Historical biography always involves a certain amount of detective work, but Professor Zoë Playdon has had to contend with an additional challenge in the writing of her first book, The Hidden Case of Ewan Forbes. As the title implies, information about her subject was not just scant, but much had been actively suppressed. Now Playdon’s determined labours have brought this extraordinary story to light.
Playdon first came across Sir Ewan Forbes-Sempill in 1996 as the result of advising on a legal challenge to allow transgender people to change their birth certificate – something that had been the norm in the UK until the late 1960s, although it was unclear how or why the law had changed. In the wake of their defeat, they were approached by a solicitor named Terrence Walton, who provided a missing piece of the puzzle.
Walton had represented a trans woman, April Ashley, in a landmark case in 1969. She was a model who had married the Hon Arthur Corbett, but when the relationship broke down and Ashley tried to claim financial support, Corbett took her to court on the grounds that she was male (as recorded on her birth certificate, which she had not changed) and that therefore the marriage had never been legitimate. The case created a precedent that meant a person’s birth certificate was the final word on their legal sex. Walton told Playdon and her colleagues that he and Ashley had been made aware at the time of an earlier case also concerned with establishing an individual’s legal sex, but told they could not refer to it. “All traces of it had been removed from the public eye.”
It took Playdon two years and a good deal of persistence to gain access to the 500-page transcript of Sir Ewan’s court case, and it was not until her retirement in 2014 that she was able to devote a further five years of research to his life and historical significance. The result is a detailed and wide-ranging work, piecing together the largely forgotten story of one individual and situating it in a broader context of trans rights, gay rights and the laws of primogeniture over the past century.
Sir Ewan’s life is the stuff of costume drama, and it’s no surprise to learn that the television rights have already been sold. He was born in 1912 at Craigievar Castle near Balmoral, the third child of the Lord and Lady Sempill, was registered as female and christened Elisabeth. “But as far as Ewan was concerned,” Playdon writes, “he was a boy, and his certainty about this was so firm that his tranquil memoir, The Aul’ Days, published when he was 72, mentions no other possibility.” His parents seem to have had an ambivalent attitude to their youngest child’s gender. His mother in particular appears surprisingly progressive in some ways; in adolescence, she takes him to European medical specialists for treatments that sound like testosterone injections. But he is still expected to appear in women’s clothes on formal occasions, and to be presented at court as a debutante even after he has developed facial hair. He waited until after his parents’ deaths to change his name and his birth certificate formally so that he could legally marry.
At the time, this was “a relatively easy process”, requiring letters from a doctor, though Ewan’s family connections and his own medical career clearly smoothed his path. But in his 50s, Ewan’s quiet life with his wife Patty was thrown into chaos by the death of his older brother, William, the 10th Baronet Forbes of Craigievar. The title was limited by primogeniture; only males could inherit, and William had no sons. At William’s funeral, like the villain in a melodrama, Ewan’s cousin John appeared, claiming his right to the title on the grounds that Ewan was not a man.
There followed a legal battle with so many dramatic twists and turns it almost stretches credulity; bribery, sibling rivalry and the sudden death of a key witness is only the half of it. The potential ramifications of the verdict were huge, not only for Sir Ewan, who could have faced two years in prison for perjury, along with Patty, if he was found to be female, but for the future of male succession. “There are some interests that it is more important to protect than the rights of individuals,” as Walton says darkly.
As emeritus professor of medical humanities at the University of London and a campaigner with 30 years’ experience in LGBTQ+ rights, Playdon is well placed to examine this story in context and she tells it, as you would expect, from the perspective of her own views on the issues. Ewan Forbes’s story, and the cases that have a bearing on his, are presented with empathy and respect, though at times her strong views can tip her into hyperbole. It is a shame, too, that she feels the need to deploy the derogatory term “Terf” repeatedly throughout her concluding chapter, “Ewan’s Legacy”, which presents selective arguments from the current debate over gender identity. Despite these jarring notes, Playdon has unearthed a fascinating and important story, the impact of which is sure to reverberate through future discussions on trans rights and the rights of daughters to inherit.
The Hidden Case of Ewan Forbes by Zoë Playdon is published by Bloomsbury (£20). To support the Guardian and Observer order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply