when they were allowed out of the Wrenery or on short leave.

"Watch me."

Michael showed them how to roll up the legs of the tights and put their feet into the toe section and how to pull them up their legs and snuggle into the gusset of the tights and then how to smooth the nylon up their legs to remove the wrinkles.

"They feel kind of nice," Polly Perkins giggled.

Ok mates, put on your blouses, just remember they button from the other side so help each other, put on your ties and then put on your skirts. They huffed and struggled and cursed but eventually they were dressed. Okay step into those court shoes (Wrens court shoes were low heeled 'pumps' and were their dress shoes as opposed to the lace-ups they wore for day to day menial tasks) they struggled to stand in the courts even though they were low-heeled.

"Alright now pay attention, grab another pair of tights and two balls of knitting yarn that are the same colour and I'm going to show you how to make a wig. We've all completed basic seamanship and this isn't that much different than the bends, hitches and ropework we did there," Mick said.

Mick painstakingly led them step by step how to make makeshift wigs using the gusset of a pair of tights as the skullcap and the yarn as the hair. He knocked up his own black bob reasonably quickly and then went around and assisted the others using scissors to snip here and there to cut the wigs in some sort of shape. When they had finished they had four, collar length bobs of varying grades; Doc's was absolutely awful but Michael's wig looked quite good, except it was made of knitting yarn. Two were black, and one white, one brown.

"Ok you fuckers, Polly and Mary you want to be Stewards so go down to the brew boat and make some tea for us, there won't be milk but there will be sugar. Doc sit down here and I'll do your makeup," Mick ordered.

Every block had a 'brew boat' where the sailors and wrens could make tea and coffee and if they were lucky have a biscuit. No other food was allowed in the barracks and it was a breach of discipline to bring food into the blocks.

"Fuck me Mick you seem to know a lot about this girly shit," Doc jibed.

"I was the only son with four sisters; do you think they never forced me to play dress-up?" Michael tossed off as a casual response.

He thought to himself: 'If you only knew the truth!'

They sipped tea while Mick did his best with their makeup. He could have actually done a lot better job than he did but he didn't want to raise any suspicions but he couldn't help himself when cane to doing his own. He took the makeup down to the bathroom and did a half-decent job on himself.

He came back and helped his mates put on their makeshift wigs and then he got them to pull on their blues jackets. He adjusted the Wrens caps with the HMS CHELMSFORD tally bands on their heads. They where subtly different to the sailor's caps but he got them fitted flat-a-back.

"Ok you mucky lot; fall in and lets have a look at you," he said.

They actually looked pathetic in their ill-fitting uniforms and poorly applied makeup. Hems weren't straight, tights were saggy and some of their legs were downright hairy, and obviously so, even though they were wearing the heavy tights, and their makeup looked very clown-like. They looked exactly what they were: a bunch of hairy young men wearing women's clothing with no idea how to do so. The exception was Michael Nyland, who except for the fact his wig was made of wool actually looked quite presentable.

The remains of Collins Division began to take the piss out of each other and jibe and jest until they heard the ominous sound of the foyer doors unlocking followed by the sound of hobnail boots on the tiled floor. Even more ominous was the sound of a cane tap tapping on the deck.

"Wrens Division HO!" called out Leading Recruit Spike Jones, and it echoed down the deserted passageway.

The four 'Wrens' of Collins Division fell in, in single file and snapped to attention.

To be continued

*****

Author's Note: Anyone who served in the RN during the period that this story is set will laugh at the implausibility of the situation described in the story. That said, I tried to make the details in this chapter as accurate as possible. My apologies if I have offended anyone but I do claim an author's right to drive an implausible plot device so long as it suits the narrative.