THE CONNOISSEUR
A tale of appreciation for things past by strzeka
Wood has a natural glow. It is easily worked into new forms and possesses an innate strength which belies its beauty. Hugh Slater is a skilled carpenter, leatherworker, shoemaker, with a well-equipped workshop at the bottom of his back yard. The pieces which he produces and restores are displayed behind glass in handcrafted cabinets in both his bedroom and living room, artfully illuminated to display the material to its best advantage. Almost the entire collection is on display at any time, the exception being items which are in active use for the purpose for which they were made. Slater inspects his collection regularly, weighing in his mind each item’s advantages and disadvantages, appraising old favourites, considering recent additions.
His collection of wooden legs is almost entirely from the early twentieth century. Those pieces produced during or soon after the great war tend to be very basic, simple conical shins with toeless wooden feet attached crudely to the ankle with no attempt to prettify the joint. It is quite understandable. Thousands of wooden legs were needed for the shell-shocked young amputees returning from the trenches every month. They were worn until they broke or until the wearer could afford something more advanced or more comfortable. Then the old leg was retired to the back of a wardrobe or to the attic, no longer needed but too personal an object to discard. There was still an emotional attachment to the user’s first wooden leg after his return home.
Slater has always been fascinated by the construction and appearance of the legs he collects and the manner in which they are connected to the remains of the user’s truncated limb. The legs, he thinks, are works of art and imagination in their lower part, below the knee. When the user’s leg ends halfway down the thigh, only the upper part of a wooden leg needs to be carefully worked to conform as closely as possible to the shape of the stump. Several items in Slater’s collection comprise legs with shiny and ruddy leather sockets tightened with long boot laces. Slater has rescued many old sockets which were dried out and brittle on arrival. He patiently fed natural oils and preservative minerals into the material until the leather was restored to perfection, boasting only the scars and signs of wear earned over years of grateful use.
Other items feature hollow wooden thighs sculpted to conform to the wearer’s remaining stump. The ends are usually semi-spherical to resemble natural knees and form an integral part of the artificial knee mechanism. Slater pays close attention to the metal fittings holding the prostheses together. Most of the struts and braces are steel and can be easily restored to shine with their original brilliance. He owns two legs whose fittings are brass, almost certainly manufactured immediately after the first world war when there was a desperate shortage of steel. The brass fittings are always the most likely to need considerable work to restore them.
Slater opens the glass front of a cabinet and withdraws one such leg. It was made for an ex‑soldier who stood ten centimetres shorter than Slater. The shin is straight and semicircular in cross‑section and an additional piece of wood has been added to its upper half to suggest a calf muscle. It looks unnatural but under a pair of trousers, it gives the impression of a natural leg. Slater compares the different woods. The fake calf muscle is almost certainly oak. There is a large blemish in its centre making it unsuitable for use in a piece of furniture. The knot adds character. The wooden thigh socket is restored to perfection, its upper edge modified and personalised, and the brass braces holding the sections together glow in the cabinet’s spotlights. Slater sets the artificial leg on the floor and closes the cabinet. He takes the limb to his bedroom and opens his closet.
The veteran’s leg is shorter than Slater’s own, something it has in common with most of the old wooden limbs. Men were shorter on average back then. Slater is skilled at producing built-up shoes and boots which he fits to the wooden feet to extend the leg’s reach. The boots are always black leather, always highly polished. The ten centimetre lift on the boot he selects is an impressive sight. Slater realises that the combination of an artificial leg wearing an orthopaedic boot with an internal raise is so unusual that no-one would ever suspect that the limb wearing it is actually artificial. Slater is grateful to have a genuine need to wear such distinctive footwear. He spent a year producing five built-up boots, with internal raises between three and fifteen centimetres. The tallest boot awaits on its shelf, unused. Slater does not yet possess an antique wooden leg short enough to warrant its use.
The wooden leg now stands beside Slater’s bed. It is a hefty piece of equipment at almost seven kilos. It is now, after months of careful work and adjustment, perfectly comfortable but tiring to wear for more than a couple of hours. The knee mechanism is quite primitive compared with versions which were developed later. Wearing the leg for a longer period of time inevitably results in the user limping, adopting the unmistakable gait of a man wearing an unsophisticated artificial leg. Slater finds it to be uniquely masculine and admirable. He insists on restoring the heavy wooden legs to their original condition which, he feels, includes leaving the knee mechanism in the condition it was designed to be used. Two or three of his legs have simple hinges which were treacherous for the novice amputees to use. They must have suffered many falls and become dissatisfied with their new artificial legs. Therefore they were put away in hidey holes, out of sight and out of mind for months, years, decades. Slater purchases them and removes a century of neglect. The result of his work is a pristine wooden leg in mint condition, carefully adapted to his personal taste and requirements.
Slater returns to his living room and sits at his computer. He checks the availability of suitable wooden legs on several commercial sites. This evening there is a beautiful limb available for sale. Slater reads the specifications carefully. Made in nineteen thirty-four in Milwaukee. Used for several weeks only. Its owner died prematurely. Sold by the grandson. Asking price seven hundred dollars. Slater admires the leg. The seller has provided a dozen photographs from every angle. Its only drawback is the simple fact that it is a right leg prosthesis. Slater collects only left legs for restoration. Despite that, Slater bookmarks the page and determines to consider purchasing the leg for his collection for merely decorative purposes. This one is an especially fine example. He ends his search and enters a forum for enthusiasts of amputation. He has found another man, much older than himself, who shares his interest and with whom he has sometimes competed to win the sale of a prosthesis. The man, a Bavarian, is currently online and Slater sends him a friendly greeting. They are soon messaging about their findings and sightings. Slater mentions the right prosthesis he has just seen and the Bavarian replies that he has also seen it but regards it as unnecessarily expensive.
Slater spends an hour reading interesting posts and viewing new photographs of artificial limbs and others of men using them. The spark of an idea comes to him and he considers its implications. He returns to the commercial site and checks the length of the right wooden leg. Its shin is two inches longer than his own natural leg. Despite that, Slater finds it a desirable item and decides to purchase the item outright, without haggling. Half an hour later, he is its owner. The leg will arrive by courier post within a few days. He is delighted with his purchase and shuts down his computer. There is still time to watch a late news broadcast before retiring for the night.
Next morning, Slater immediately remembers that he will be using his wooden leg with its built-up boot. He rolls a fresh clean liner onto his stump and pulls the prosthesis toward him. The wooden socket envelopes his stump tightly and he stands, pushing into it until the thick upper rim fits comfortably around his groin. Gingerly, Slater balances and tests his weight on the limb, swinging his stump to test the mechanical knee. It moves easily. Slater knows from several year’s experience how to walk with a basic hinged knee and kicks the limb forward. Even from above, the large expanse of the built-up boot on the wooden foot looks ominous and impressive. Slater smiles and limps naked to the bathroom. Minutes later, he returns to his bedroom and doffs the wooden leg. He feeds it into his uniform trousers, struggling slightly to get the built-up boot through the narrow cuff of the trousers. He inserts his stump back into the wooden socket and his natural leg into the other trouser leg and stands. He puts on a fresh white short-sleeved shirt, his uniform tie and takes his jacket to the kitchen where he brews coffee and eats a couple of slices of toast and marmalade. He rinses his mug under the tap, picks up his leather satchel and limps out to the street. It is four twenty in the morning. A staff bus will pick him up in a few moments and collect a couple of other drivers on the way to the Ealing Common depôt. He greets his colleagues and sits alone on a double seat, hands on his thighs. The wooden thigh is thicker, wider than his flesh leg. He likes the sensation of wearing a century old wooden leg, supported on the shocking built-up boot. There will be many opportunities throughout the working day to touch his solid thigh. Slater enjoys his work. It is socially useful, surprisingly demanding and very well-paid. He has been driving Underground trains since he left university at twenty-four. Academia would have been the obvious choice but his expensive burgeoning hobby demanded a good regular income. He makes five journeys between Richmond and Barking and returns to his suburban bungalow.
He has become accustomed to the quirks of his wooden leg and how the built-up boot affects his stride. He has a conspicuous limp and notices glances as he strolls home from the supermarket. Women look at his shaved bald head and bushy black beard. Men look at his crippled foot and his limp. They see a handsome man thwarted, in their opinion, by disability. Slater savours the weight on his stump and the regular beat of the built-up boot on the pavement. The vibrations he feels in his left stump remind him of the thoughts he had earlier about being able to wear the new wooden leg, created for a right stump. How would it feel to use two heavy wooden legs restored to immaculate condition, to use nineteenth century prosthetics in the twenty-first? How would his gait look? Would he be allowed to continue to drive an Underground train as a legless man? He decides to look into company policy.
He makes an evening meal and checks the status of his purchase. The seller has passed the limb to the shipper and it now awaits space on a cargo aircraft. Slater appraises his built-up wooden leg and is satisfied to use it until he finds new inspiration in his collection. The built-up boot forces his gait to accommodate the change in length of his lower leg. His left leg appears to be injured to outsiders. The gleaming wooden leg perfectly emulates the gait of a man with a short leg deformity. No onlooker would suspect Slater of being an amputee. Satisfied with his lot, he retires for the night to be ready for another workday.
– – – – – – -
He takes delivery of the limb six days later. Slater has commenced a three week long period of working the evening shift and is home to accept his package. It is heavier than he had anticipated. Eight kilos, according to the customs declaration. It weighs almost as much as a natural leg. Perhaps intentionally so. Some legless men appreciate additional heft in an artificial leg. The limb is almost a century old. Slater carries the package to the living room and fetches a vegetable knife from the kitchen to open the package.
The limb is lighter in colour than in the online photographs. Possibly beech. Slater will look into the likely material on a map of the area surrounding Milwaukee. It was probably manufactured from a local resource. He lifts the wooden leg out of its packing, cradling it in his arms and stands it upright. The upper rim of its smooth wooden socket reaches his hip bone. The leg was obviously made for a gentleman ten or twelve centimetres taller than himself. Slater stands upright beside it and stretches his body erect. How would it feel to be tall enough to wear this beautifully preserved wooden leg? Slater is a little envious. He is not short – six feet tall in the old currency – but another few centimetres would be welcome. He likes the figure he projects with his meticulously maintained baldness and carefully shaped beard. The limp he sometimes exaggerates for his own amusement adds to his public mystique. Who is this man, he imagines people thinking. So striking, so handsome, so masculine. Disabled. Slater knows what he looks like. He shakes his head and laughs at the impossibility of ever using this latest addition to his collection. It needs revarnishing and there is a long scratch on the wooden thigh which he will have to disguise. The thigh socket is hollow to accommodate a long stump. Who was the gentleman it was made for? How did he become disabled and what led to his early death? Slater was too circumspect to delve into personal details. He knew little about the provenance of his collection. It was enough for him to respect and restore its contents. But this new leg reawakens his fantasies about wearing it. It is a very desirable object. Over the next weeks, Slater will sand the old varnish off down to the bare wood, polish the steel struts until they gleam like mirrors and repair minor defects like the long scratch on the thigh and any others he discovers. He can start work at the weekend. For the time being, he seats the leg on a dining chair and admires his purchase.
The work goes well. The steel braces unscrew without effort and the old varnish is brittle and flakes off easily. With the upper thigh socket separated from the lower leg, Slater can inspect it more closely. He compares its dimensions with those of the leg he was wearing before he changed to the current leg with the built-up boot. The socket’s rim is thick with sensuous organic curves. There is ample material available should some adjustment be required. During the week, Slater has imperceptibly concluded that he will wear the new longer prosthesis. He thinks about its extra length and its more perfect proportions on his tedious journeys under central London. There is no physical reason why a man wearing two artificial legs should not operate an Underground train. In case of an accident or severe delay, it is his duty as a driver to escort his passengers to safety through the darkness. It would be difficult to negotiate the tunnels along the filthy ballast and ancient sleepers with two wooden legs. But he has not heard of any of his colleagues ever needing to do such a thing.
Two weeks later, the leg is ready for reassembly. The knee mechanism now swings silently. The gleaming steel braces complement the slightly deeper tone of the satin wood, coaxed to prominence with a tinted acrylic varnish. It has dried to a glassy finish. Slater tidies his workbench and stores his tools and other materials in their appointed places. He hooks the leg in the crook of an arm and goes back inside. He wants the leg on display in his living room cabinet but first he must select one of the older legs for replacement. There is a leg, stained dark like mahogany, whose colour does not suit the others on display. The new leg can take its place. He removes the dark leg and places it by his bedroom door. The new leg fits in its place perfectly, conspicuous only by its additional length. He admired the row of wooden legs. There are nine in this cabinet with room for three more and another half dozen in his bedroom cabinet. And he is wearing the sixteenth.
Slater remembers something he had been intending to do. He fetches another built-up boot from his closet. He sits and removes the boot from his artificial leg and inspects it for wear. It could benefit from being polished. The boot he has selected has a shorter raise. Slater knows that he will be able to swing the artificial leg more easily when there is more clearance under the boot. Walking will be a little easier with the risk of a little back strain. To counteract the extra effort, he will use one of his long, thick walking sticks. He has several. They are all the same length and shape. Only the colour of the wood is different with one exception. His most exclusive walking stick is lacquered glossy black and its expansive derby handle is certified sterling silver. It was a gift for his eighteenth birthday from his grandmother shortly before she passed away. She had always been the most supportive family member after the accident, never regarding her disabled grandson as any different from his former self. She had been married to a war invalid for forty-one years. His grandfather had lost a hand and was never seen without his scuffed and discoloured arm socket and split hook. Slater can barely remember his grandfather although he has vague memories of sitting on the man’s lap and toying with the hook. Slater forces the boot onto the wooden foot and ties the laces neatly.
The evening shift effectively prevents him from communicating one-on-one with his on-line acquaintances except at weekends. He chats with his German friend and describes how the long prosthetic right leg has responded to the restoration work. The German is blunt and asks why Slater does not simply have his right leg amputated so he can use the artificial limb. Slater is surprised – surely the man knows that Slater is already an amputee. He learns that the German knows that. Why not be a bilateral above-knee amputee, he asks.
The conversation continues until late. Slater retires for the night and lays awake until the early hours imagining himself to be a bilateral amputee and its implications for work, leisure, everyday domestic life, his prospects for finding a life companion as a severely disabled man with an obsession for wooden legs. He imagines himself to be lying in bed at that moment with two leg stumps. His left stump twitches and he kneads his genitals with it. He does not ejaculate but falls asleep and dreams of pulling into an Underground station where all the passengers are naked and standing on two wooden legs.
His colleagues rib him on Monday afternoon when he arrives for his shift. They have not seen him using a walking stick before although they are well aware of his disability and the potential need for a stick. Slater returns their banter and leaves the stick in his locker. He limps along the track to his train and climbs into the cab. He reverses out onto the feeder track at half walking pace, changes gear and waits for a signal to start his first run of the day, a rush hour service to Upminster. His artificial left leg rests on the heel of the built-up boot and moves uncontrollably from side to side as he negotiates the curves into Earl’s Court. Once again he imagines himself doing the same journey, the same work, balancing on the leather driver’s seat with two heavy wooden legs, one of them the long right leg he is proud of owning. His German friend’s comments have subconsciously reinforced his determination to use it one day.
It is early April. The evenings are noticeably longer now. The long and tedious run eastbound looks different in the light from the setting sun and the sky is ruddy with clouds streaking across his outlook, catching the last of the light. His destination is Ealing Broadway. It will be dark when he arrives and after that he has three runs between Barking and Richmond. He hefts his artificial leg into a more comfortable position for his stump and slows as the train arrives at Plaistow.
Slater has several holidays accrued which he has not taken. Six. There are several Bank Holidays between now and August when he had intended to take his summer holiday, not that he intended to go anywhere. It is fun to travel but travelling as an amputee, especially abroad, is fraught with the usual difficulties and he would rather simply avoid them. As a university student, he spent a week with his mates on the Costa del Sol but found the drunkenness and general irresponsibility to be a disappointment. He had once had a few too many beers and been unable to walk back to their hotel. Two of his friends had carried him by his wrists and ankles but his leg had come loose and slipped down. They had left him broken and almost senseless on a bench with his artificial leg poking out of his jeans. He had awoken in the late morning in his hotel bed with no recollection of how he had got back. He believes that was the night when he lost trust in others. His friends had laughed at him and let him down. He would prefer to be alone and rely on himself.
This year, he realises, he could have a six week summer vacation if he works the upcoming bank holidays and takes his winter week into account. He will have to discuss it with his supervisor but there should be no problem since he wants a comparatively late holiday. There will be time enough to recover from an amputation. Six weeks will be enough. Next week he reverts to the morning shift and will have an opportunity to ask advice about a voluntary amputation. He knows about dry ice and is well aware of the irony that he works on a railway. It would be easy enough to have a seven carriage tube train pass over his leg but then his employers would know about his leglessness immediately. Slater has read all the conditions for employment and the requirements for healthy drivers. He knows that one or two strings were pulled on his behalf and although there have been amputee drivers before, none of them walked on two artificial legs. Slater believes that he could return to work wearing two wooden legs without his employer being immediately aware. By the time the truth is revealed, he will have proved himself to be as capable as any full-limbed colleague. He intends to milk the devotee site of all possible information about where and how to have his right leg converted into a mid thigh stump to match his left. He heaves his prosthesis into a new position with his left hand, his right firmly gripping the dead man’s handle.
A new search on eBay produces an interesting find. An Austrian is selling a wooden leg manufactured in Cluj, Romania, in nineteen thirty-nine. It has a conventional wooden socket and a simple hinged knee. The lower leg is a peg but uniquely, instead of being cylindrical, it is elegantly shaped to suggest the natural curve of a calf muscle through trousers. Slater finds it a fascinating item, although he has never considered peg legs. There are only two photographs. The price is attractive. Slater sends the seller an email asking for more details. He wants to know the peg’s dimensions. If he can potentially wear the item, it is another prosthesis for his future right stump.
The peg leg is a little shorter than he expected. The socket is approximately the correct size and has sufficient depth. The Austrian owner has provided several detailed photographs with dimensions accurate to the millimetre. Slater owns several wooden legs which are of a similar length. He would stand a little shorter but that need not be a problem. Towards the end of the evening, he returns to eBay and purchases the peg leg.
Slater has recently seen one or two photographs of an existing amputee who has suddenly reappeared missing his other leg too. He does not know where the man lives nor his name. He posts on the devotee forum asking if anyone knows the man and, if so, to forward Slater’s email address to the man. He explains that he is also already an amputee and wishes to ask about where the man’s second amputation was done. He does not hold out much hope. Enquiries like this are usually ignored and come to nothing. However, three evenings later, he receives a private message in broken English from the man in the photograph. He admits nothing yet. He needs to learn to trust Slater before he will divulge any information about his second amputation. His reticence confirms Slater’s suspicion that it was a voluntary amputation. Slater explains his situation, his interest in wooden legs and his latest acquisition, and expresses his hope that the man might help Slater contact the same surgeon.
A week passes. Slater receives a new message in a foreign language from someone called Cihad447. He copies the text into a translator and learns that the language is Turkish. Cihad explains that he had been contacted and forwarded Slater’s email address. He first needs to know what Slater wants before giving any information. Slater understands the need for discretion but finds it frustrating. However, he copies his previous explanation to the amputee into the translator and checks that the Turkish version is approximately correct by retranslating it back into English. Satisfied, he sends the message to Cihad447. Another week passes before a reply arrives. Slater reads the translation. An amputation is possible. It will take place in a town near Istanbul on September third. The all-inclusive price is fifteen thousand euro, payable in advance. Please advise. Slater replies thanking Cihad for the response and promises to return to the matter when his holiday dates are settled with his employer.
Fifteen thousand euro is a considerable sum. It will drain Slater’s savings. It is a matter of financial security versus peace of mind. The amputation is foremost in Slater’s mind. He has already purchased the materials he will need to create taller built-up boots for his left leg. His unused boot with its fifteen centimetre lift could be adapted with a second built-up segment. It will be an impressive boot with a lift of twenty-odd centimetres.
Slater sets about arranging his holiday to start at the beginning of September. He has a total of thirty-six free days, not including Sundays. His timetable is approved. He informs Cihad447, who, he knows now, is not the surgeon but a go-between. He asks for information about how to pay securely. He receives a Turkish bank account number and arranges a proviso with his own bank that the money will not be released until September sixth. Slater has time to cancel the transfer, otherwise the transaction completes automatically. The surgeon expresses his approval and soon sees the latent sum arrive in his account, untouchable until September the sixth. Slater books a return flight to Istanbul for the second of September. He will return exactly three weeks later on crutches.
The peg leg arrives by courier. Slater compares its length with several of his wooden legs and finds it to be a good match. He will be able to wear the peg with a wooden leg without needing a built-up boot on the foot. He will renovate the peg and adjust the lockable knee mechanism which is rusty. The peg itself is an elegant shape, very similar to a muscular lower leg without a foot. The tip of the peg has a piece of thick leather stapled to it. Slater will remove it and replace it with a rubber heel. He holds the peg leg on his lap and imagines his new stump inside its rigid solidity.
– – – – – – -
Slater drags a small wheeled suitcase behind him and carries a pair of tall wooden crutches. He is uncertain whether he will be allowed to take them into the passenger cabin with him or whether they will be classed as luggage. His flight leaves at midday. His crutches are under his seat. Cihad447 will meet him in Istanbul and drive him to the as yet unknown town nearby where he will lose his handsome healthy leg tomorrow. He is already looking forward to returning home as a bilateral amputee, swinging himself along on crutches and one wooden leg. Its built-up boot will look incongruous but it cannot be helped. The plane taxis to the air bridge. Slater leaves last, limping and leaning on the two crutches he is holding under his right arm. He thanks the flight attendants and collects his suitcase. Cihad 447 is holding a sheet of paper with his name. They shake hands and Cihad takes Slater’s suitcase.
The town, Izmit, is a forty minute drive. Cihad stops in the courtyard of a two storey building shaded by a line of poplars. They go inside and shortly Slater meets his surgeon. The man is about fifty years old, short and muscular, with a bald head and a magnificent grey handlebar moustache. He smiles at Slater, shakes his hand and welcomes him in exotically accented English. They retire to the surgeon’s office where an assistant serves them strong black coffee in tiny cups. The surgeon confirms Slater’s wishes to lose his right leg mid-thigh. Slater says that he hopes the length of the stump will equal his other stump. The surgeon requests Slater to bare his legs and to remove his prosthesis. He is privately surprised to see such an old-fashioned wooden leg being worn by a young Westerner but makes no remark about it or the incongruous black built-up boot. He inspects the stump and assures Slater that he will have a matching twin the following day, although its girth will probably remain larger. Slater lost his leg before puberty and his stump has remained slender. His right thigh has done the work of two for a quarter century and is far more muscular.
Slater’s amputation is performed the next morning. The surgeon works leisurely. Amputating a healthy limb is quite different from the same procedure on a diseased or traumatically injured limb. Slater is the second of his patients within a short period to become a bilateral amputee voluntarily. The other patient is the gentleman whose photograph inspired Slater. A row of fine tidy sutures completes the procedure and the surgeon regards the unconscious legless man. He thanks his staff for their assistance and drives home.
Slater is awake by late afternoon. He is experiencing some discomfort from the amputation site but nothing alarming. He can not remember what his first amputation felt like. A male nurse is watching him. Slater asks for a drink and the nurse opens a bottle of mineral water for him. Slater has not eaten for twenty-four hours and hopes he will have something to eat before long. A cook is making an omelette for him at that very moment.
Slater is kept in bed for the following two days and is allowed to move into a wheelchair on the third morning. His male nurse is friendly and attentive, gentle when he changes the compression bandages. The food is tasty with an emphasis on fresh salads. The nurse pushes Slater around the grounds and along the street to a bistro where they sit under a sunshade and drink a cup or two of the intensely strong local coffee. All the customers are male, young and old. They acknowledge Slater with a nod. He listens to their animated conversations, unable to even pick out the odd word or two. He enjoys the novelty of leglessness. He has no intention of relying on a wheelchair on his return but considers that it might be wise to buy such a piece of equipment. The nurse suggests another visit to the bistro the next day and Slater requests his artificial leg. He wants to become accustomed to the sensation of wearing a wooden leg beside his new stump. He hopes he will be allowed to walk one-legged with crutches next week. His stump is healing well and the swelling is gradually diminishing.
The weekend passes. Slater spends several hours each day outside in the shade. The September weather is pleasantly warm. The Black Sea coast is nearby but the area is mostly industrial. There are no beaches for holidaymakers. The surgeon has not been heard of since he left after the operation so Slater assumes that the fee has been released to his account.
Ten days after the amputation, the surgeon appears and inspects his handiwork. Slater asks about his payment and learns that everything is in order. The doctor gives instructions to the nurse, turns to Slater and wishes him success in future. He leaves and Slater will not see him again. The nurse escorts him out and on his return, suggests they start rehabilitation. A cuff is fixed around the fresh stump and Slater pulls an elasticated cord with it. Rehab lasts for two hours every morning. The stitches are removed and Slater wears a shrinker from then on to shape and tone the stump. He persuades the nurse to allow him his wooden leg and they walk at Slater’s pace to the bistro. The appearance of the one-legged man causes much amusement among the regular customers.
Slater is discharged on the twentieth day. He books a reservation on the evening return flight. The nurse contacts Cihad447 who will drive him to Istanbul airport. Slater arrives home in a taxi at eleven, struggles with his suitcase, crutches and single wooden leg and pours himself a very large whisky. Tomorrow he will test his new stump in the new long prosthesis and decide what to do about a built-up boot for the other leg.
– – – – – – -
The stump is still slightly swollen and the socket feels tight. Slater lubricates the inner surface with gel and succeeds in forcing the rim of the socket to seat around his upper thigh. There is a small protuberance on the socket to the left of his ischial bone which he will have to remove before he can wear the leg. He sits on the floor with the wooden leg stretched out in front of him and dons the prosthesis he has planned to wear with it. Its built-up boot will need to be extended by another thirteen centimetres.
There are two ways he can go about it. Remove the sole and fix a new thirteen centimetre lift to the base of the existing one, or remove the old lift and make a completely new one, twenty-four centimetres high, and then cover it with a seamless sheet of black leather. He decides he has time to order the materials for a completely new lift. He takes several measurements and a quantity of cork and leather, enough to adapt three boots is set for delivery. He removes the long prosthesis and pushes himself erect. He needs to take the prosthesis to his outside workshop. He finds a rubber strap and uses it to hang the leg down his back. He crutches along his overgrown garden and sets about reshaping the neck of the socket in his workshop. By the end of the afternoon, it seems to fit more comfortably. He is impatient to test the long limb, to stand taller and to start practising the demanding task of walking on two wooden legs. His next job is converting his built-up boot. It is going to look massive. He is going to make the sole curve upwards at the front so the toe is less likely to catch and trip him. He considers altering a pair of jeans to wear with the huge boot, shortening the leg and sewing a new seam around the cuff. The boot will be the most prominent aspect of his disability. No-one would ever suspect the leg wearing it to be artificial nor notice that the opposing leg is also artificial. Slater hopes that by the time he returns to work in mid-October that he will be able to operate his legs with the help of a walking stick. He will probably always need a stick now except in his cab. Climbing in is going to be very difficult without a knee. He will have to haul himself up using his arms.
The three cork blocks and a wide roll of black leather are delivered on Friday afternoon. Slater can make a start on shaping the new lift. First he carefully pries the existing lift away from the boot. He did a good job attaching it two years ago but after nearly an hour it has separated without tearing the sole of the boot. Now he can start shaping the cork. He has a sander to smooth the surface but most of the shaping will be done by hand over the weekend. Then he will cover it in leather and attach it to the boot. Finally a new rubber sole will cover the base and the boot will be ready to test after it cures for a day or two. Slater will have to adjust the length of his crutches before he can walk on it. It will feel fine to see himself standing taller than ever before on the shockingly tall built-up boot, relearning to balance on his old stump before donning the new limb and standing on two wooden legs for the first time.
By midweek, the cobbler’s glue in the boot has cured. He walks on his hands to collect the long wooden leg and a pair of jeans. He removes the shoe from the long limb and feeds the leg into the jeans. He does the same with the short leg. Slater places the monster boot onto the wooden foot of his prosthesis and looks at it. It is stunning. He replaces the shoe and angles the artificial legs so he can pull them onto his stumps easily. He dons a pair of shrinkers and carefully inserts one stump at a time into the wooden sockets. The rubbery liners grip the interiors firmly. They will not work loose when in use but can be removed with applied vertical pressure. For the first time, Slater is wearing two wooden legs. He is elated by his prosthetic lower body. There is no vestige of skin on display, only polished wood and the delicate patterns of the grain. The legs do not match in colour exactly, nor are the knee mechanisms a pair, but both legs have been restored to factory newness. The time has come for the bilateral amputee to test both stumps.
He pulls himself up to sit on his sofa and pushes himself around to face backwards. He kicks his old stump to make the wooden leg straight and moves it to his left. He pulls the right leg, the newcomer, forward so he is kneeling on it. He grabs the arm rest with his left hand and pushes himself up, dragging the left leg towards him. He pushes again more forcefully and tries to rise to his feet. He is unsuccessful this time. He tries again. He may have more luck if he had his walking stick in his right hand. He drags himself and the wooden legs backwards into the hallway and throws the stick towards the living room. He crawls back to the sofa and rearranges himself for another attempt. His stick is in his right hand, ready to steady him and lend some support. His third effort is successful. He flails his arms and the stick to keep his balance, to prevent him from falling forward. He stands still and takes a deep breath. He positions his stick and rocks his body from side to side. He wants enough momentum to swing his left stump slightly so he can begin to turn himself around. He swings his hips and the enormous boot lifts and turns. He adjusts his balance with the stick and pulls his new right stump closer. Slowly Slater repositions himself. He can sense that his centre of gravity has changed. The wooden legs are also both heavy, the right one more so. He tries taking a short step with his left stump. Gradually he moves into the hallway and stares at himself in the full-length mirror at the opposite end. He is surprised again by the appearance of the huge built-up boot. He adjusts his balance and plans the movements he needs to move his wooden legs to the other end of the hallway.
The knee mechanisms remain rigid. Slater is not kicking his stumps hard enough yet to cause the wooden legs to bend. Small steps only. He pushes a little with his stick, the handle of which is now lower, beside his hip. It is the correct height for what he needs but he prefers over-long sticks. They look more impressive and less orthotic. More commanding. He reaches the end of his six metre walk and turns around, rocking from one foot to another.
He practises for ninety minutes and takes a break. He brews some coffee and remains standing while he drinks it. He appraises the sensations in his stumps. The left stump feels much as it always has. The new one seems to be squashed. It will slowly decrease in bulk. It is not uncomfortable. The end of the stump is suspended inside the wooden socket and has no pressure on it. Slater holds onto the kitchen counter and tries kicking the huge boot forward so that the knee mechanism bends. The height of the boot has changed the position of his knee and the lower leg behaves slightly differently. He will become accustomed to it. He returns to the hallway and practises walking with a longer step. The left leg bends at the knee but the right remains intentionally rigid. Slater is wary about straining the fresh stump. There is no hurry to walk today. After another forty minutes, he decides to rest. He will remove the long wooden leg and keep the built-up boot on. He loves its appearance and how easily it swings forward because of its rounded toe. He will walk on it with crutches for the rest of the day. He returns to the sofa, removes the shoe from his long limb and pulls the leg out of his jeans. He pushes firmly against the wooden socket and feels it moving against his stump. The leg comes free. Slater sits it on the sofa next to him. It is a beautiful item. He is happy to own it and to have become legless in order to be able to wear it. He remembers he still has not tested his peg leg. One at a time, he decides. Maybe tomorrow he could crutch along to the park and try walking there. He will tape his walking stick to one of the crutches so he can use it in the park.
Slater goes out every day for an hour or so. He relies on his crutches, putting his weight on them and swinging his wooden legs together under him. When he reaches the park, he unties his walking stick from one of the crutches and practises walking along the slightly uneven path for a hundred yards or so before returning to the park bench. He has concealed his crutches in the grass behind it. Passers-by spot the enormous black built-up boot and glance at the bald bearded young man watching them. Slater has folded the right leg of his jeans so that his boot is completely visible. It points up at an angle, immobile and alien. He rests his hands on his thighs, fascinated by their solidity.
He has progressed well enough to dare leaving home without his crutches. He grabs his walking stick and rocks along the street slowly, sensing his balance with each step, remembering to kick his stumps powerfully enough to engage the mechanical knees. He pushes himself firmly with his stick and strikes a handsome figure. He listens to the sounds of his steps, the deep resonance of the wood and the quiet swish of moving metal in his knees. He sits on his customary bench for a few minutes, amused by the twin thuds his legs make against the slats as he drops onto the seat. His confidence has been boosted by his first walk outside in the manner he wants to appear in future. He likes using the walking stick. It makes him feel manly, debonaire. It is unusual to see a man his age with a stick. He pushes himself erect and checks his balance before striking out on a careful stroll around the inner perimeter of the park. His stumps are comfortable and powerful inside the wooden sockets. He is grateful to his surgeon for crafting his fresh stump so well. It is proving to be a worthy companion for his original stump and he is deeply satisfied to have a matching pair of a pleasing length. His body image is perfect both naked and with two wooden legs. He returns to the park bench, picks up his crutches from the grass using his walking stick and swings himself home. He is impatient to try out his peg leg.
Slater has restored it almost completely. The wooden surfaces gleam under a coating of resin varnish which glitters like glass. The old knee mechanism is clean and moves smoothly although its discolouration has been resistant so far. The old leather sole is still attached. The base of the peg is curved slightly fore and aft. Slater wants to replace it with a rubber base and is looking for some suitable material. He collects the peg leg and its companion and takes them to his bedroom. He sits on the edge of his bed and doffs his jeans and legs. Paying close attention to its orientation, he presses his right stump slowly into the peg leg’s wooden socket. He releases the knee lock and allows the peg to drop. The other wooden leg is easier to don. It is a centimetre or so shorter than the peg leg, which he knows is recommended due to the unnatural way the peg leg moves. He looks at his thighs and compares the colour of the wood. His old leg is a light golden brown and the peg is a little darker, as if it had a slight tan. There is no time to choose what jeans he wants to wear with this combination. He rocks his waist from side to side to reach the edge of his bed and pushes himself up with both hands. The peg leg locks immediately but the left leg collapses. He falls back onto the bed and tries again, knowing the knee needs to hold his weight. It works and he is standing nearly twenty centimetres shorter than he was earlier. He reaches for his stick and carefully persuades his short wooden legs into the hallway to face the mirror.
The peg is stunning. Not only is it surprising because of its footlessness, it is also an unusual shape. It looks like a handsome male leg. Slater wonders if the original owner’s leg had been this shape. Why had he asked for a peg leg rather than a conventional artificial limb? Did he, like Slater, also admire the status and panache which amputation brought? The legs feel strange. The sockets are shaped in a different way from the pair he wore earlier and although they are a reasonable fit, it will take a day or two to acclimatise himself to wearing them. He grasps his long walking stick, pushes himself around and walks toward the front door. The rigid peg leg feels good. It is easier to walk on these shorter legs. His centre of gravity is lower and it is easier to balance. Slater stares at the impression he makes in the mirror. Dissatisfied, he returns to the bedroom and fits a pair of city camo cargo shorts over his wooden legs. He looks a lot better wearing shorts. They hide the thigh sockets, revealing an artificial leg wearing a trainer and a beefy peg. Slater stares at his legs in the mirror. He realises it is his own image when he looks up at the reflection of his grinning face. He leans on his walking stick, throws his head back and laughs long and hard anticipating the endless variety of wooden legs he will wear from this moment through all the years to come.
Currently he has the choice of wearing the long leg on his fresh stump and the enormous built-up boot on the left or his new peg leg and a standard wooden leg on the left. It would be convenient to have two similar legs both weighing approximately the same and about as long as his natural legs were. He rocks to the dining room cabinet and reviews his choice. There is one wooden leg which he has rarely used because it is so standard and uninteresting. It looks factory fresh, like all the legs in his collection. Perhaps he could find its right leg twin online. There is precious little cash left in the kitty after his amputation but it might be enough if he can find a bargain. He lifts the leg out of the cabinet and sets about noting its dimensions and comparing them with his new stump. If he can find a wooden leg with a suitable socket, the lower part need not be the perfect length. He can make a new right built-up boot easily enough. He has the sudden idea of wearing two built-up boots on his stumps. How could he attach them to his stumps? Perhaps he could make plaster casts to wear on his stumps with short extensions resembling ankles and feet. A ten centimetre raise on each boot would not look untoward.
For the rest of the day, he is content to continue wearing the peg leg. He is fascinated by its alien appearance and the sensation of walking on its footless rigidity. The knee mechanism is binary, not intended to swing like a normal prosthesis. He can release a knee lock by pressing a short metal bar so that when he sits, the peg does not jut out in front. Otherwise the peg is locked in place and his right leg is rigid from his stump down. Slater decides that the peg will be his weekend leg. It is easy to walk on and something feels right about being able to lean to his right knowing that the peg will support him. It makes it easier to swing the left wooden leg forward. He imagines wearing two similar peg legs and swinging himself along on crutches. He knows he is very unlikely ever to find another similar peg leg. He could have a pair made but he dislikes the idea of using propriety equipment. He loves his old adapted wooden legs too much.
Slater will return to work in a week’s time. He faces a problem with his uniform. His trousers are far too short. He places a call to the company’s HR department and requests a new pair. He is entitled to a new uniform twice a year but the jacket is fine. He has to collect his uniform in person from the depôt in Neasden. His conundrum is simple. He can wear his peg and leg combination which he feels very capable on or the long leg and built-up boot. He has worn only cargo shorts when he is tall. All of his other trousers and jeans are too short to wear with the long legs. But he can hardly turn up to collect a pair of long-legged uniform pants on his short peg leg. It would be ridiculous. Slater also wants to conceal his second amputation for as long as possible. He thinks that if he can get away with driving his train for several weeks without his complete leglessness becoming known to his employer, he can persuade them to let him continue. Neasden will be the test, and he will have to wear the long leg and boot with a new pair of jeans. There is no longer time to order online. He will have to go out shopping. A flash of frustration crosses his mind but he decides to eat out. It might be useful to use his new legs and boot in as wide a variety of locations as possible, and he will have his stick with him. He grunts and sets about replacing his peg leg combo with the long one.
Slater decides to visit the huge shopping complex in Shepherd’s Bush. It is close to the tube station so he will not need to walk far. Since losing his right leg, Slater has noticed that even short distances like the walk to the bus stop or to the local supermarket a few hundred metres down the road suddenly demand much more effort. He has never run a mile nor taken part in a cross-country run at school but he can appreciate the effort needed to continue moving when the body begins to lag but the journey must continue. The effort of heaving his wooden legs forward and the concentration required to maintain balance on unfeeling feet comes as a surprise every time. He is out of breath after walking two hundred metres and slows his pace which affects his balance. He stops, teetering on his artificial legs, propping himself up with his stick. He regains his breath and stamina and continues his walk to the station.
He knows very well that his local Underground station has a flight of steps down to the platforms but no lift. Slater has not practised on stairs yet and looks at the twenty steps with apprehension. He plans how to reach the platform. He could hold the central handrail with his stick on the right and lower his long leg. The built-up boot will join it as he leans on his stick for support. Then he will repeat the process. Leg, stick, boot. Leg, stick, boot. And so on to the bottom. Slater is winded. It is awkward and requires patience and strength. But his wooden legs feel reliable and his stumps still feel comfortable. He pushes himself along the platform so he will be able to leave the train facing the exit at Shepherd’s Bush. There is a lift there to the surface which he fully intends to use.
The shopping centre is remarkably devoid of crowds on a Monday morning. The floor is flat and even, perfect for wooden legs. Slater tried a few steps without his stick, holding it horizontally in a hand. The right stump always needs extra attention. He is not yet totally accustomed to the lack of leg, unlike with his left stump. He leans slightly on his left stump and concentrates on heaving the opposing wooden leg forward. He transfers the stick to his left hand and walks towards a clothes shop he has spotted. He requests a pair of boot-cut jeans of a certain length and a certain waist size. There are none. He continues to another similar shop and is again disappointed. He clomps into a pizza palace and orders a beer with his Rustica.
Wary of getting drunk, he leaves and continues strolling through the mall. He spots a Marks and Sparks and, unusually, decides to ask if they have anything suitable. They have no jeans in the size he requires but they have navy blue trousers which look almost the same as his uniform. The material is not as thick but the legs are long enough to cover his wooden ankle and can easily be adapted to break on the vamp of his huge built-up boot. Slater buys a pair and makes a short detour via a supermarket where he buys bread, sausage meat and a bottle of vodka. After a short journey, he is faced with climbing the steps at his local station. His legs are completely useless. He pulls himself up with one arm and pushes himself against his stick with the other. His bag of shopping crashes into his left wooden leg with every movement. Several minutes later, he reaches the top and is ready to collapse. He decides to lean against the bus stop outside and wait to be taken as close to home as possible. Climbing onto the bus is another challenge with a stick, a bag and two wooden legs. He apologises to the driver and throws his stick and bag onto the bus and grips the handrails, hauling himself aboard with his hands. His artificial legs find their own balance and he lifts himself up so the legs can straighten themselves. He bends over from the hip to grab his possessions and pushes himself up with his stick. There is an invalid seat nearby and he collapses into it, legs splayed. He picks up his rigid thighs and moves his wooden legs to a more acceptable position. Shortly, he rings the bell and pulls himself up with both hands around a pole. The driver allows him out the front door. Slater leans to the right and swings his long leg onto the lower step. He helps the left booted leg down with his hands, the stick hanging precariously from his right arm. One more step and then the ground. The driver, who has seen Slater’s staff pass clearly marked ‘Driver’ wonders what the hell he can possibly drive when the bastard can hardly walk. Slater raises a hand in thanks and collects himself. There is still a short walk on an uneven pavement to his home.
Slater compares the colour of his new trousers with that of his uniform. Navy blue was navy blue and if anyone could spot the difference, he would be very surprised. He calls Neasden and announces that he will not be needing a new pair of trousers after all. The bored summer part-timer says she will make a note of it and that was the end of the matter.
Slater feels he has learned to control his wooden legs well enough to spend the rest of his holiday relaxing at home. A walk a round the park every day is pleasant enough to not seem like compulsory exercise and he regularly tests his gait with the long leg and built-up, although on two occasions he wears the peg leg and shorter wooden leg outside. His stumps are working well together. He is becoming used to the extra effort needed to haul the left prosthesis forward over the rigid peg leg. It feels satisfying to rely on such a primitive prosthetic device. He has always wanted to feel more disabled on his right side and his left stump was a slight disappointment. Now he is capable of disabling himself in a huge range of ways from built-up stump boots to wooden legs which were too long like the pair he was currently wearing. He looks down at his prostheses and feels a deep harmony with the glossy natural material.
Slater turns up early for his afternoon shift on Monday. He rarely does afternoons. He dislikes the interruptions and delays accrued since the end of the morning rush hour, having to adhere more rigorously to the timetable. He has three runs between Ealing Broadway and Upminster with a forty minute break in Victoria. He changes into his driver’s uniform. The jacket matches his new trousers well enough. His huge built-up boot is hidden inside the left trouser leg. He hangs his walking stick on the rail inside his locker and checks in with the dispatcher. He receives his schedule and his designated train. It is on the outermost track, four hundred yards away. Slater thanks the dispatcher and limps out to the yard. He walks along a wooden footpath over a dozen and more railway lines, past Underground trains waiting for the evening rush. The pathway feels uneven. His stumps are struggling to maintain balance and control his wooden legs. He realises that this is what he wanted. He knew beforehand that becoming a bilateral amputee would present new difficulties where there were none before. He wanted to rely on his wooden legs, choosing a new pair of various lengths, augmented with a variety of orthopaedic boots, rocking a tall thick walking stick. But out here in the marshalling yard, he feels very vulnerable. There is a smooth concrete platform running alongside his train. He reaches up to unlock the door. He pushes it open and stares at the half metre distance to the lowest step. It was never a problem before. He stepped up and his wooden leg rose beside him. Now, without knees, the gap looks impossible. He glances around to see if anyone is about. No-one. Good. He grips the door and the handrail and heaves himself up as far as possible. If he can get his knees into the cab he can crawl in. He looks to check where his legs are. One more effort and the right knee is inside. The left knee is already in, being a different, shorter length. Slater grabs the driver’s seat and hauls himself up and onto it and rearranges his prostheses. How is he going to get down? It might be easier with a normal platform beside the cab. Climbing back down onto the pathway at the end of his shift might present some problems. He checks his schedule. He has thirteen minutes before he is due to move. He should inspect the train, walk along its length looking for anything unusual. Nothing will persuade him to clamber down again now. Tomorrow he will check before he gets into the cab.
He waits for a green signal and edges the train out onto a reversing track. Luckily he is already facing towards his destination. He does not need to change ends. He waits for a train to pass and gets a green signal to join the main line into Ealing. He lifts his stumps to splay his legs. He can sit more comfortably and not be thrown around so much by the movement of the train on London’s notoriously uneven track. His shift passes uneventfully. A security alert comes in as he leaves Tower Hill for the second time. A fight, possibly a stabbing at Dagenham. He is to pass the station without stopping unless the message is cancelled. Two minutes later he receives notice that the danger has passed. He should stop as usual.
He notices how much darker the sky is when he finishes his shift. Before his late holiday and his venture to Istanbul, there was still light in the sky at this time. A guard joins him at Acton and directs him by radio as he eases the train back into the marshalling yard to be cleaned and inspected. Slater parks his train and prepares to lower himself to the path. By the time he is ready to leave his train, the guard is waiting for him just outside his cab. Probably wants to walk back to the depôt with me, he thinks. He opens the door and shouts a Hallo. Instead of stepping down backwards, facing into the cab, Slater holds onto the handrail and the door and carefully lowers his wooden legs onto the path. His hands are filthy but the guard has seen nothing. He is looking at his phone. They walk along the wooden pathway crossing the many railway tracks. The guard recognises Slater and knows the man is disabled. He makes no comment about his slow pace. Slater is exhausted from the effort. He changes back into his street clothes, walks to the station and makes his way home. The twenty steps at his local station take over two minutes to negotiate.
So it continues throughout the week. Slater can do his job perfectly well. If an inspector showed up unexpectedly, as they always do, he would certainly get a high grade. But the effort of getting from home to his place of work – the cab of an Underground train – saps his strength. He has not thought that walking on two wooden legs would be so tiring. Everything else is taxing too. Merely standing on a crowded bus calls for intense concentration to maintain balance, to ensure the knee mechanisms remain firmly engaged. There is no time to look out the windows or think about the weekend. Over a period of weeks, Slater begins to understand that he may be too disabled to function as a driver. As much as he loves his stumps and his collection of wooden limbs, he gradually comes to the conclusion that he might be better suited to a desk job. Maybe signalling would be more suitable. They remain seated for most of the working day, checking the positions of trains, resolving problems. Perhaps as a legless man he is better suited to that kind of work.
Slater struggles on. He develops a new gait. Instead of trying to persuade his wooden legs to move like natural legs, he learns to kick his stumps more powerfully and out to the side while maintaining a stronger momentum. His limp is unmistakably that of a man with two artificial legs but with his sturdy walking stick, he can tackle daily life. He overcomes his reticence to use his walking stick at work and strides out one crisp autumn morning using it to cross the tracks. He pounds the length of his train inspecting the wheels and bogies and hauls himself up into his cab. He removes his gloves first and then positions his wooden legs for maximum stability and comfort.
He pulls into Temple station and there is a knock on his cab door. An inspector is standing outside. Slater leans across and uses his walking stick to force the door handle open. The inspector climbs in, greets Slater and clears a space to sit on the auxiliary seat. They exchange greetings and Slater drives out of the station. The inspector checks acceleration times, average speed, arrival speed and deceleration. Perfect timekeeping. He has notes on Slater’s driving record. He is one of the most reliable drivers and has never even taken a sick day in six years. To his surprise, he reads a postscript at the bottom of the report reading ‘Amputee, left leg’. He looks at Slater’s feet. The left trouser leg has risen up and is exposing an expanse of the black leather built-up boot. He is confused. There must be an error. It should be the right leg. Slater’s right wooden leg is propped firmly on the floor with its foot pointing up at an angle. The inspector looks at it for a few seconds. He waits until Slater stops in Victoria before enquiring further. Slater knows the game is up. His secret is out. He admits to wearing two artificial legs. He is a double amputee and has been for a couple of months. He hoped his increased disability would not entail losing his job. He has been able to drive as well as ever despite his leglessness. The inspector stares at him in astonishment. Unfortunately, he says, the company cannot allow Slater to continue for health and safety reasons. You must be able to act quickly and decisively in case of an emergency, god forbid. Slater nods. He knows the regulation. The inspector calls ahead and requests a relief driver to take over Slater’s train at Acton. Slater’s career as a driver will end in eighteen minutes.
The new driver is waiting at the head of the platform at Acton Town station. The inspector gets out and has a few words with him. Slater checks the brakes and that he has everything and carefully steps out of the cab, walking stick first. The new driver watches in amazement as Slater rocks himself around on his wooden legs and built-up boot to face them. He raises a hand halfway in greeting, checks his rota with the inspector, enters the cab and presently the train speeds away towards Ealing Broadway. The inspector puts his hand around Slater’s shoulders and asks him to follow along to the depôt. Slater rocks himself into motion and pushes himself along with his impressive walking stick.
Slater waits for fifteen minutes while the inspector negotiates with someone. He reappears and explains that Slater should go home. He is not being fired or dismissed or demoted but should not turn up for work again until he is notified. And not to worry, he is still being paid. Slater seems downcast. The inspector reassures him again. You’re a good lad, he says. We’ll find you something worthwhile. Now go home. I’m sure you have something better to do than hang around here.
Slater leaves for home and detours via a supermarket where he buys a litre of vodka. By early evening, his mood has changed to acceptance. He reasons that he is not being reprimanded. He knows he is a good driver despite his stumps. He wants to see them. He takes his trousers and legs off and spends the rest of the evening watching tv in his boxers, looking at his stumps from time to time. The right stump is regrowing curly dark hair. There is nothing in this world he would rather have than his leglessness and his perfect stumps. If they sacked him, he would still have his amputations and all his wooden legs. He laughs to himself. He is getting drunk but no-one cares.
Slater wears his peg leg and short leg for the rest of the time he is at home. He wears the peg outside in public under his long cargo shorts. People notice and sometimes stare for a few seconds but no-one passes comment. When he returns from one shopping trip, there is a letter from his employer waiting for him. He is to report to Acton Depôt on Monday morning at ten for an interview with three assessors. Nothing more. It is clear enough. He will either get the sack or sidelined to a desk job somewhere. He wishes he had a matching pair of artificial legs he could wear to make a good impression. He decides to wear the long leg and the big built-up on the other leg. He knows it looks grotesque. He can disguise it under his jeans.
Monday morning arrives. Slater has shaved his head so it gleams and trimmed his beard to get rid of stray whiskers. He wants to be smart and wears a leather blazer and his new jeans with a Dr Marten boot on his right foot. He takes up his thick walking stick and leans on it, appraising himself in the mirror. He looks pretty good. He lurches and twists his hips, forcing his wooden legs to obey and faces the door. He journeys to Acton using his pass with ‘Driver’ stamped across it and wonders if he will still have it for his return journey.
His interviewers welcome him. They invite him to be seated and raise their eyebrows at the ensuing sound. There is coffee or tea on offer and a slice of Victoria sponge. This does not seem like a dismissal. We have reviewed your situation and would like to express our sympathies for your recent injury, says the centre figure. And although you should have revealed it, we cannot pretend that we do not admire your determination and loyalty. Slater sighs in relief. He has not expected this. He listens to more platitudes about bravery, fortitude and other attributes which may be applicable but are all far from his desire to use wooden legs. And so the Board has decided to offer you the position of instructor. You may regard it as a promotion after your years of excellent service. We would suggest a month long acclimatisation period with an experienced instructor before we set you loose. Slater is surprised and delighted. Even the dry sponge suddenly tastes delicious. He thanks the trio. Everyone rises to shake hands and Slater is dismissed. The trio watches how a double amputee walks on wooden legs until he closes the door quietly behind him.
– – – – – – -
Slater receives his new rota by email. He will be met at Acton Town by an experienced instructor and the two of them will take a new driver for a run to Richmond and back. Slater will act as instructor, pointing out peculiarities of the track and signals, showing small landmarks which act as markers showing where to begin braking and other advice which drivers learn with experience. The train is not in service and the three men repeatedly see the disappointment and frustration on waiting passengers’ faces when they realise that the train is not stopping. They park the train at Earl’s Court and change ends to reverse out towards Richmond. The new driver watches the way his instructor walks, using a big walking stick. Slater notices the young man’s interest and explains that he has two wooden legs. They enter the cab and Slater arranges his artificial legs into a sturdy position with his hands. The driver receives a green signal and moves the train slowly through the tangle of points, his mind switching between driving the train and thinking about his instructor’s artificial legs. Maybe he got run over by a tube train.
Slater is evaluated for the next four weeks. His instructor is impressed not only by Slater’s knowledge but also by his generous willingness to share details other instructors rarely bother with. He becomes used to Slater’s disability and no longer regards it as an impediment. Slater manages fine with his walking stick. He receives a considerable pay increase on being officially authorised as an instructor.
The young man who Slater taught on his first morning has become a close friend. His name is Irving Craig which he finds ridiculous and so goes by the name Craig Irving. Craig made an excuse to get Slater’s phone number and sent him a message asking to meet. Slater arrives home on Friday evening to find Craig already there and the table set with an attractive buffet and several bottles of wine. Craig has had the spare key for a fortnight. He admitted to Slater that he is a keen devotee. Slater understood perfectly and invited Craig to inspect his large collection of wooden legs. Later, Slater removed his own and allowed Craig to fondle his stumps. It was such a pleasant feeling and so gratifying to be hero worshipped that now their relationship is growing beyond male bonding. Slater removes his legs now and sits in his wheelchair, his stumps bared for Craig to look at.
Slater suspects that Craig might also want to become an amputee but has decided to wait for him to make the admission unprovoked. Certainly, Craig is fascinated by the wooden legs and has held them all, touching their gleaming surfaces with something close to tenderness. Slater is still searching for a suitable shorter wooden leg for his right stump so he can wear some of his collection. Craig has also expressed admiration for the built-up boots and thinks it a wonderful piece of subterfuge to disguise an artificial leg with such a blatant example of orthopaedic overkill. He respects Slater immensely for having the skills needed to make his own built-up boots and, indeed, to restore the old wooden limbs to such a pristine condition.
Slater wheels himself into the living room and sits opposite Craig. He picks up the large glass of Chardonnay and they toast to the weekend and to each other’s friendship. Long may it last.
THE CONNOISSEUR
