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In the summer of 1960, when I was 14, I was able to spend a weekend away from boarding school in Dorset with a family we had known in Germany, and who now lived in Surrey, southwest of London. I travelled there and back by train, the weather was very hot and I perspired in my school uniform, it not having crossed my mind that I could take off tie and jacket now that I was away from the school authorities. The family made me most welcome at home, the only child being Roger, a year older than me, and somewhat taller. He attended a local school, cycling daily to and from home. The plan for the weekend was for us two to cycle about the countryside and just come home for meals. He had two bikes, so there was one for me.

Boarding School in Dorset

I returned to England alone at 13, to start at a boarding school in Dorset. My parents thought it was important for my education. The Government financed the education of servive people stationed abroad through the Assisted Places scheme. This meant I could attend a public school offering a better education than the school on the base in Germany. I arrived half- way through the second form year. It was an experience I loathed. This was an all boys public school, i.e. a private, fee-paying school. You entered at 11, having passed the Eleven Plus exam and joined the first form. The school allowed exeats or weekends out of school. They were usually spent with parents and family. As my parents were in Germany, I couldn't take advantage of my exeats.

Family Friends

In the summer of 1960, when I was 14, I was able to spend a weekend away from boarding school in Dorset with a family we had known in Germany, and who now lived in Surrey, southwest of London. I travelled there and back by train, the weather was very hot and I perspired in my school uniform, it not having crossed my mind that I could take off tie and jacket now that I was away from the school authorities. The family made me most welcome at home, the only child being Roger, a year older than me, and somewhat taller. He attended a local school, cycling daily to and from home. The plan for the weekend was for us two to cycle about the countryside and just come home for meals. He had two bikes, so there was one for me.

Casual Clothes

Roger’s mother asked if I’d brought any other clothes with me and, apart for a spare shirt and socks, I hadn’t. Of course cycling around the country in a school uniform was rediculous, but boys don't always plan things out very well. I ws so used to wearing my uniform, I hadn't given it a lot of thought. “Well, you can’t go off in your uniform; I’ll see what Roger’s got”. Then Roger appeared in a casual shirt, sandals and the shortest pair of Lederhosen I’d seen outside of Germany. His legs were entirely bare. I caught my breath and realised what was likely to be in store for me. I must have gone bright red when Roger’s mother reappeared with some clothes saying “Roger’s grown out of these shorts but they’ll fit you perfectly”, for Roger said “perhaps he’d rather wear his school shorts. You got those for me when I was 11!” I was too polite to refuse her kind offer so I took the clothes up to the bedroom, my heart thumping, and examined the shorts. I supposed Roger had worn them in Germany but I couldn’t remember having seen him wearing Lederhosen there.

The Lederhosen

The leather was pale faun in colour and very soft to the touch. The style was plain, with a standard fly, legs of minimal length, no turn ups and a very long slit each side, which had once been closed with laces. Trembling, I put on the shorts and fastened the belt. They were tight round my waist, so I couldn’t work them down over my hips to gain a little modesty. I dared not look in the mirror but, hoping my Y-fronts were not peeping out, I mentally gritted my teeth and went downstairs. This was much akin to what I felt before I could swim properly, when standing on a diving board, being goaded by a sadistic PE teacher to jump into the water. Paralysed with fear. And now I think of it, my swimming trunks, much as I hated them, were longer than those leather shorts and covered rather more of me!

Cycling

Nobody made any comment and off we went for our cycle ride. Although quickly realising how comfortable the soft leather felt, and how nice it was to be free of the thick flannel shirt, long shorts and itchy socks, I felt acutely self conscious as I cycled along. I might as well have been naked and I desperately hoped we wouldn’t see anyone. Gradually, the feeling lessened and I began to feel more confident, especially as Roger, with longer legs, was actually baring more flesh than me and in any case nobody we passed seemed to be remotely curious.

Back Home

Later, at home, I wanted to put my own clothes back on but Roger said he was going to stay dressed as he was so I had to follow my host’s example. I was truly terrified at the prospect of sitting down all evening, wearing these amazingly brief leather shorts, in close proximity to adults. Roger’s parents were very nice, however and if Roger was happy to sit there with his bare legs on display, I should try to do likewise. It wasn’t easy, my apprehension simmered and I contrived to remain standing as long as possible rather than to sit down, when what little there was of the shorts rode even further up my legs. To Roger and his parents, however, this apparel was perfectly normal and my insistence on standing probably suggested to them that I’d acquired saddle sores!

Next Morning

I seemed to have turned a corner the next morning and I felt less embarrassed at the prospect of Roger’s old shorts; when he had gone to the bathroom, I put them on, glanced in the mirror and they didn’t seem quite as revealing as I had feared, so long as I didn’t sit down, when the side slits pulled open alarmingly. When Roger returned, I noticed that he wore very compact Y-fronts, with high sides, like the briefs you can get today. He seemed very proud of them, saying that he’d asked specially for that style. I hadn’t realised there were such things as styles of underpants!

Cycling

The sun was shining; it was time to go off on the bikes. It was a wonderful weekend. We spent all day out and just relaxed by rivers and streams, fishing, lying in the sun and enjoying good companionship. The Lederhosen Roger wore were of dark leather, plain style and fitted with a belt. I asked him if he wore them often and he replied that he put them on in good weather but reverted to jeans in cooler conditions. He didn’t wear them in town, only when playing at home or in the countryside. He said he hoped to use them for many years. My opinion, which I kept to myself, was that if he grew much bigger he’d have to give them away, since they were already shorter on him than I thought shorts could get. We spent almost all our waking hours that weekend out and about; I grew more and more relaxed in Roger’s spare clothes, even quite proud that my arms and legs were feeling the effect of the warm sun. He once suggested swapping shorts, so that I could see what a new pair felt like. I quite enjoyed wearing his new shorts as they felt cool and roomy, even if they did not seem to be very much longer than the other pair. Meanwhile, he struggled to pull his old ones on, he could just fasten the waist but they really were indecently short, and the side slits had to remain wide open just to accommodate him. He said he had lengthened the slits with a knife when he still used to wear that pair, to make it less constricting when he was cycling.

Back to School

It was on the Sunday evening, when I had to climb back into my uniform for the train journey back to Dorset when it struck me how quickly I’d got used to those tiny little shorts and how they’d given me such a feeling of liberation. As we stood on the platform waiting for the train, I looked at Roger’s long, tanned legs and wondered if my stubby little white ones could ever look like his. It turned out to be just a brief window of enlightenment, never to be mentioned at school or at home. I was never again in company where Lederhosen would have been appropriate, at least not until our return to Germany but by then I was in my late teens and I wouldn’t contemplate willingly wearing shorts of any kind. The panic that seized me when I first held those shorts in my hands seems as tangible today, as I recall that weekend, as it was then, nearly 50 years ago.