This Cenotaph Story is  Part II of the series on female impersonation.

Part I traced the success of the Digger Pierrots, particularly of the female impersonator Stanley Lawson, before closing with the conservativism of the inter-war years. During that period, the popularity of female impersonation saw a sharp decline in popularity, and it became more closely linked with homosexuality, largely due to the to the reassertion of traditional values imposed on returning servicemen.

World War II

With the outbreak of World War II, female impersonation made a striking return, even after its reputation had waned in the 1930s. Several performers achieved widespread acclaim during this period, many associated with the Kiwi Concert Party. ¹ 

Archival interviews, in which you can listen to his singing voice and reminiscences, reveal that both General Bernard Freyberg and Lady Freyberg were among his admirers, with Lady Freyberg even supplying gowns for his costumes.⁸ For audiences weary of war, his performances blended glamour, humour, and ambiguity in ways that both reassured and unsettled, embodying the long-standing tension in female impersonation.

At the same time, the large numbers of Allied prisoners of war meant that entertainment became a crucial part of camp life. Concerts and revue shows, often with female impersonation at their centre, were one of the few outlets available. These performances helped sustain morale, offered distraction from hardship, and reinforced a sense of community under often very difficult conditions.

As Richard Deuchar Spencer recalled from Stalag XXA in 1943:

“The other night the PoWs put on the best concert I have seen for...years. The “girls” were ravishing, their figures having been suitably reinforced with cardboard.”⁹

Unlike in World War I, however, female impersonators now contended with the legacy of inter-war homophobia and traditionalism. Military authorities and the press actively shaped public perceptions, framing these performances as wholesome morale-boosters to maintain the respectability of the military. Officials argued that, “by allowing soldiers without women to entertain each other” the shows affirmed, rather than undermined, heterosexuality.¹⁰ Reviewers and servicemen in the audience openly admired the “sex appeal” of the performers, because they insisted, they also enjoyed looking at women off-stage.¹¹

Public reassurance came in part from the American Special Service theatrical productionThis is the Army, which toured internationally and featured military personnel in female roles. The reputation of female impersonators, still hugely impacted by the interwar years, was rehabilitated through the production’s emphasis on the normality, masculinity, and combat-readiness of its soldiers.¹² Director, and serviceman, Ezra Stone found it to be a perfect chance “to break down the strong national prejudice in civilian minds against using soldiers for soldier moral…”¹³ Its success  was cemented by a Warner Brothers film version starring Ronald Reagan and George Murphy.¹⁴

Ironically, the manufactured image of the military performer as a symbol of patriotic and heterosexual masculinity offered protection to the many we would now consider LGBTQ+. As in World War I, large scale mobilisation “relaxed the social constraints of peacetime…“bringing out”” many gay men and women in the process.¹⁵ Having already proved their masculinity through service, male peformers could “enjoy the benefits of the same wartime relaxation of rigid gender roles that had allowed women to enter both industry and the military.”¹⁶ In attempting to reinforce heterosexual respectability, the military inadvertently preserved a space where queer personnel could “camp it up.” ¹⁷ Akin to World War I, the diverse range of people brought together by the war fostered forms of acceptance and flexibility in social codes, adding nuance and complexity to military life.

Post World War II

As the nature of conflicts involving New Zealand personnel shifted, so did their military entertainment. Post-World War II engagements, such as the Malayan and Borneo Confrontations or the Vietnam War, did not require the same level of mass mobilisation, and forces were increasingly made up of volunteers rather than conscripts. Maintaining moral was therefore less critical and the military consciously reshaped their public image, to reflect its new, often peacekeeping, roles.¹⁸ Entertainment followed suit, placing greater emphasis on Māori and Pacific performance, in step with the national revival of kapa haka and even more broadly indigenous cultural revival across the Pacific.¹⁹ These shifts also reflected changes in popular culture showmanship of Sir Howard Morrison to the sounds of The Quin Tiki’s and other touring acts.

In the Defence Force, Māori Concert Parties and kapa haka groups not only lifted morale within the ranks but also acted as cultural ambassadors, using music and dance to strengthen bonds with local communities. During the Korean War, the influence of Māori performance was such that Korean civilians learned Pōkarekare Ana—a song still remembered by the older generation today.²⁰ 

This embrace of local cultural forms also reflected a growing maturity in New Zealand’s national identity. Military entertainment became less dependent on British or American models and more confident in projecting an image rooted in Aotearoa’s own heritage. This shift did not erase earlier traditions, but it marked a new era where the Defence Force’s cultural voice was increasingly its own.

These changes coincided with a conscious move by the Defence Force to curtail female impersonation in official entertainment, part of a wider wave of post-war traditionalism. At the same time, the growing visibility of LGBTQ+ activism brought drag into popular culture, linking female impersonation and queerness more than ever before. The ‘golden days’ of female impersonation as family entertainment were truly over, but rather than retreating into the shadows of history, the practice had garnered a new and energetic audience in civilian contexts.

Legacy of female impersonation in the military

One figure who encapsulated the post-war legacy of female impersonation in military life was Carmen Rupe (Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Hauā, Ngāti Heke-a-Wai) —an entertainer, sex worker, business owner, anti-discrimination activist, drag queen, and transgender woman whose career spanned both New Zealand and Australia. In her memoir, Carmen : my life : as told to Paul Martin, she recalls first encountering military circles while living in Auckland and working at Korma Mills.²² Carmen maintained a busy social calendar that involved weekly parties at the homes of other drag queens, always attended by navy men where she performed hula routines that blended drag and striptease.²³

Carmen’s formal military service began when she was called up on the 19^th Compulsory Military Training intake. Initially, “rather fearful of what might be in store,” she completed basic training and was posted to the artillery before transferring to Burnham Military Camp near Christchurch. Burnham provided a visible queer community, “a number of obvious camp fellows in my unit,” who formed a supportive “subgroup” that was largely left alone by “the non-camp majority”, save for the occasional remark.²⁴ Camp here refers to a flamboyant and humorous style of self-presentation associated with queer culture. Unlike the hidden networks of queer servicemen and women during the World Wars, this group was openly queer and found safety in numbers.

Carmen even recalled that “we camp ones got our own back in a way” at the farewell concert that marked the end of training.²⁵ Each hut was required to put on an act and Carmen’s “semi-drag” routine, featuring her signature hula, playfully pushed boundaries of what was acceptable. She later noted that it “would have been banned if we’d had a dress rehearsal,” yet it drew more applause than any other performance.²⁶  

Though female impersonation faced periods of condemnation and suppression, Carmen’s experience illustrates the persistence of this long-standing performance tradition. By the time she enlisted, its legacy was already woven into in public perceptions of military life. In the 1970s and 1980s, popular television series such as M*A*S*H, It Ain’t Half Hot Mum and Blackadder Goes Forth satirised female impersonation as a way for characters to shirk duties or stave off boredom. While these portrayals often carried homophobic undertones, they nonetheless presented the practice as a familiar and accepted element of service, not necessarily tied to identity or sexuality.

The informal protections extended to queer personnel during World War II had, to some degree, persisted in the post-war era, creating space for acts of subtle subversion within the armed forces. These performances challenged the rigid image of the hypermasculine service person and undermined the notion of the military as a purely heteronormative institution. Carmen’s account, alongside the wider visibility of such acts, serves to humanise service members and opens the door to a more honest dialogue about the diversity and complexity of military life.

Conclusion

For centuries, female impersonation has navigated the anxieties, boundaries, and complexities of sexual and gender expression. Within the rigid structures of the military, it created a striking contrast—flourishing under wartime’s unique social conditions despite repeated attempts at suppression. It operated as a liminal space in which identity could be explored under the guise of tradition and enforced masculinity.

This was never a practice confined to a binary of heterosexuality and homosexuality. Instead, it existed within its own ambiguous, set of social rules, allowing queer personnel to carve out community and solidarity in unexpected settings. The trailblazing work of Stanley Lawson, John Hunter, and so many others, inadvertently created lasting space within the ranks for the LGBTQI+ community.

This legacy continues and in 2019 the New Zealand Defence Force became the first military in the world to be awarded the Rainbow Tick, an independent accreditation for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBTQ+) inclusion.²⁷ The milestone came 25 years after the lifting of the ban on LGBTQ+ personnel, marking significant progress towards a more inclusive and open defence force.

From the parade ground to the performance stage, female impersonation’s journey through the ranks reflects a broader shift in Aotearoa New Zealand, towards a military culture that can honour tradition while embracing diversity.

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