14. Boedica, Queen of the Iceni

The chest expansion made me feel like my breast wasn’t made of flesh but armour, an iron breast-plate, and I was suddenly fearless, invincible. I could take on anything. It also made me hard-hearted. It’s as if somewhere deep within a voice was saying, look you’ve been hurt enough, don’t take anymore, fight, stand up for yourself. My new role model and alter ego became the legendary female warrior, Boedica. Hope you’ll forgive the following doggerel rap on her heroism in driving the Romans out of Britain:


Boedica, Boedica, Iceni queen,
Stood up to the Romans when they were really mean.
When her husband died they took her wealth,
Her daughters’ ‘ honour’ stole by stealth.
They flogged our queen and took her power:
A big mistake; their final hour.

Boedica, Boedica, Iceni queen,
Stood up to the Romans when they were really mean.
Called up the Britons from far and wide
‘We’re Britons not slaves,’ her shrill voice cried.
They rose in their thousands –a tribal band
Burning Roman cities across the land
Cadiliem, Verualanium brought down to dust
‘To rid ourselves of the tyrant we must.’

The Iceni warrior wore a long red cloak
Tied with a brooch, gold round her throat
Strong for the cause, brave and true
Boedica, my heroine , I want to be like you!

If I felt vulnerable, which I have so often done since the mastectomy, I could pretend I was Boedica and feel strong and feisty. There was a major drawback to this: people in my life aren’t the Romans, they’re not an enemy at all; they’re usually those closest, but the Queen of the Iceni often hardened her heart and in a shrill voice clamoured for war. If she cried war and you didn’t deserve it, she is sorry.

Boedica, the time has come to take of your iron breast-plate and lay down your sword. The battle is over and won and we can all live another day.