Catherine “Cat” Burton has spent most of her life navigating worlds in which she was never expected to belong. Born
into an aviation family, she began flying professionally in 1972, at a time when there were no female professional
pilots in the United Kingdom. What followed was an extraordinary career spanning some 45 years, during which she
flew everything from Vickers Viscounts to Boeing 747s and eventually became a long-haul captain with British
Airways. Yet while aviation gave Cat a life she loved, it also provided a remarkably effective place to hide a part
of herself that she had not yet fully understood.
Cat eventually came out as transgender in her late fifties and returned to the flight deck as herself, supported by
British Airways and, as she discovered, by many of the colleagues she had feared might reject her. Her story is not
simply about transition or aviation. It is about identity, courage, humour and the extraordinary freedom that comes
from finally stopping the exhausting work of pretending to be someone else. It is also a story about what happens
when a workplace chooses not merely to tolerate difference, but to recognise the value of the person standing in
front of them. Cat went on to become a diversity champion, an advocate for women and minorities in aviation and,
after retiring from British Airways, a flying instructor who clearly has no intention whatsoever of slowing down. As
she puts it rather succinctly, there will be “plenty of time for that when I’m dead.”
Monika: Your father was a pilot, so aviation was part of your childhood. Do you remember the first time you looked
at an airplane and thought, “That is what I want to do”?
Catherine: I’m not sure about looking, but hearing is my earliest memory. My dad, by this time, had left the RCAF
and taken demobilisation in Wales, having met my mother at a dance in Cowbridge. He joined the Royal Auxiliary Air
Force, flying Vampires and Meteors and, when I was six months old, he sat me in the cockpit of his Vampire and
started the engine. Early jet engines were incredibly noisy and the Goblin in the Vampire is still well known at
airshows for its high-pitched scream. It frightened me so much that I came out in a rash, much to my mum’s fury, but
my future was never in doubt from then on. At the age of four, I was already learning navigation from Dad.
Monika: You began flying professionally in the early 1970s, at a time when the flight deck was overwhelmingly
male. What did the aviation world of 1972 look and feel like to a young pilot starting out?
Catherine: You’re quite right. In 1972, there were no female professional pilots in the UK, nor any from the global
majority. Most captains, of course, were ex-WWII at that stage, though Cambrian had been sponsoring pilots for about
eight or ten years by the time I came through that system. It was a truly homophobic and transphobic profession. It
was common for pilots suspected of being gay to be referred to in disparaging terms. There was one transgender pilot
in Cambrian, but he was effectively bullied into detransitioning to keep his job.
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“Once you catch the aviation bug,
you’re hooked for life.” |
Monika: You have flown Viscounts, 737s, 747s, 757s and 777s, and you were the first line co-pilot at British
Airways to fly the 747-400. If I gave you a completely free choice today, which aircraft would you happily climb
into tomorrow morning?
Catherine: Oh, no question. That 747-400. The finest aircraft of my career, though, funnily enough. These days I
teach people to fly the Embraer Praetor, and that has become my second favourite.
Monika: You have famously joked that if someone broke one of your bones, it would be like a stick of Blackpool
rock because it would say “Boeing” all the way through. After 45 years in aviation, is there any part of you that
still automatically looks up when you hear an aircraft engine?
Catherine: Oh gosh, yes. I’m as enthusiastic about aviation as I ever was. To be honest, it’s more like a disease or
an addiction than a hobby or a profession. Once you catch the aviation bug, you’re hooked for life.
Monika: Was there ever a particular moment in your youth when you thought, “I am different,” or did the
realisation exist more as a quiet feeling that followed you for decades?
Catherine: I should have known at about the age of 14. I tried dressing in my mum’s clothes with a school friend. I
looked like a rugby player in a dress. The friend looked better, and I spent most of my life thinking I knew who I
was, someone who found transgender women attractive. I now know that was my own desire to be myself being sublimated
vicariously.
Monika: You spent decades being seen by colleagues as a male pilot while knowing there was another part of
yourself that you were keeping hidden. Did flying actually make it easier to hide your gender identity, because
the cockpit gave you such a strong professional identity?
Catherine: Very much so. In fact, it’s often levelled at transgender women who transition late in life as a
criticism: “You were such a male male.” We go to extremes to camouflage ourselves. Flying, for example. I was also a
SCUBA instructor trainer.
Monika: Do you remember the first time you met a transgender woman in person? What was that experience like, and
how did it make you feel?
Catherine: The first would have been in a bar in Birmingham. At the time, of course, I thought that’s who I was, a
man attracted to transgender women. I met a few and started dating one in particular. We went on to have a 10-year
relationship.
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| “We go to extremes to camouflage ourselves.” |
Monika: Your medical leave in 2014 unexpectedly created the space in which you could finally live as Catherine. Do
you ever wonder whether, without that interruption, you might have continued hiding indefinitely?
Catherine: I knew I’d be me eventually, but I still thought it would be a career breaker to transition. A couple of
online friends started a Facebook group for Transgender Aerospace Professionals and Supporters. They were American
captains and convinced me it was possible. The grounding was instrumental, though. Up until then, I’d been myself
quite often off duty and had started my medical transition by having facial electrolysis to remove my very strong
beard. US$11,000 worth.
During the grounding, I had no reason to play the role I’d been stuck in my whole life,
though, and was myself full time, with one exception. Two of my grandkids had never met me, so I went back into the
male role to take them to lunch. By evening, I was an emotional wreck and knew I could never pretend to be him
again. I had already told my manager at British Airways, but had said I’d probably come back as the old me. When I
called her to say it would be Cat who came back, her reply was, “Oh Cat. That’s great. All the hard work I’ve done
to find out what we need to change won’t go to waste.”
Monika: Choosing a name is such a deeply personal decision, one that can hold layers of significance and meaning.
How did you come to choose the name Catherine? Does it carry a special resonance for you, perhaps representing a
part of your journey or embodying a particular feeling or aspiration?
Catherine: I was wary of the tendency of transgender women to choose unusual names, so I started where Mum and Dad
would have, with the lists of names popular in 1952. I tried a few with a couple of friends, and Catherine was the
one that I felt most comfortable with, though I usually go by Cat. My second name was one I knew my mother would
have chosen, Suzanne.
Monika: I remember the time right after my transition, it was pure euphoria. My closet is still full of dresses
and shoes that I literally bought by the dozens back then, and I must have tried on hundreds. I felt like I had to
make up for all those years that were taken from me. Did you feel the same way?
Catherine: Not really, unless you count the time when I was, effectively, in a dual-role, non-binary situation,
playing the male role for work and family and just being me for fun. There were a few experiments, but I had such a
strong sense of self that nothing stuck other than the me I am these days.
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“I had such a strong sense of self
that nothing stuck other than the me I am these days.” |
Monika: When you came out, did your mother have a chance to embrace you as her daughter? And do you feel any
connection to her in the way you look, carry yourself, or even in your style and mannerisms?
Catherine: I came out to Mum by showing her a portfolio of photos on my iPad. I’d asked her to come for a visit to
break some news. Initially, she said, “Oh. Who is this?” I said nothing, and she kept flicking through as the
realisation dawned. She said, “Oh. It’s you. Oh. Is that what you wanted to tell me? I thought you had cancer or
something.” My mum was the coolest woman I have ever known. The greatest compliment people pay me, and it happens
often, is that I remind them of Mum.
Monika: For a lot of trans girls, loneliness can become a part of life. Did you ever feel that, or were you lucky
enough to avoid it?
Catherine: I guess it’s a factor. I don’t expect a life partner. I’m not even sure of my sexuality. I usually say
I’m pansexual, as I’m gender-blind in who I’m attracted to, but I’m probably more panromantic and asexual, as I have
no real sex drive. And I’m 100% OK with that.
Monika: You told British Airways that you would probably return to work as your old self, and then eventually
realised that you simply could not do it. Was there a moment when you thought, “Well, this has become rather
inconvenient for my retirement timetable?”
Catherine: Not at all. By then, the Gender Recognition Act 2004 and the Equality Act 2010 were both protecting me,
and British Airways soon demonstrated to me that they weren’t just paying lip service, but were actively protective
and proud of me. My colleagues were also terrific. I remember one incident in Shanghai. In the crew room were my two
co-pilots, another captain whom I knew, a good friend of mine who was cabin crew on my flight, and me. I said I was
heading off to bed, and when I left, the captain commented that he couldn’t understand why I’d put myself through
all this. The cabin crew member told me that my two co-pilots had defended me like lions, saying that I was so much
nicer and better to fly with now that I’d stopped pretending. They were right. I had been a grumpy old so-and-so
before transition.
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“I was so much nicer and better to fly
with now that I’d stopped pretending.” |
Monika: British Airways did more than simply tolerate your transition. You have said they were proud of you. Why
do you think the company responded so well when you had every reason to fear the opposite?
Catherine: When I was called into the chief pilot’s office, about six weeks after returning to work, I was worried
he’d list complaints, but he soon made me relax by telling me he’d actually had a string of pilots tell him I was a
much better captain to fly with now.
Then he asked me to join the diversity team. I asked if that was so that I could mentor those following behind me.
“Oh. Are there any?” he said. “Well, seven emailed me as soon as my return to work was announced.” “Oh. Well, you
can do that too, but you may not realise it, but just being a woman is a diversity issue and we want you on the team
for STEM outreach to girls’ schools.” I asked him if that might not come back to bite British Airways, but he was
confident.
That’s when he commented that I was British Airways’ most senior woman pilot. I’ve always been wary of usurping the
pioneering women’s story, so it’s one time I will usually spill my T if someone says I must have been one of the
first women. My own history as the first transgender pilot at BA is my claim to fame, and I’m proud to acknowledge
the women, like Lynn Barton, who were the pioneers.
END OF PART 1
All photos: courtesy of Catherine Burton.
© 2026 - Monika Kowalska
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