The path to the World Cup Final for the Lionesses started in 1895

First, commiserations on losing the inaugural match yesterday of the newly minted British Ladies' Football Club, going down 7–1 to "The North". You can't win 'em all, as they (will come to) say. Second, I hope you don't mind me calling you Nettie, since I'm aware that this probably isn't your real name? In that regard, we have something in common, since I'll come clean and admit that my name isn't really Timothy Shift, either.

For you, I gather, the name has proved a useful pseudonym to deflect the criticism and trolling you correctly anticipated receiving, from having the audacity to encourage women to play association football. So determined were you that you founded the club yourself, along with Lady Florence Dixie, and are its defacto first captain. I suspect that the crowd attendance at this first match (estimated at over 10,000) may have surpassed your expectations and delighted you. Perhaps not so good, was the heckling and general derision from most of the press. It appears that the art of writing insulting newspaper headlines is alive and well in 1895, with your young player Daisy Allen being described as "a small four feet goblin". "Unseemly" they also claimed, due to the fact that the team didn't wear corsets and played in standard men's boots (without high heels). Mind you, you did wear bonnets — and play was stopped should one become dislodged, so that it could be reattached. Bizarre how the press particularly think that women heading a ball will lead to the total moral breakdown of society. Hopefully you have already started to see that your approach to more appropriate attire is bleeding into the wider Victorian Dress Reform movement, and suffrage in general.

Of course, you probably already suspect some of the reasons for this negativity. Beyond just the sexism that you consistently endure, I think the men are just jealous you can attract such crowds on a shoe-string budget. The bad news for them is the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, and although the path to broader women's involvement in football definitely doesn't run smooth, there will be no stopping it. A century or so may need to pass, which I know may sound a bit depressing, but its coming of age in the early 21st century leads directly back to you, and the British Ladies' Football Club.

Actually, I'll take a punt on what I think your real name is. Many believe it might be Mary Hutson, Nellie Hudson or even Phoebe Smith, but I am going to go out on a wing and say I think you are Jessie Smith (née Allen). If so, don't worry, it will be our secret, and you can destroy this letter so that you remain anonymous for as long as you need to. You can probably imagine the conversation down The Maynard Arms in Crouch End if news of this letter leaked: