1914

 

1914

A blast from the past by strzeka

 

The maid curtsied and took Adrian’s hairbrushes. He carefully placed his sage green flatcap onto his head, adjusting it for exactly the appropriate degree of insouciance and turned to face his mother.

            – You look so cheeky with your cap like that. Can you not wear it as it was intended?

            – Don’t be so conventional, Mother. It’s a brand new world out there. I have to look the part.

            – Oh darling boy, you are so self‑assured. But you look remarkably handsome today. Give me a little kiss and be off with you.

 

Adrian smiled at her and, careful not to disturb her lovely hair, pecked her cheek and turned to open the front door. He departed, descended the seven marble steps to the street and waved at his mother still holding the door. Walking as quickly as decorum allowed, he reached Edgware Road just in time to board a bus taking on passengers. He took the twisting steps to the upper deck two at a time and found a favoured spot near the back which most passengers walked past. With any luck, he would be able to sit alone for most of his journey. He scrabbled in the pocket of his plus‑fours until he found his pipe and struck a match to fire it into life. His mother would kill him if she knew he smoked but it was a matter for a man whether or not he smoked. His two other pipes were on his desk at the Daily Post and he intended to smoke each of them before the day was done. His colleagues seemed to have an unspoken competition going on about who could hold the largest pipe in their jaws while typing copy. He had seen a straight pipe of astonishing size in Burlington Parade but as its price was nearly two pounds, it would be a while before he could afford such a beauty. If only none of his cheeky rivals discovered it first.

 

He jumped off the bus as it waited for cross traffic by Marble Arch and descended into the new underground station nearby. The Central London had a good service for tuppence. He stood on the platform with other office workers, mostly young men like himself. The older generation were reluctant to travel underground and preferred the stately pace of the omnibuses. He inspected his pipe, shook some ash onto the platform and put it into his pocket. The dark maroon train clattered into the station and screeched to a stop. Electric motors hummed and clicked beneath the wooden floor and accelerated a thousand city workers towards Bond Street. Adrian’s journey continued to Chancery Lane, from which it was a brisk walk to Fleet Street and the offices of the Daily Post, his workplace for the past two years. He worked in the colonials, their slightly derogatory name for the Empire Department. They dealt with news items from overseas and battled daily with cryptic telegraph messages sent by foreign correspondents which were deemed newsworthy. Few were interested in a new sewer system in Rangoon or a new town hall for Nairobi but all information was read and filed. Boxes full of the latest communications were regularly brought into their office and dumped unceremoniously at their feet. Adrian was responsible with his colleague Arthur Fields for Ireland. Irish news continually caused the greatest outcry among the Post’s readership. The continual violence of the republican and independence factions was a never‑ending cause of derision among the deeply conservative readers.

 

Mr Edwards, his editor, sat on a podium at the front of the room keeping a beady eye on his young wards. Adrian regarded him with the same respect he had afforded his teachers and headmaster at school. Life was easier when you knuckled down and got on with your work without drawing attention to yourself. Edwards spoke nary a word throughout the day, regarding a brief nod to be sufficient thanks for each and every news item delivered to his desk. At three minutes past eleven, as Arthur opened a new box, an explosion ripped through the office, blowing out the windows and demolishing the interior wall.

 

Arthur’s body took the full force of the blast. He was killed instantly. Edwards was blown from his perch and landed among the debris, his ear drums ruptured and made permanently stone deaf. Adrian was partially protected from the explosion because of the solid oak tabletop but his lower legs, only seven feet from the blast, caught the full effects and were both shredded. His genitals were somewhat protected by his thighs but his testicles were severely bruised and soon swelled to an alarming size. In the chaos immediately following the blast, Adrian did not realise the extent of his injuries and attempted to escape. Having neither feet nor shins, he was unable to find purchase against the floor to stand. He slumped over his desk, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

 

Several passers-by had been struck by glass falling from the second floor windows, none of them seriously. They sat on kerbstones in shock, picking shards of glass from their clothing, shaking fragments from hats. Policemen’s whistles broke the abrupt silence and voluntary rescuers and helpers inspected the scene before entering the building and joining staff members clambering upstairs to give assistance. The destruction on the second floor pointed towards the source of the explosion, the Empire Department. As collapsed walls and overturned furniture were carefully moved in search of victims, a small group entered the blood‑spattered remains of the colonials. Adrian’s blanched face stared at them for several moments until he pointed towards the splintered podium and croaked ‘Mr Edwards!’ Two of the group diverted their attention. Three others reached Adrian and saw his injuries. The man’s legs were off and there was a pool of blood on the shreds of paper and plaster dust surrounding him. One pulled his chair away from the desk and others helped lift Adrian. He was carried as quickly as possible through the destruction, downstairs and onto the street. Several local traders had brought their horses and carts to the Post to ferry victims to hospital. Adrian was lifted onto the back of a cart and one of his helpers jumped up to keep an eye on him. The bowler‑hatted greengrocer whipped his dray into motion and they headed up Chancery Lane towards St Luke’s. A police van from Theobald Street passed them on the way, its bell demanding right of way. Word of the atrocity had already reached St Luke’s Hospital and the matron waited in the forecourt with an entourage of apprehensive nurses and white‑coated physicians ready to accept the injured.

 

Adrian was lifted onto a stretcher and hurried inside where a team of surgeons made a rapid appraisal of his injuries and murmured amongst themselves. Adrian was wavering between consciousness and oblivion. He had lost a large quantity of blood as well as his legs and the surgeons agreed that it was imperative to perform amputations in order to tidy the remnants of the boy’s legs and prevent further loss of blood. Within the hour, Adrian’s right thigh was nothing more than a globular stump at his groin and his left was a gnarled mass of shredded muscular tissue held together under a covering of the available skin he had left. It would be an ugly stump but the boy would at least have one and might even walk again with an artificial leg and crutches. Otherwise he was condemned to living a legless life in a bath chair.

 

Adrian made a good recovery from his injuries. He was awake again four hours after being placed on the ward. A nurse sat by his bedside to check his pulse and blood pressure at regular intervals. The first thing he noticed was the tented sheet over his legs.

            – Ah!  You’re awake. How are you feeling?

            – Er, where am I? Is this a hospital? What day is it?

            – Yes. You’re in St Luke’s Hospital in Holborn. It’s July sixteenth, Thursday. You were hurt in an explosion.

            – Oh yes. I remember. Are the others alright? My colleagues, I mean.

            – I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.

            – Do my parents know where I am?

            – I expect they have been informed, Adrian. The police have been asking for the names and addresses of patients brought in. I expect someone at your workplace was already able to help them, so your parents will have been told.

            – I see. Very good. Nurse, what is all this for?

Adrian pointed at the raised sheets.

            – Adrian, your legs were very seriously damaged by the bomb and I’m sorry to have to tell you that your have lost both your legs. The doctors were able to save part of your left leg and you will have a good strong stump. The right leg has been removed closer to your pelvis.

            – So I’m legless? What am I going to do now?

            – Don’t worry about that for the time being, Adrian. The first thing you need to do is concentrate on getting better. We’ll worry about the next step when we get to it.

            – Do you think I might have a wooden leg?

            – Yes, I expect so. And a pair of crutches to help you to use it. I’m sure you’ll manage very well, Adrian. Now try to get some rest.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Mr and Mrs Bell, Adrian’s parents, were appalled to hear of their son’s injuries. The explosion was featured widely in the newspapers for several days afterwards. Suspicion about the perpetrators fell on the Irish rebels who had been mounting an increasing number of ever more violent protests and attacks on British forces in Ireland. Three days after the incident, an anonymous letter delivered to the London Evening Standard offices confirmed everyone’s doubts. The Irish Republican Brotherhood claimed that it had organised the attack and provided several details hitherto unknown for additional confirmation and credibility. Police began a round-up of known Irish troublemakers with the intention of rooting out the murderers. They would hang and let it be a deterrent. The country had enough trouble on its plate with the situation in Europe becoming ever more threatening without the Irish stirring the pot still further.

 

Mrs Bell was too distraught to think of visiting her son and relied on her husband to provide news of the boy’s condition. Mr Bell strolled a mile or so to St Giles after work and asked a sister if he might have a word with his recently injured son. He was asked to wait while the sister sought leave from the matron. After several minutes, Mr Bell was escorted to his son’s bedside and provided with a stark wooden chair and a quarter of an hour.

            – How are you, son?

            – I’m fine, father. Apart from my legs, I mean.

Bell senior looked at the tent of sheets hiding his son’s lower body.

            – Are you in pain?

            – No sir, not really. My stump gives a twinge now and then but nothing serious.

Adrian was trying to downplay the spiteful agony his stump generated many times a day, knowing that whatever he told his father would be relayed to his mother, whom he wanted to protect from as much anguish as possible. She would see enough to distress her when Adrian was released from hospital.

            – Can you explain what has happened to you? We have been kept very much in the dark about your injuries and we would like to know the truth, difficult though it may be.

            – I am legless, father. I mentioned my stump. I have about half of my left thigh bandaged up and it should be useful with a wooden leg, according to what my nurse told me. But the other leg has gone completely. There is a very small stump but the doctors say it’s unlikely I would be able to wear an artificial leg.

            – You’re going to be a one-legged man, in that case.

            – Yes, sir. I’ll have only one leg to stand on. And that will be a wooden leg.

            – I am impressed at how stoically you are taking this, my boy.

Adrian had received an injection of morphine two hours before his father arrived and was feeling its calming effects.

            – It will be difficult at first, I expect, but if I have a desk job, I’ll be able to continue as before, I’m sure. Things will be alright, father. Don’t worry. Please tell mother not to fret.

            – She has been upset these last days but I will tell her that you are bearing up and feeling well.

Mr Bell took his leave just as Adrian’s stump sent a searing protest through his body.

 

– – – – – – -

 

The news was grim and yet the nation seemed to rejoice. To the bewilderment of politicians across Europe, nationalisms descended into belligerence. Adrian heard of the outbreak of war through the frightened whispers of his nurses and requested a newspaper. His stump had settled down over the past week and pained him less. Adrian began to pay more attention to other things and the other patients around him. His nearest neighbour was a labourer from the East End who had lost his right arm in some accident on a building site in Bethnal Green. His confusion and fear about his future as a one-armed man turned to exasperation when he realised that he would not be able to join the thousands of young compatriots who were desperate to defend the nation’s honour on the field of battle, wherever that was. He had introduced himself as Bert. His full name was Albert Shilling and his young lady called him Bertie, just like the king. She declared he was her king. She had not been in to see him yet and Bert wondered if she knew why he had not called on her recently. Most of all, he worried that she would not want to stay with him now, with a man whose right arm ended three inches below his shoulder. He was sure he could manage perfectly fine with one arm. He could set up a stall on Portobello Road and sell the bric‑a‑brac the ladies loved to own. Hats and fancy teapots. His cousin ran a stall and although he had four limbs, he had only half a brain.

 

The two young men demanded to see newspapers every day. Adrian wanted to see the Telegraph, which his father had always subscribed to. It had the widest range of reporters. His own paper, the Post, was reliant on second‑hand information and very much the underdog in its war reporting. Bert wanted to see the Daily Mail, whose reporters sent vivid descriptions of the British Expeditionary Force’s adventures in France. Adrian often glanced across at Bert as he worked through the paragraphs, punctuated by Bert’s exclamations of support.

 

Adrian’s stumps had healed enough for them to be left undressed. The almost non-existent stump at his right hip was completely healed and the way it would always be. His left stump, a goodly part of his thigh, was taking longer. The doctors wanted to see all the lacerated flesh and the amputation scar consistent and capable of bearing the patient’s weight. His doctor brought up the subject of artificial limbs.

            – It’s time for you to start thinking about getting an artificial limb, my boy. You will be discharged shortly and will be able to return home in a bath chair but I do suggest that it would be advantageous to book an appointment with a limb maker at your earliest convenience. I have a list here of providers in the vicinity. Do write to them and ask for their prospecti. You may then judge which of them you wish to employ. I suggest that you do not immediately purchase an artificial leg as such, but rather a straightforward peg leg which you might use with crutches. It will take a while before you become confident enough on a peg before you are ready to advance.

            – Thank you for the advice, sir. I’ll be sure to bear it in mind.

            – Very good. You will shortly be leaving us, Bell. I am satisfied with your progress and wish you well in the future.

 

Adrian arranged to loan a bath chair from St Giles until he was mobile again on an artificial leg of some description. He was discharged three days after his doctor had spoken with him, on Friday, September the fourth. His parents had been notified of the fact and his mother and her housemaid were waiting outside the hospital to greet the patient. His nurse wheeled him out to the forecourt, shook his hand and exchanged a few words with Mrs Bell. The maid positioned herself behind the bath chair and readied herself to push Adrian’s unwieldy chariot along the uneven pavements to their home. Adrian’s lap was covered in a tartan blanket which his father had delivered the previous week with some street clothes to replace the blood-soaked outfit which Adrian had arrived in. Adrian’s stump was well hidden from onlookers, an appalling appendage which Mrs Bell hoped she would never cast eyes on.

 

Military vehicles in drab olive green roared along the main thoroughfares, carrying enthusiastic young soldiers to newly established barracks in the east of the city and then on to destinations unknown. Several of them spotted Adrian and, recognising his leglessness, shuddered with a premonition of suffering the same fate. It was an ironic coincidence that Adrian should have been injured as the result of a completely different war. He also suspected that he would be confused with or assumed to be an invalid of the war raging on the continent.

 

After a forty minute journey, the trio reached the Bells’ home. Mrs Bell ascended the seven marble steps outside her front door and let herself in. The maid fussed around Adrian for a few moments, not knowing what to do or how to help. Adrian stared at the steps and worked out a plan to get inside. He would have to get out of the bath chair and onto the pavement and pull himself up backwards on his fundament. It felt undignified but there was no other way. Perhaps his father might have carried him bodily but his father was at his place of work and would not be home until the evening. Step by step, Adrian backed up to the front door and twisted himself around to handwalk into the sitting room overlooking the street. The bath chair remained outside, too cumbersome to bring inside and too large for any practical purpose at home. Perhaps the maid could take it around to the alleyway at the back of the house and leave it in the garden. He would ask his mother for her opinion.

 

A letter was waiting for him. The maid handed it to him after Adrian had settled himself in an armchair. She stood waiting for instructions, trying to keep her eyes on Adrian’s hands instead of at the solitary short stump inside Adrian’s plus fours which was all that remained of the young master’s legs. It was too pitiful. She liked Adrian, although she would never dare admit anything of the sort.

            – It’s alright, Millie. You don’t need to wait here. Thank you for your help.

Millie curtsied and smiled wanly. She left Adrian alone and returned to the scullery to prepare lunch for two.

 

Adrian tore his letter open and read its contents with increasing delusion. It was from his employer and stated bluntly that due to circumstances and recent developments, Adrian’s employment would be terminated on the last day of September. He would be paid a severance compensation of forty-three pounds and fifteen shillings but no wages, as he had not worked since the explosion. Adrian was indignant at the wording of the letter but reluctantly grateful for the generous sum of money the Post was voluntarily granting him. It was the equivalent of several month’s pay and would be most useful during the upcoming weeks before he had his first artificial limbs. He folded the letter and placed it in his jacket’s inner pocket. He would discuss the situation with his father later but keep the news from his mother for the time being, not wishing to distress her further.

 

However, there were two imminent problems. The bath chair was still outside the front door on the street and he had a growing need to urinate. A water closet had been installed on the first floor landing directly above the corresponding apparatus in Millie’s tiny below-stairs room just off the area. There were five steps leading down to its entry door with about twelve square feet of stone flags outside. He decided to ask Millie if she thought she could manage to take the bath chair down, out of the way of passers-by and out of the sight of mischief-makers. He stared at the call button next to the fireplace. It was at shoulder level – for a man with legs. Adrian doubted he could reach it. There was nothing for it. He dropped to the floor and hand-walked to the hall and ascended the stairs one rise at a time, careful not to knock his stump. He was glad to have it but it was most inconvenient at times like this. There was more inconvenience in the water closet. He needed to sit on the seat and looked for a way to raise himself. The cast iron pipe from the cistern was bolted securely to the rear wall and he might be able to grasp it and the windowsill to lift himself. Then he would have to squirm around removing his plus fours. Things had been much simpler in the hospital. He had relieved himself into a flat bottle with an upturned neck which a nurse regularly removed for emptying and washing. Life would be much easier if he had something similar at home for the next few weeks. He finished his business and carefully lowered himself to the floor where he struggled back into his trousers and made his precarious way downstairs. He knocked on the scullery door, which Millie opened after a few moments. She glanced out and then down to see the young master sitting on the floor.

            – Millie, I have a favour to ask of you. Do you think my bath chair would fit in the area? I know it would be in your way, right in front of your door, but I really can’t think of another place where it would be close but out of the way for most of the time.

            – I think it would, sir. Would you like me to take it down now? I was just proving the loaves so I have a few minutes.

Adrian had no idea what proving loaves meant but was relieved to hear Millie’s offer to help.

            – If you could, Millie. Thank goodness it isn’t raining or it would be sodden by now. I wonder what we could find to cover it with? Maybe father will think of something.

            – I’ll do it now, sir.

            – Jolly good. Oh, do you know where my mother is?

            – I believe she is in the drawing room, sir. That’s where I saw her last.

            – Thank you, Millie. Where would we be without you?

 

Millie took her apron off and hurried past Adrian. She left the front door ajar while she opened the gate and moved something in the area. Adrian could hear something scraping. Shortly he heard the bath chair creaking as it bounced down the steps. Millie returned and smiled at Adrian’s questioning face.

            – It’s quite out of the way now, sir. No-one can see it.

            – Thank you, Millie. That was very kind of you.

Millie curtsied again, hesitated a moment and returned to the scullery. Adrian hand-walked along to the drawing room and rapped on the door.

            – Are you there, Mother?

            – Yes, I’m here, Adrian.

            – May I come in?

A brief pause.

            – Come in, Adrian.

He reached up and pushed the door open. He hand-walked and stopped just inside the door. His mother glanced at the legless figure, put down her embroidery and gathered herself. She turned towards Adrian and waited for him to speak.

            – You’ve been weeping, mother. I’m sorry. Don’t cry for me. I’m still your Adrian. I love you dearly and I can’t bear to see you shut yourself away from me.

            – I can’t take it any longer. I feel I shall go quite mad. I can barely bring myself to look at you. Your lost future! Your lost opportunities!

            – And my lost legs. Mother, they were only legs. I shall have a new pair in two shakes. Don’t fret! Everything will work out for the best. There is already one thing to be grateful for in all this.

            – And what, pray, could that possibly be?

            – I shan’t be sent to war. I shan’t be fighting for King and country, as much as I feel I should, only to be killed on some foreign battlefield. You will never have a telegram informing you that I have fallen like all those other lads just like myself. Look on the bright side, mother. I lost my legs, not my life. The most important thing is that we have each other.

Mrs Bell looked at her broken son and bowed her head.

            – I’m sorry, Adrian. It is very difficult for me. I need time. Please forgive me.

            – Of course.

Adrian wanted to hug his mother to reassure her but it was not physically possible without his mother joining him on the carpet.

            – Millie was very kind and took my bath chair down to the area. It’ll be out of the way there. I hope it doesn’t rain before we find a cover for it. I wouldn’t like it to spoil. I have to return it to St Giles at some point.

            – Speak to your father about it, Adrian. I’m sure he can find some kind of cover for it. Darling, I must ask you this. How long will it be until you get your artificial legs? I can’t bear to see you crawling on the floor.

            – It’s alright, mother. It won’t be for long. The hospital doctor gave me a list of addresses of makers of artificial limbs and there’s one in Charing Cross Road which comes highly recommended. But it’ll be difficult for me to get there unless someone helps.

            – Your father will come with you. I will insist on it.

 

Neither Mrs Bell nor Adrian had a realistic understanding of how an artificial leg operated or how it was attached to a stump. Mrs Bell found the entire matter extremely distasteful to contemplate and longed to see her handsome son standing proud on two feet again. Adrian was dubious about the nub on his right. He could not imagine how a wooden leg could attach to it. The left stump was another matter. It was easy to imagine how he could push it into a false leg and strap it on tight. But then he would need crutches to walk. A life on crutches! But the alternative was even worse. Sitting in a bath chair for the rest of his days. How on earth could that be practical at home or at work? He remembered that now he had no job and the thought brought him up short. He shook off the feeling of helplessness and smiled up at his mother. Wordlessly, he hand-walked to the door and returned to his seat in the sitting room with a book quickly plucked from the bookcase. ‘Long John Silver’. It seemed very apt. He had not read it since he was a small boy. It would help pass the hours.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Adrian’s father seemed almost enthusiastic when asked to accompany his son to Charing Cross Road to enquire about the manufacture of a wooden leg. Mrs Bell was prepared to persuade her husband to make the extra effort but none such was necessary. The matter was soon decided over a dinner of haddock, runner beans and boiled potatoes followed by treacle tart and custard. Bell Senior was curious and interested to learn about a subject he had no knowledge of, although amputees were hardly a rare sight on the streets of London, whether selling newspapers or simply begging outside stations. Tomorrow was Saturday and the men decided to make an early start. Charing Cross Road was quite a way, nearly two miles, but the time it required could be usefully spent discussing Adrian’s current predicament and his potential for the future. Adrian’s father had certain life-long principles which he would demand Adrian adhere to.

 

Bell Senior collected the bath chair from the area and lifted his son into it. Adrian was wearing a smart pair of plus fours which were adequate to cover his stump. It was a bright morning after a night of rain which had cleared the air. A tarpaulin, pilfered from army barracks during the Boer War, had proved its worth and protected the ungainly vehicle. Adrian revealed that he had lost his job.

            – Father, I should tell you that I received a letter yesterday from my employer. I have to tell you that I am being made unemployed on the last day of the month.

            – I had expected as much. Did they say why?

            – Not really. Something about circumstances.

            – Adrian, a busy news department needs people who are both present and quick on their feet. I’m afraid you’ll be deskbound at any work you find – as I am sure you will. You have a good head on you so don’t worry about that. I can put a few feelers out for you when the time is ripe. Consider it. If you were a little more senior and advanced at the Post, you would have been able to become a sub-editor. That requires brains, not legs.

            – I suppose you’re right. They are giving me a decent amount of compensation though, so that will come in useful.

            – Useful for what in particular?

            – Useful for buying a new set of legs, of course.

            – Dear boy! You need have no cause to worry on that account. I have good insurance against injury and any expenses incurred at the limb maker will be compensated to the fullest degree.

            – Really? I had no idea. That’s wonderful.

            – It’s always best to prepare for the worst, Adrian. Insurance can be a life saver when the worst happens.

 

His father, a senior civil servant loyal to the Liberal party for the past thirty years, was not surprised. It was unfortunate but understandable. He should be looking for a desk job or a position which did not require him to walk. Perhaps as a receptionist in a high-class hotel. There were several of those in their neighbourhood. Well-bred gentlemen were always welcome in such positions. It made guests feel more assured. No-one need ever know that their receptionist was legless.

 

Pushing the bath chair became easier as they approached their destination. The road dipped gently towards Trafalgar Square. Several gentlemen raised their hats as they approached the pair, giving respect to a recently injured young man. Obviously a casualty of the war. More and more young men were being shipped back from the battlefields of Belgium with shattered limbs. During peacetime, there would be time and manpower to nurse the injured back to health over weeks and months. During wartime, when so many staff members had themselves seen fit to leave for the front, amputation was the quickest way to cure bullet wounds and shattered bones. A stump could be healed well enough in a fortnight to discharge the patient in order to make room for the next. It was unfortunate but unavoidable.

 

They arrived at the address. Bell Senior looked at the shop frontage with trepidation. Cohen’s Artificial Limbs was gilded onto the glass and a panel on the door proclaimed the hours of business. Fridays closed, Sundays by appointment only. A line of Hebrew text confirmed Bell Senior’s suspicions. There was nothing for it.

            – Let me go in and I will explain our situation.

A bell clanged as Bell stepped inside. A short man with moon-spectacles, a grey pointed beard and a skullcap put down whatever he was doing and welcomed the gentleman.

            – Good morning. I have brought my son who is waiting outside. He is in need of artificial legs.

            – I understand, sir. Is he able to enter?

            – Not easily.

            – My son will bring him in. Chaim!

            – Yes father?

            – Bring the young man in, will you?

It was such an ordinary request that no further instruction was required. Chaim opened the door and let it close behind him.

            – Hello! My father sent me out to ask if you need some help getting in.

            – Well, yes I do, actually.

            – Do you mind if I lift and carry you inside? Do make sure your chair won’t roll away.

Chaim respectfully waited for Adrian to position himself so he could be lifted. Chaim asked him to put one arm around his neck, gently kicked the door open and placed Adrian on a leather-seated wooden kitchen chair which was fitted with castors on the legs.

            – Good morning, young man. I understand that you require an artificial leg.

            – Well, yes. Actually I need two.

Cohen looked at the naïve young man with the empathy engendered over decades.

            – Shall we go through to our workshop and we shall see what we have to work with. Would you follow us, sir?

Chaim pushed Adrian along a narrow corridor leading to the back of the shop, followed by Bell Senior and Cohen himself. They entered a space which opened up into a large workshop with several artisans working on various stages of the manufacture of wooden legs and artificial arms. A variety of limbs in various states of readiness hung from racks around the walls. Adrian was amazed to think that so many artificial legs and arms could be required at the very moment he needed a pair himself. A closer look revealed two men, customers, no older than himself, who were being fitted with wooden legs, one of them wearing the uniform of the Expeditionary Forces.

            – Come this way, sirs. We need to discuss your requirements away from this hubbub.

Cohen guided them to a corner of the workshop, hidden by a plush velvet curtain. Four armchairs surrounded a circular table holding a carafe of water and four upturned glasses. Cohen indicated the seats and Chaim positioned Adrian facing Cohen and sat next to him.

            – May I ask how long it has been since your injury, sir?

            – I was hurt in the Post bomb blast in July.

            – Oh really? That was quite the news of the town until this other business started. How are your stumps now?

            – They don’t pain me, if that’s what you mean. My right stump is very short and has not troubled me but the left occasionally makes its presence known.

            – And is it painful?

            – Yes, but nothing I can’t put up with.

            – Are you sure, young man? It’s important to know these things. Does it hurt when you put pressure on the end of the stump?

            – No, it doesn’t hurt as such but I can feel the pressure.

            – Very well. Now, I need to evaluate your stumps. Would you remove your outerwear so I can inspect your stumps, please sir?

Adrian worked his plus fours over his buttocks and past his stump. Cohen rose to his feet and circled the table. He adjusted his glasses and peered at the right nub.

            – I’m afraid this is too short, sir. I can only recommend that you wear a single artificial leg and ambulate with crutches.

            – That’s what I’ve been worrying about.

            – There’s no need to worry. It’s perfectly possible to lead a happy and productive life with one leg. Thousands of men do so, happy family men leading lives of fulfilment on crutches. Your left stump is eminently suitable for a wooden leg, but I believe that before you adopt one, you should first walk with crutches and a wooden peg leg which is much easier to control than an artificial leg. It may be shocking to you but I assure you with all my years of experience that an amputee such as yourself, sir, missing both legs, will fare better in the long term after first mastering his crutches on a peg than tussling from the beginning with both unfamiliar crutches and a wooden leg at the same time. Do you understand my point, sir?

            – Yes, I suppose I do. So you’re saying I should start out with a peg leg?

            – Exactly so, young sir. It is very unusual for us to have a selection of peg legs at the same time but the recent increase in business has encouraged us to prepare several pegs in advance of demand. If you are of a mind, sir, we could see if we have a peg leg which fits you among our present stock.

            – By all means! That would be wonderful.

 

Chaim pushed the half-dressed Adrian into the workshop. Cohen spoke with a young man working a lathe and they both walked back towards Adrian. The young man was wearing rough hemp trousers but the right leg had been sliced off halfway down the thigh and he wore a comely black wooden peg leg.

            – Hello! My name is Christian and I believe I may be able to help you, sir.

Bell Senior was surprised to hear the young man’s introduction. It struck him as unusual that a Jewish establishment should employ a Gentile. Needs must, he reasoned.

            – Well yes. I am told that a peg leg is the way forward and that you may have some ready to try.

            – We do indeed, sir. Let me take a few measurements of your stump and I’ll check the stockroom.

Christian fished around in his overalls and withdrew a tape measure.

            – Hold the end as close to your body as possible please, sir, while I take the measurement at your stump.

Adrian understood and pressed the metal tip into his groin.

            – Thank you, sir. Please wait a moment while I check our stock.

Adrian and his father watched the man walk away, the peg leg describing a shallow curve at each step. Adrian thought it looked handsome and manly. Could he reproduce the same effect with his own peg leg and crutches? Time would tell. Christian shortly returned carrying a peg leg in each hand.

            – Let me find some stump socks and we can start fitting these. One moment, please sir.

He sorted through a collection of cotton socks until he found one which satisfied him and opened another drawer in search of a thick woollen sock. He handed the cotton sock to Adrian.

            – Would you pull this onto your stump, sir? It will make it easier to put the peg on.

Adrian stretched the seamless sock onto his thigh stump and looked up at Christian.

            – Good. Now let’s see if either of these legs are suitable.

He lowered himself, stretching his own long peg leg to one side and kneeling on his knee. He lifted one of the peg legs, the shorter one, and carefully oriented it so the hinged waist joint was correctly positioned. The curved rim of the peg was quite tight against Adrian’s buttock. Cohen Senior stood and watched his employee.

            – I need you to stand now, sir.

            – And I will help you, my boy. If you would move forward in the chair a little, I will lift you to stand.

Cohen did so. Adrian felt extraordinarily unbalanced but Cohen held him firmly. Christian inspected how the peg’s upper rim rested against Adrian’s ischial bone.

            – Can you feel the peg against your seat bone, sir? Does it feel like you are sitting on the peg?

            – Yes, I suppose it does. It’s very tight but not uncomfortable.

            – Excellent! Christian, see to the belt and fetch a pair of crutches for Mr Bell.

Christian cinched a wide leather belt around Adrian’s waist and the peg leg was securely attached. Cohen continued to hold him steady while Christian selected a pair of glossy black wooden crutches. They would need to be adjusted. He loosened the wing nuts holding the adjustable shaft in place and estimated Adrian’s height.

            – Please take this, sir, and place it under your arm. I wish to see if it is a suitable length.

Cohen repositioned his hold and Adrian grabbed the crutch. Its padded rest fit comfortably into his armpit.

            – This feels quite suitable.

Christian nodded and smiled and made the identical adjustments to the other crutch. Adrian took it and settled the crutches into his armpits. He glanced at his father who was watching the process with keen interest. Cohen spoke from behind him.

            – If you lean on your crutches, sir, you will take some weight off your peg. I want you to tell me what your stump feels. I will let go now, sir, if you feel secure.

            – Yes, I’m steady. The stump feels quite comfortable. It is touching the inner surface of the peg leg but there is no pressure. I feel that my, er, buttock is taking the weight.

            – That is the way it should be, sir. Do you feel up to taking a step? Lean on the crutches and swing the peg forward a little.

Adrian did so and immediately understood how he should push on the crutches to lift himself forward. Without being asked, he strode ahead for four paces and stopped. He thought about what he would need to do to turn and managed to spin himself around on the tip of his peg to face the trio of men watching him.

            – This happens occasionally but I would venture to say that you have found your peg leg on the very first fitting.

Adrian was standing at a height of five foot four inches. The peg was deliberately a little short to improve balance while he was learning.

            – However, you may like to try the second peg, sir, which is longer. You will stand taller.

Adrian thought about it for a moment.

            – Very well. Let’s try the other peg too.

He pegged back to his wooden seat and Christian removed the first peg. The second was obviously considerably longer. Christian compared their lengths and lengthened the crutches by the same amount. He fitted the second peg which slipped on to Adrian’s stump more easily.

            – I think this one is slightly larger, sir. Would you put one of the woollen socks onto your stump? This is quite usual, sir. It doesn’t mean that the peg leg is the wrong fit. Ready?

Christian pushed the peg onto the stump and felt resistance as it reached Adrian’s seat bone. With the belt holding the peg secure to his body, Cohen again helped him stand to his natural height of five feet ten inches. He beamed at his father who seemed impressed by the proceedings. Christian handed him the longer crutches and Adrian found his balance. He stepped forward on the long rigid peg and swung himself over it. He remembered how Christian swung his peg out to one side, just a little, and decided to attempt the same. The rubber ferrule cleared the floor and planted itself firmly in front of him. Adrian pushed himself over it and swung it around again. Christian looked at Cohen Senior with raised eyebrows. Not only had the customer found two eminently suitable peg legs at the first visit, but he seemed to understand the principles of walking on a long rigid peg leg. Bell Senior was equally impressed. His son was walking again for the first time in two months. Adrian spun himself around and returned to join the others, balancing with his peg leg slightly ahead and leaning back on his crutches.

            – Well, what do you think?

            – What do you think, sir? Which of the pegs do you prefer? The price is the same for each of them. Please don’t let that cloud your judgment.

Adrian considered the pegs. There was the short one which fit tighter and this long one which needed an extra sock but which felt just as good and made him as tall as he had been before the bomb. It was difficult to choose. Perhaps he could have two. He realised he could have as many as he wanted, in time. A peg leg was not some permanent fixture. Perhaps the one he was wearing would be more suitable for the immediate future.

            – I’d like to keep this peg, if I may.

            – Certainly, sir. Christian, help dress the gentleman.

Christian guided Adrian back to his seat and helped him sit. The long peg leg poked directly ahead, a gleaming and beautifully turned leg he could be proud of. He was already proud of it. His crutches were very smart too, black and refined.

 

Wearing his plus fours again and with the lower shaft of his peg leg on display for all to see, Adrian led the other three to the front of the shop where his father arranged payment with Cohen. Invoices were created in triplicate and signatures were added to all three. A final invoice for peg leg, crutches and a half dozen each of cotton stump socks and woollen oversocks would arrive within the week and Cohen humbly requested payment within the month. Bell Senior assured him it would be so. Christian once again helped Adrian negotiate the step down to the street where his bath chair awaited. Adrian lowered himself into his chair and was amused to see how his new peg leg demanded attention. The contrast with his almost non-existent right stump was astonishing.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Adrian received his compensation. It was early October and he was freshly unemployed. Every day he left home and strolled along the avenue, watching the leaves turn, around the block, thinking of what job he might find which would allow him to sit. After weeks of practice, he thrust his peg further and swung more powerfully. He wondered how much better a conventional wooden leg could be compared with his peg. Obviously, the leg would bend at the knee. Adrian had learned to keep his crutches nearby always. It was difficult to rise from a seated position – indeed, it was often difficult to sit with the rigid peg, but he felt capable again. He liked the sensation of the peg on his stump and the security of the belt around his waist. He often wore a pair of navy blue trousers whose right leg had been shortened and sewn closed by Millie one evening. The tip of his peg leg showed at the cuff of his trousers, nothing to frighten the ladies. His peg leg was comfortable, secure and reliable. He could sense the nub on the right and could move the inch or so of bone which the surgeon had left him. It was almost comical but it felt comforting to have the nub next to his sturdy peg. He would never be grateful to the Irish rebels who had caused him such pain but at the same time, he would not want his old legs back now. It was a fine thing to strut along the thoroughfares on a peg leg. People noticed his youth and his leglessness and the shocking peg leg.

 

Millie had some unwelcome news. She begged the lady’s pardon but she wished to hand in her notice. She was starting a new job at the beginning of November. She was going to be a clippie on the trams. She was going to move back to Stepney now her younger brothers were overseas. So many conductors and drivers had signed up that the tram operator was taking on young women in their stead.

            – But whatever shall we do without you, Millie? You know how I rely on you so.

            – I’m very sorry, ma'am. I’m sure you can find another girl to do for you.

            – Is it about money?

            – Oh no, ma'am. Well, not only that. I’ll be paid two pounds twelve a week, ma'am.

It was four times what Mrs Bell paid her. At last she could be independent and lead her own life.

 

Mrs Bell complained to her husband about the difficulty of replacing her housemaid over supper. Girls were so hard to come by now that they were taking up the jobs left vacant by the men leaving for the front. And Millie wanted to be a conductress on a tramcar, if you please! Mr Bell sympathised.

            – I’m sure you’ll manage, my dear. I’ll keep an ear to the ground and let you know if I hear about a suitable candidate.

Adrian realised that he could also gain some independence. If the downstairs room was going to become vacant, he could move into it. Everything he needed would be close-to-hand in the small apartment. He would have his own water closet and a gas ring in the kitchen nook to make tea. And he could take his peg leg off as soon as he got home instead of wearing it until bedtime in order not to offend his mother’s sensibilities. He would discuss it with his father when they were alone.

 

Bell Senior fully supported the idea. His son might already have flown the nest by now, quite possibly. Only his disablement had made it impractical. The downstairs apartment was perhaps an unusual locale for a young gentleman but it would be beneficial for Adrian to experience a more independent life without being far away. If he needed help, it would be immediately at hand. Bell persuaded two porters from his office to act as removal men and on Sunday, November the first, Adrian’s bedroom furniture was transferred from the second floor to the basement. His bed, a chest of drawers and a writing desk with a leather upholstered seat. The old carpeting was rolled up and replaced with two Afghan rugs. The old furniture was in a tidy pile outside in the area and it would be removed by the rag-and-bone men on their next collection. After the porters had left, both grateful for a silver crown each, Bell Senior surveilled the room suddenly transformed into a gentleman’s living quarters. Adrian sat on his bed, which acted as a sofa or couch during the daylight hours.

            – Will you be joining us this evening, my boy? Perhaps you should spend a little time organising your new home. Do let us know if there is anything else from upstairs you would like. I rather think you may need a new teapot and kettle. Those have seen better days.

            – Thank you, father. I’m sure I can manage for a few days.

            – I’m sure you can. Well, I leave you to it.

            – Oh father! There was one other thing I wanted to ask you about. Do you think it might be possible to be fitted for an artificial leg? Would the insurance cover a new limb?

            – Regardless of whether they would or not, son, I will ensure that you have all the devices you need to remain independent. Will you be returning to Cohen’s?

            – Yes, I think so. They were very accommodating last month, don’t you think? I want to discuss my alternatives with them.

            – Are you not comfortable on your peg?

            – Oh, nothing like that. It’s perfectly fine and I feel very capable on it. The only disadvantage is that there is no knee joint and I rather think that I would be more readily accepted by an employer if I could at least appear to be a one-legged man.

            – Hoho! I see your point. By all means discuss the matter with Cohen and Company and get yourself sorted as you best see fit.

            – Thank you, father.

 

There was something else which Adrian had lost in the blast. His pipes and smoking paraphernalia. In his own room, he could again indulge without offending his mother, who abhorred the smell of tobacco smoke. In the morning, he would stroll along to Burlington arcade to see if the wonderful billiard pipe which he had admired in the summer was still for sale.

 

The room was cold so he lit the gas burner. He should buy some matches. His dresser held several pairs of trousers which would need altering if he were ever to wear them again. There were several white shirts, some collars, his cufflinks, handkerchiefs and a couple of bow ties. Adrian made room for woollen and cotton stump socks. He needed a rack of some kind to hang his jacket and coat on. There was hardly any room left for a wardrobe. He would have to think of another way to store them. He also had nothing to read. He had finished ‘Treasure Island’ again, amused by the unrealistic agility of the one-legged pirate. He leaned back on his sofa cum bed and imagined himself wearing an artificial leg, artfully disguised as a natural leg. The same colour and shape as a natural leg. It would be indistinguishable with a pair of plus fours. That was what he would enquire about at Cohen’s. The morrow would be quite an effort. First to Piccadilly and then to the far end of Charing Cross Road. He grasped his wooden thigh between both hands and felt its unforgiving solidity. His peg leg would not let him down.

 

The next morning, after breaking fast with his mother upstairs, he reconsidered his priorities. He would visit Cohen first and, depending on the outcome, he would be better informed with his mind at rest and might well celebrate by purchasing the pipe he admired. At nine thirty, he pulled himself up the five steps from his area to the street using the dark green iron railings, settled his crutches under his arms and swung his peg forward in the direction of Charing Cross Road.

 

Although it was a drab Monday morning, the shop front of Cohen’s seemed unusually popular. There were two bath chairs on the pavement outside, almost interlocking. Adrian heaved the door open and pulled his peg inside. Instead of the peaceful scene of two months ago, he was confronted with the sight of five waiting patients sitting on very mismatched chairs brought in from various sources to accommodate the alarming increase in business. Four of those seated were young, his age, and the fifth was a Jewish gentleman with his skull cap and two leather gloved hands in his lap, seemingly annoyed by being surrounded by the rather common Gentile boys. Two of them were smoking pipes and jesting with each other. They had both lost a leg. In fact, all the youngsters had lost a leg and one of them had an arm off as well. As Adrian repositioned his peg, one of the soldiers pointed at him.

            – That’s what I want! One of them peg legs. Oi mate! Where’s yarother leg?

            – Are you talking to me? Oh! I just have the one peg. My other stump is too short for a peg.

            – Bleedin ’ell. One bleedin peg leg. Imagine that! Stone the crows.

Cohen soon appeared, having heard the door bell ring.

            – Master Bell, if I am not mistaken. Welcome back, sir. What can I do for you?

            – Good morning. I was wondering if we might have a chat about an artificial leg.

            – Indeed. As you can see, we are quite busy at the moment. If you can wait half an hour, I may be able to make the time. Would you like to come along to the workshop, sir? Unfortunately there are no more chairs here. Gentlemen! Please be patient for a little longer and someone will be along to discuss your situation.

Cohen hurried Adrian along the passageway to his workshop. There was a large cage in the middle of the room containing a huge variety of artificial legs, all numbered with cardboard labels and the far side of the room held a bench displaying a row of artificial arms in various degrees of manufacture.

            – Come with me quickly this way, sir. Tell me how I can help.

            – Well, I came to ask about an artificial leg but you are so busy…

            – Don’t worry about that. Cohen always tends to his old customers before taking on new ones. And, God forbid, we have enough of those. Is your peg not suitable?

            – No. I love it. It seems like my own leg. The crutches are my problem. How they fall over and are always in the way.

            – Yes, my boy. I know the problem. And you think an artificial leg will help you? I have to say that you will still need crutches. If I remember correctly, your right stump is too short for an artificial limb.

            – It is. But I have been made recently jobless and I am looking for a more natural leg in order not to discourage a prospective employer as soon as I stump in through his door.

            – I’m sorry to hear that. Are you looking for work, Master Bell?

            – I am indeed, Mr Cohen.

            – Do you know how to operate a lathe?

            – Unfortunately not, sir.

            – Never mind. A gentleman such as yourself can soon learn a new skill. As you have no doubt seen, we are severely short of staff with an increasing number of desperate customers in need. If you need work, I would make so bold to suggest that you join our workshop to manufacture the latest artificial arms. There is a row of them awaiting assembly on the other side of the room and a far longer line of young men in need of them.

            – Are you offering me a job, Mr Cohen? To work here in the workshop assembling artificial arms?

            – Yes, sir. I hope you are not offended.

            – Good lord, no. On the contrary. A man such as myself can no longer help fight but I can most certainly help the men who return needing an artificial limb. I would be delighted to be able to help.

            – You are a golden boy. Are you free to start immediately?

            – I am. I could start tomorrow morning.

            – I will pay you four pounds a week to assemble our new artificial arms with operating hooks and to fit them to our customers. You will be sitting for most of the time unless you choose to stand. You may indeed start tomorrow if that is convenient for you. The shop opens at nine. Come to the front and someone will let you in. Otherwise the staff uses the back entrance. You are most heartily welcome to join our shop, Mr Bell. Shall we shake on it?

They shook. Adrian was delighted at having been offered a job and Cohen was relieved that someone would help him clear the backlog of new-fangled prosthetic arms with split hooks which were much more complicated to fit than the old school hooks he had known in his boyhood. The new ones could open and close to grasp things but needed cables and leather harnesses and all kinds of paraphernalia. Bell was young enough to take it all in his stride. He seemed clever enough to learn the trade. God knows there would be no lack of opportunity to learn.

 

At Cohen’s invitation, Adrian pegged across to the head of the workbench where his future colleague and teacher sat. The man was footless and walked on two wooden legs which he had made himself. Cohen had always preferred to employ amputees. His father was an invalid. Captured while trying to escape the latest Russian pogrom, he had been tortured while trying to protect his family, who were held in a synagogue acting as a prison. When his captors were satisfied that the young man had not taken part in recent violence, they released him. On stepping outside the building, he was grabbed and stripped naked. Two men held him down while a third severed his hands with vicious blows of an axe. His stumps were tied with rope. He was pushed as far as the synagogue where his horrified wife took her invalided man into her care. Cohen was only three years old and could remember nothing of the event except the pervasive atmosphere of fear. By some wonder, his father recovered. The family continued their way westwards and arrived in East London after a two year long trek across Europe, being shunted from one locale to another. Settling his family in meagre accommodation, his armless father studied and became the rabbi for Shoreditch. The congregation’s generosity kept the young Cohen and his parents in bread throughout his growing years. Now with a son of his own, Cohen was sympathetic towards disabled young men, providing them with both the prosthetic equipment they required and employment when possible. His son Chaim had joined the Navy, indignant about claims that the Jewish population would resist fighting, and was currently awaiting deployment in Southampton, unbeknownst to his father.

 

Adrian decided not to waste Cohen’s time any further. He would have ample opportunity to discuss artificial legs during the coming days. He exchanged a few words with his colleague, introducing himself and confirming that he was not an injured soldier but the victim of Irish terrorism. His tutor announced himself as Ben Goldfarb. He had been working for Cohen for eighteen months and was grateful and relieved that he would shortly have an assistant.

 

Adrian left the workshop and made his way out to the street, closely watched by the legless soldiers in the waiting room. Adrian knew he would be under scrutiny and made the extra effort to stand erect and operate his crutches evenly. He was in an excellent mood. He pegged along at a good pace in the direction of Leicester Square, his destination the Burlington Arcade on Piccadilly.

 

The beautiful over-large billiard pipe he had promised himself was missing from the window. He looked carefully at the selection on display but it was not to be found. In its place was another large pipe, a meerschaum calabash. It was an extraordinarily exhibitionist pipe but Adrian knew meerschaums were light and smoked well. Seeing a potential customer, the shop owner opened the door and asked if Adrian might like to take a closer look at other pipes inside.

            – Well, yes, I suppose so.

Adrian shifted his crutches and negotiated his peg leg over the threshold.

            – You see, about three months ago I saw a large billiard in the window where the calabash is presently. I had rather promised it to myself when I could afford it but I’m afraid I may have left it too late.

            – I know the pipe you mean. One moment, sir.

The shopkeeper opened one or two drawers and placed a deep red box on the counter.

            – I think this is what you are looking for, sir.

            – Would you open it? I’m afraid my hands are not free at the moment.

            – Of course, sir.

With the lid removed, the perfectly proportioned pipe gleamed on a satin cloth in its box. The shopkeeper lifted it and turned it slowly so Adrian could appreciate it from every angle.

            – It is truly superb. I wish to buy it. Out of interest and by the bye, what is the price of the calabash?

            – It is two guineas, sir.

            – And the billiard?

            – Thirty-nine shillings, sir.

Adrian did a quick calculation. That was four pounds and one shilling. That would leave him with nineteen shillings for the rest of the week, which should be enough for anybody.

            – I would also like a tin of Navy Cut, a pipe tool and a large box of matches. Oh, I would like to see the large calabash too, if I may.

            – Certainly, sir.

The man carefully reached to the front of his window display and held the calabash for Adrian. What must life be like for the legless boy, standing precariously on one peg leg? He would give the lad a discount. With luck, it would engender enough good will to bring the customer back again.

            – It’s a remarkable pipe. I’ll take it with the billiard.

            – An excellent choice, sir, if I may say so. This smokes very sweetly and the calabash stays cool to the touch. Would you like me to wrap these?

            – If you would.

Adrian left the shop with a small brown paper package tied with string swinging from his wrist. He sat for a few minutes on a bench before leaving the arcade. He had weighed up his choices of sitting to rest with the unavoidable and undignified struggle to rise again with simply continuing on his journey home. He had over a mile to trek. He sat, looking around him, assured by the opulence of his surroundings that all was well. It was an illusion. His own well‑being would now be closely linking with the indescribable horrors taking place on the other side of the Channel. Life would never be the same again.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Cohen Senior let him into the shop at ten to nine the next morning. An omnibus had brought him as far as Shaftsbury Avenue. He had needed to remain on the platform holding on for dear life. His rigid peg made it impossible for him to sit inside the vehicle. But he had arrived in good time. Cohen introduced him to the other workers and provided him with a long apron with pockets for tools at the front. There was a tall stool standing by the work bench which had been partially cleared the previous afternoon to make room for him. Ben Goldfarb shook his hand again and Adrian was left in his company.

            – Let me show you what you’ll be working on. Artificial arms like these. They are for men who have lost a hand and who still have their elbows. The lower sections are called sockets and they are turned on the lathe in various sizes. There is a normal model, about the length of a gentleman’s forearm and a slightly shorter version for a younger man. The diameters vary from large to small. These are varnished inside and out before we continue work on them. The next stage is to add the connector down here. The hook screws into that, you see, and the next step is to affix these connectors and fittings for the leather straps and the cable wire which clips onto the hook. It’s the cable which makes the hook open up.

            – It looks quite forbidding, doesn’t it? Having a hook instead of a hand, I mean.

            – It’s something a new amputee is happy to put up with, my friend. Appearances have to take second place ahead of practicality.

            – Yes, I suppose so. Tell me what you would like me to do. I see there are quite a few of the sockets ready and waiting.

Ben took one of the new sockets and compared it with a finished arm.

            – You see how these brass fittings are placed along the arm. It’s your job to screw and glue them into place. When you are drilling, try not to pierce the socket, that is to say, don’t let the drill go all the way through. An eighth of an inch is deep enough.

Ben showed Adrian the leather chablons he used to help position the fittings correctly. He made tiny impressions with an awl to guide the drill. Adrian said he understood and watched Ben mark a new socket and drill a couple of holes.

            – You can carry on from there. Remember not to drill too deep.

Adrian drilled the rest of the holes, paying close attention to getting the drill bit in exactly the right spot.

            – Next you place a dab of glue on the end of the fitting and screw it into the hole with a pair of pliers. Careful of the glue – it’s very hot. Let me do one and you can carry on.

Adrian watched Ben’s nimble fingers perform the actions necessary. He was well practised and handed the pliers to Adrian.

            – Let’s see you do one. That’s right. Good. Do you feel you could do the rest?

            – Yes, I think so.

            – Just ask if you’re not sure about something. Try not to get glue on the varnish and make sure the fittings go in straight.

Adrian nodded and smiled at Ben. He continued and, after several minutes, asked Ben if his first completed socket was up to scratch.

            – This is very good. Perfect. You can start on the others. Make sure you use the right chablon, won’t you?

 

Ben had several prepared sockets to work with. He was attaching them to biceps cuffs with leather straps and fixing the wire cable to the hook, threading it through the brass fittings Adrian was currently working on. The next step was to screw one of the new-style split hooks into the end at the wrist and link it to the cable.

 

Adrian was gratified to do something practical and useful. He had enjoyed his work at the Daily Post well enough but this seemed to be more important work and he was learning a new trade which would serve him well in future too. There would always be amputees like himself who needed artificial limbs. It was a business which would always be in demand. Most significant of all, it was work which he could do seated.

 

Ben watched him working. Faint frowns of concentration interspersed with quiet grunts of satisfaction. Adrian was half sitting and half standing. His peg leg rested on the floor.

            – Would you be more comfortable if you took your peg leg off, Adrian? You would be able to sit more squarely on the stool. I’m concerned that you will strain your back as you try to balance.

            – Do you think I could? No-one would mind, would they?

            – No, of course not. Half of us are amputees anyway. There’s nothing we haven’t seen before.

            – I hadn’t realised that there are other amputees here. I thought Christian and  I were the only ones.

            – Haha! Adrian, I am standing on two wooden legs. I lost my feet when I was a toddler. Bert and Arthur have one wooden leg each and Charles, who isn’t here this week, uses a peg leg like yours but he still has his other leg like Christian.

            – Good lord! Well, I suppose I could take the peg off, although I would have to undo the belt first. And then my trousers. It would be rather awkward, I fear. Truth to tell, I’m quite comfortable at the moment.

            – Let me know if you want to take it off. I’ll hold you steady.

            – Thank you, Ben. It’s very kind of you.

Adrian was surprised that he was far from being the only amputee present. None of his colleagues had shown any sign of disability, especially not Ben who stated that he wore two artificial legs. Unfortunately, he would never be able to emulate them. His right trouser leg would always remain empty even when he had a conventional wooden leg. It was not the end of the world.

 

There was a twenty minute break for lunch at noon. Everyone had sandwiches or a pie except for Adrian who had not thought to bring any. He was not hungry yet anyway. Most of his colleagues made their way to the back yard for a smoke. Smoking was prohibited in the workshop. Adrian had not brought either of his new pipes with him but considered that the billiard might be suitable. Its large bowl would not need filling so often and would be quick to light.

 

Cohen Senior spent more time in the work shop in the afternoon. There was a steady stream of customers arriving in order to collect their new artificial limbs and Cohen preferred to serve the customers himself. It was a common sight to see scantly dressed gentlemen gingerly testing a new wooden leg, leaning on walking sticks or crutches. They walked back and forth in the open space near the back door while Cohen watched and gave brief advice on gait and balance. Within half an hour, another invalid made his way from the front of the shop for a similar experience. Many of the customers were young men, probably invalided soldiers. There were beginning to be a prominent number of young amputees on the streets during the daytime, ex-servicemen hopefully attending appointments for employment or on missions to establishments such as Cohen’s in search of an artificial limb.

 

Adrian worked steadily under Ben’s watchful eye. A dozen more varnished sockets had been delivered to him during the afternoon, a slightly larger diameter than those he had been working on. Ben explained that the sockets could not presently be shaped according to each new amputee’s stump. Their fit could be improved with stump socks and they would be adequate for fresh amputees to acquaint themselves with a hook replacing a lost hand. Some older customers preferred to be fitted with immobile brass hooks which had been the most common type when the Queen was alive. Working men, labourers, often needed a new hook every year or eighteen months. It was doubtful whether the new split hook type was robust enough to stand up to strenuous use. Experience would guide them. Adrian drilled more holes and attached more brass fittings for Ben.

 

Adrian dined with his parents that evening with an unusually hearty appetite. His mother had taken over Millie’s duties as cook and had pored over her copy of Mrs Beeton all morning. After spending a frustrating hour trying to get the range to light, she concocted a passable stew with potatoes, carrots, onions and a little rump steak. Her husband thought the meal lacked seasoning but dared say nothing. Adrian was too hungry to notice. Mrs Bell had placed three announcements in local tobacconists’ windows for thruppence each and hoped to high heaven that someone, some unfortunate girl without the wit to be employed elsewhere, might apply for the job of scullery maid.

 

Having eaten their fill, father and son relaxed after a day of work. Bell Senior was fascinated to hear about Adrian’s work but suspected that his son would soon find it tedious unless he could broaden his scope. He was entertained by Adrian’s description of some of the disabled gentlemen who had paid Cohen’s a visit during the afternoon. It sounded undignified for gentlemen to walk around among the artisans in their undergarments sporting a wooden leg, but needs must. None of the customers had yet been fitted with one of the artificial arms which he and Ben were working on and Adrian expressed his interest in seeing the practical application of his travails. His father asked how Adrian’s own disability had affected him and was assured that he was perfectly comfortable half on, half off his stool, propped up by his peg. He slapped his thigh.

            – I look at the customers collecting their artificial limbs and am so happy to have a peg leg. You remember I intended to enquire about a wooden leg for myself? I suddenly find the desire much diminished, father, strange as it may seem. I understand that I appear severely disabled to any onlooker but I am, in fact, perfectly secure with my three point stance and my long strides.

            – As long as you are comfortable, my boy. It seems to me that you are in the best possible situation as regards a new limb and it leave it to you to forge ahead with the matter as you see fit. Now if you will excuse me, my boy, I have some correspondence I must attend to.

His father rose and went to his library. Adrian heard the lock click shut. He looked around and saw the familiar furniture he had known all his life, the unchanging décor and the bookcase stuffed with Victorian tomes. He wanted change, to experience something new to equal the recent upheaval in his own life. He repositioned his crutches, twisted around to face the back of the sofa and pushed himself erect onto his peg leg. He stumped along to the scullery where his mother sat at the table looking downcast and tired.

            – Mother, I do so hope you can find someone to help you. I wanted to ask if we have any bread and cheese for sandwiches. I need to take a packed lunch, you see. I had nothing today.

            – Oh, Adrian! How can you not eat a luncheon? Does Mr Cohen not allow you to dine somewhere local?

            – We only have twenty minutes. It’s enough really, if we take something with us.

            – We have a fresh loaf and some cheddar I believe, and there may be some pickle in the larder. Sit down and let me make it. It will be quicker and I don’t like to see men doing menial jobs like that.

Minutes later, she handed sandwiches wrapped neatly in greaseproof paper to Adrian who wished her good night and left, pecking her gently on the cheek. She escorted her son to the door, opened it for him and watched the silhouetted figure manoeuvring silently along the hallway on crutches and the dreadful peg leg. She returned to the scullery as Adrian opened the front door and exited for his room thirteen imposing steps below.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Adrian gradually picked up speed during the rest of the week and organised his work into phases for better efficiency. He could produce three sockets an hour on Tuesday, ready for Ben to continue working with and four on Thursday afternoon. The first arm amputee customer arrived to be fitted with one of the new split hook artificial arms and Adrian politely asked if he might watch the process. The customer, a black-bearded naval officer, agreed. His right forearm bore a stump approximately four inches long. Ben had obviously selected a suitable socket beforehand on the amputee’s previous visit and the arm and its harness were ready and waiting for the final fitting. If the customer was satisfied, he would depart wearing his new hook.

 

            – Please remove your shirt, sir.

The customer had already placed his jacket on the back a nearby chair. Ben had poked three stump socks into the socket in readiness.

            – If you hold your stump out, sir, I will put these stump socks on. They not only make the arm more comfortable to wear, they also improve the fit.

The first sock was rough cotton and extended up the man’s arm to his shoulder. The second was a sheer woollen material, shorter. Ben picked up the artificial arm and rotated it for the officer to don.

            – Now place your left hand through the leather loop, sir. The arm and its harness are held in position by it. Now push your stump past the upper arm cuff and into the socket, please sir. It should feel tight but not uncomfortable.

Ben checked that the operating cable was unimpeded and that the stiff leather cuff was seated properly. He tightened two straps and buckled them, holding the cuff firmly in place on the man’s upper arm. The officer alternated his attention between the leather cuff and the impressive curved hook.

            – Very good, sir. I think you are ready to test the arm. If you would stand, sir, I will be able to make any adjustments.

Ben saw that the harness was taut and that its leather loop was fitted correctly in the left armpit.

            – Raise the arm, sir, and stretch forward with it.

He obeyed and the large hook divided into two halves which opened wide. It was an ingenious improvement to the standard hook worn for two centuries and more. The officer’s bearded face displayed his delight and he repeated the action several times.

            – There is another way to open the hook, sir. If you hold the hook up without stretching and push your left shoulder forward, the loop will pull on the cable and thus open the hook again. Please try it.

After a couple of attempts, the officer understood the motion needed and again opened his new brass hook.

            – I am both intrigued and delighted, sir. Congratulations on producing such an excellent piece of kit.

            – Thank you, sir. If you are satisfied, you may take the arm. Mr Cohen will finalise the proceedings with you.

The officer put his shirt on and noticed that the hook was of little assistance in fastening buttons. Ben excused himself and attended to the row of buttons. He held the jacket for the officer who looked carefully to feed his hook into the right sleeve and rotated his shoulders to reseat the harness which had slipped. Ben closed three more brass buttons on the customer’s uniform jacket and the man held out his hook to shake hands. Ben escorted him to Cohen to complete the financial side of the business.

 

            – Another satisfied customer, Adrian. That’s the end result of your work. As you can see, it is not insignificant.

            – Indeed not. I would be interested in learning the rest of the process too, Ben.     

            – Plenty of time for that. I’ll show you the separate phases and you can work on them too until after a while you’ll be able to make a complete arm yourself.

            – Good. I look forward to it.

            – Well, let’s get back to work. No peace for the wicked, eh?

 

– – – – – -

 

Cohen’s Artificial Limbs was closed on the Jewish sabbath. The Gentile staff had Fridays off. Saturday was a normal working day for them and Sundays was negotiable depending on demand. Since the outbreak of war, half the artisans had manned the workshop on the holy day. Adrian was not asked to work but Ben continued assembling artificial arms, depleting the supply of readied sockets which Adrian had prepared.

 

Adrian adopted the habit of visiting Hyde Park for regular walks. The trees had changed colour and fallen leaves gathered in serpentine swathes along the pathways. The tip of his peg leg kicked through them as he strolled along. He was warmly dressed  with a sleeveless pullover and tweed jacket, and his favoured plus fours which exposed his peg to its advantage while the right leg hung empty. It was not long enough to flap. On his head he wore his bowler. His green flat cap had been lost in the explosion along with his pipes and, of course, his legs. Three months after his injury, Adrian was proud of standing erect on his peg leg and appreciated the masculine elegance of ambulating on crutches which matched his peg in colour and style. He knew he presented an unusual and intriguing sight and adopted the mindset that it would be his manner, his trademark in the foreseeable future. It occurred to him that he was an example for legless ex-soldiers whom he occasionally encountered in the park. They sat morose in bath chairs, pushed by domestic maids or housekeepers, laps covered in the inevitable tartan blankets sagging into the empty space where there had recently been healthy legs of flesh and blood. Their eyes followed Adrian’s approach with surprise and growing intensity as he passed with a murmured Good morning. He had no way of knowing, but Adrian’s composed persona improved the mood of several recently invalided men and provided inspiration to acquire the same élan when they received their own replacement limbs.

 

Adrian had some unfinished business in the Burlington Arcade. He had little money until payment of his first week’s wages but he was curious to see if the pipe shop had a shorter, more practical pipe which he might take to work in his jacket pocket. Much as he would love to strut along Charing Cross Road with his large calabash pipe between his teeth, it was impractical and too valuable to risk dropping or losing. He imagined a short handsome briar would suit him well and might suffice for a smoke with his colleagues in Cohen’s back yard during their lunch breaks. The pipe shop owner was pleased to welcome Adrian back and expressed his hope that his pipes were satisfactory. Adrian explained his need for a more compact and easily handled pipe and selected a black billiard nosewarmer. Its bowl was the same size as on a longer pipe but its stem was very short and the mouthpiece a little broader than usual. It would sit very comfortably clenched in his teeth and he might experience an extra frisson of self-confidence in public as a young pipe smoker. The pipe cost eight shillings but Adrian regarded it as money well spent. He bid the shop owner good day and returned to his room before joining his mother in the house for lunch.

 

Mrs Bell had had no success in finding a housemaid. She suspected that she had left the matter for too long and that other households whose staff had left to take jobs vacated by the menfolk had already employed the most eligible young ladies. After several weeks of cleaning the grates and preparing food from scratch, she had stopped wearing her quality dresses and putting her hair up while at home. Only tradespeople saw her now, the butcher’s boy and the greengrocer’s assistant. She had no time to receive guests nor had she received invitations to call on friends for tea. Adrian found her in the drawing room with a cup of tea, reading a letter.

            – Hello, mother. May I join you?

            – Of course, dear. Oh! This is too pitiful.

She rustled the sheet of paper in her hand.

            – Your cousin Albert is reported missing at Ypres. Aunt Agnes is frantic with worry about him.

She looked at her son’s face, searching for more news, better news, about her nephew. Her sister would go quite mad if anything happened to the boy.

            – Mother, it’s a desperate situation. If Albert is missing, I think we should prepare ourselves for the worst. I’m sorry I can’t comfort you with gentler words. You know the truth for yourself, I’m sure. But let’s keep up hope until we can be certain.

Mrs Bell put the letter down. Her eyes were drawn to Adrian’s peg leg and crutches. He was leaning on them slightly askance. He looked insouciant and slightly cocky. Her Adrian.

            – I’m so glad you won’t be sent to fight. I only wish it could have been under different circumstances.

            – I know, mother. But this is what fate has dealt us and we need to make the best of it.

Mrs Bell nodded and smiled bravely at her crippled son. She rose and left for the scullery. Adrian turned and pegged out, down to his room where he made himself tea and filled his calabash with fresh tobacco.

 

Cousin Albert was never heard of again.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Business at Cohen’s increased. All the staff worked six day weeks including all day Sundays. There were fewer orders for finely finished artificial limbs for existing customers and many more for basic limbs left unvarnished and peg legs for disabled young soldiers. Adrian became inured to seeing men his own age with appalling injuries being fitted with extended sockets referred to as stubby legs and bilateral short peg legs, operated with crutches or walking sticks, assuming the customer still had both arms. Several ex-soldiers and navy men had been expertly fitted with double hooks, usually with a standard immovable hook on a wooden socket on the left and an operational split hook on the right.

 

One afternoon, a customer arrived and called out to Adrian in surprise.

            – Stone the crows! Hallo mate! I didn’t expect to see you here. Is this where you work? I never would’ve thought.

            – Hello. I remember you. Well, as you see, this is where I work, making arms. Have you come to pick up your leg?

            – I have indeed, squire, and I’m getting a peg leg like yours. I told you I was going to.

            – What? You chose a peg leg because you liked the look of mine?

            – I did indeed, squire. My name’s Arthur, by the way. Arthur Callahan.

            – Pleased to meet you. I’m Adrian Bell.

Ben listened with amusement to the conversation. Adrian walked smoothly and efficiently on his single peg. But it was odd to think of him being envied to such a degree that a customer might choose him as an exemplar.

            – Arthur, I would love to stop and chat but I must get on.

            – Oh, right. Don’t let me stop you. I’d better get myself sorted out. See you later, mate.

Arthur Callahan returned to his limbmaker, the one-legged Bert, who had found the customer’s pylon and stood waiting patiently. Ten minutes later, the trouserless cripple was testing his stride on his peg leg in full view of Adrian and Ben. Ben noticed first.

            – Adrian! Look!

Adrian turned his head to see Arthur grinning and strutting on his glossy black pylon. Arthur made a thumbs-up gesture and pegged back to Bert.

            – Another satisfied customer, Ben.

            – He certainly looks happy enough with it. Credit goes to you, my friend.

            – Surely not.

            – Adrian, I don’t think you realise how very unusual you are. It is extremely rare for a legless man such as yourself to settle into his new life wearing a single peg leg. You provide a wonderful example for the crippled men who see you walking.

            – It’s kind of you to say so. I suppose I am unusual in that sense.

Adrian turned and continued gluing brass ringlets to the wooden arm sockets which were being fitted to armless ex-servicemen almost as soon as they were ready. Ben had tested canvas strapping to compensate for the recent shortage of leather and the latest artificial arms were delivered with harnesses of wide canvas straps. Several amputees had remarked on the improved security and comfort of the new material. Perhaps the leather shortage was serendipitous, creating an inadvertent improvement. Canvas also had the advantage of being considerably cheaper than leather.

 

Arthur Callahan had dressed and made himself look presentable. Bert asked if he still required the crutches which were on loan from Cohen’s Artificial Limbs and Arthur insisted that he would walk out on his peg leg uninhibited by crutches. Just before finalising his account with Cohen senior, he pegged across to Adrian’s bench, trying to keep a serious face.

            – Sorry to bother you again, squire, but I seem to be needing a bit of advice on how to walk on this here peg leg so I was wondering if I could ask you a few enquiries after work. If I wait for you outside at six o’clock, may I buy you a drink?

Adrian chuckled. It would be fun to have a drink with this irrepressibly optimistic and extrovert Cockney boy and there was no need to rush home in the evening.

            – Alright. Wait for me in the Royal George and I’ll see you in there.

Arthur’s cocky grin turned into a handsome smile and he strutted out on his peg leg as if he had never known anything different. Some men were destined to use artificial limbs and thrived in doing so. Arthur was one such man, born to wear and flaunt a peg leg. Adrian could not think of any advice he might give Arthur which would benefit him.

 

Arthur had another motive to see Adrian privately. He not only admired the legless man, a year or two older than himself, but also felt the excitement of meeting someone with whom he might forge a relationship. It might even lead to the forbidden, unmentionable love between two men. Arthur had made love with one of his best friends, Sidney, but Sid had joined up even before Arthur and nothing had been heard from him since. Arthur wanted a mate he could have a beer with on occasion and hoped Adrian might see past the class barrier and accept him as a mate. Time would tell. He concentrated on his peg leg and powered his stump, swinging the wooden leg forward in the direction of the Royal George. It felt grand to have a stump. He had always been jealous of the newspaper sellers around Stepney, hunkered down with splayed peg legs or in a bath chair flogging the rags. If only he could have a stump of his own. And now he had one. He wondered what Adrian’s looked like. His was long, almost down to where his knee had been until a German bullet smashed it to smithereens.

 

Before he could leave Cohen’s, Adrian assisted Ben in fitting a handsome ex-soldier with a pair of the new split hook artificial arms. The man’s hands had been shredded by shrapnel and amputated immediately on his arrival back in England. He possessed two long forearm stumps and was already adept at using them together as pincers. However, his father insisted that he acquire a pair of the most modern artificial limbs available, no expense barred. The two artificial arms were attached to a single harness across the gentleman’s shoulders and after adjusting the strapping and control cables for the optimum response, the customer stood and stretched his new arms to test the hooks. These were attached to the sockets with the tips pointing toward each other. The man opened each hook in turn and was advised how to shrug the opposing shoulder in order to operate a hook without needing to stretch. He was impressed by the hooks’ potential to enable him to return to an independent life. Adrian helped him into his jacket and considered the appearance of two brass hooks emerging from the sleeves.

 

Adrian tidied his workbench and collected another box of brass fittings to be ready for the morrow. He wished Ben a good evening and made his way out the back, along the alleyway to Cranbourne Street and turned toward the Royal George. It had been many weeks since he had last paid a visit to a public house and he looked forward to the hubbub and warm smoky atmosphere. The street was busy and Adrian was slowed by oncomers. It was difficult to walk slowly and avoid other pedestrians on a single peg leg. He crossed the street, skirting the inevitable mess of horse droppings as best he could. He waited outside the Royal George for a few moments, expecting someone to exit or otherwise hold the heavy door for him to enter. A gentleman left, noticed the cripple on crutches and held the door. Adrian heaved himself inside with thanks and peered around for Arthur.

 

Arthur had found a table in the corner where he could sit without his peg getting in the way of other patrons. He had a ready audience of two other lads who were curious to know how Arthur had become disabled and why he had a peg leg rather than a normal wooden leg. The conversation inevitably turned to the war and Arthur’s short experience of it before being injured. Adrian heard Arthur’s voice before spotting him.

            – There you are. May I sit? Is there room for one more?

            – Hallo Adrian. Come and sit on the bench beside me if you can.

Adrian manoeuvred himself into a position where he could carefully lower himself without kicking anyone or anything. He placed his crutches to one side and looked around at his company. They were astounded to be joined by another bloke with a peg leg. Arthur introduced the three men to each other and mentioned that they were discussing Arthur’s brief army life. Now that Adrian had arrived, Arthur was less keen to talk to the others and he hoped they would soon drink up and move on. He wanted to spend the evening talking to Adrian. First of all, he should get a round in.

            – What would tickle your fancy? Pint of bitter?

            – Yes, thank you.

Arthur stood and limped to the bar to place an order for two pints of best. He could feel other customers’ eyes on him. He decided then and there that he would shorten his trouser leg so his peg leg was fully visible. Then everyone would see it without having to crane their necks. He carried the beer back to the table and sat, careful not to strike anyone with his peg. Adrian and Arthur toasted each other and Arthur lowered his voice, excluding the other two from his conversation. They soon understood the situation, emptied their glasses and took their leave. Now Arthur had Adrian to himself.

 

            – Ta very much for coming by, squire. I wanted to talk to you about things, you know.

            – You mean your new peg leg? I have to say that my colleagues and I thought you especially skilful. What would you like advice on?

            – Well, what’s the best way to go upstairs, like? I live on the second floor and it’s slow going on crutches. I was wondering like if you know any tricks to make it easier with a peg.

            – No, not really, Arthur. You have to step up with your real leg and bring the peg up beside it. And the opposite coming down. Lower the peg first and bring your real leg down.

            – Yeah, that’s what I thought. Is that the way you do it?

            – No! I do crutches first and peg second going up, and coming down I grasp on to anything for dear life.

            – Haha! I can imagine. I think you’re wonderful with one peg leg. I’ve had my eye on you, seeing how you walk. Where’d you lose your legs, if I may make so bold?

            – Remember the Daily Post bombing? That’s where I was working. I was sitting right next to the bomb.

            – You were lucky to live.

            – Well, anyone who sees me now would question how lucky I am.

            – But you get around and hold down a job, don’t you? I bet you have a nice place to live, too.

            – I live in our maid’s old room in the basement.

            – Very smart. You know, I think you are lucky.

            – Ah well. How about you? Where do you live?

            – In Stepney. I have half a room, share with my brother, see? He’s overseas right now. And I can go back to work now I have my peg. I’m a cobbler, see? Boot maker. Well, only apprentice boot maker really, but still.

            – Difficult to do with crutches, I expect.

            – So I’ll be back at work in two shakes.

            – I think we’re both lucky. We have work and have a little money to spend and we won’t be expected to fight in Belgium.

            – I would be nice to find a nicer place to live instead of in a mouldy old tenement. Then I could entertain a gentleman friend such as yourself. I wouldn’t like to bring a gentleman home at the present.

            – Or a lady friend, I suppose.

            – Oh, I’m not so interested in lady friends. I don’t suppose they would want to be seen with a cripple anyway.

            – I’m sure that’s not so. I could hardly bring a gentleman friend home either. My little room is not very comfortable.

            – I’m sure it’s nicer than mine. I’d like to see it. I’ve never seen inside one of those rooms although you walk past them all the time.

            – Would you like to see mine?

            – What? Now?

            – Well, why not? I have some bread and cheese in the cupboard for supper.

            – And I can buy some ale! Shall we do that?

            – Alright. It’s quite a long walk, though. Do you think you can make it to Paddington?

            – If you can, I can. Let me see if they have any good ales here. I can put them in my satchel.

Arthur rose again and made his way to the bar where the proprietor sold him four bottles of best. He twisted himself around on his peg and faced Adrian, who gripped the table and pulled himself upright. With crutches in place, he pegged out onto the street, followed by his admirer and new friend. It would be a novelty to have company in his room of an evening. He suddenly realised it was Thursday and there would be no need to rise early for work in the morning.

 

Arthur told him everything which had happened to him after joining up in August. The tedious waiting and lack of direction until the sudden panic of mobilisation and the crowded train trip with everyone standing all the way to Folkestone – although he probably shouldn’t say where he had been. But then they went across the Channel to somewhere and then in lorries where they were all squashed together again.

            – It sounds very uncomfortable.

            – Yeah. It was. Then we got to a camp which was really just a load of tents and we were allocated a place to squat because there was no room to lie down. And we were just waiting for our orders, see? No-one knew what we were supposed to do. And then after a couple of days, we had to make our way to this village, all through the forest in the middle of the night, and as we came out the other side, there were the Boche already waiting for us.

            – They knew you were coming?

            – I suppose so. Anyway, they were shooting at us and we all hunkered down with our helmets over our eyes. And after half an hour it quietened down so we carefully got up and started creeping forward and that’s when it started again and I got hit in my knee which was all smashed up and my leg was sort of hanging off. So I was bandaged up and dragged back into the forest and carried back to where our lorries were and one of them was full of men moaning and crying out in pain so we went back to the harbour and the boat brought us back to England. Don’t know if was Folkestone, but anyway, England. And then I was in a hospital and they said I’d need my leg off. Did you ever wonder what it would be like to have a stump, before you were hurt, I mean?

            – No, not really. Why?

            – ‘Cos I used to think about what it would be like to have stumps. I used to see the newspaper sellers on the corner and they were missing a leg or an arm or something as the case may be and I used to think what it would be like just to have a stump. I used to think about it at night before I went to sleep. You know, when it feels nice.

            – Yes, I think I know.

            – And so that’s why I don’t mind having a stump because I was sort of been thinking about it before, see?

            – I suppose I do. It’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?

            – Well, it was until this war started. Now there’s lots of men with legs off. And arms and everything else you can think of. It’s really terrible what’s happening over there.

            – Don’t think of it, Arthur. We’re safe here.

            – I feel safe with you, Adrian. You’re older than me and you know stuff.

            – Not at all. You’ve been in the army and have a trade already. I’m just learning.

            – Anyway, I like being with you. I wish you’d be my friend.

            – Friends in adversity.

            – What’s that?

            – It means we’re joined by our misfortune.

            – Yeah. Two young cripples pegging about together. Very misfortunate!

            – You are funny. Shall we open one of those beers?

 

Arthur handed a bottle over to Adrian. He had no glasses, so they drank straight from the neck of the bottle. Arthur was still curious about Adrian’s peg leg.

            – I think it’s the same as yours, Arthur, and very probably made by the same man. Mine has a longer shaft, though, because my stump is shorter than yours.

            – I’d like to see your stump sometime. Just so I can compare mine with another man’s. Mine is the only bare stump I’ve ever seen.

            – I suppose I could take my peg off. We’re not going out, after all. Let me sit on the bed. It’s easier.

They exchanged places. Arthur sat in Adrian’s solitary armchair. Adrian loosened his plus fours and undid the leather belt around his waist. He grasped the wooden socket and pushed firmly. The peg leg slid off his stump and Adrian moved it to one side. He peeled two stump socks off the remnant of his leg and exposed his half thigh for Arthur’s perusal. He moved it around, relieved to be free of the peg leg’s weight.

            – Strewth! Yours is all scarred. Is that painful for you, Adrian?

            – No, not really. It sometimes gives a twinge—actually, it can be quite painful at times but it doesn’t usually last long. Sometimes it helps when I rub it.

            – Would it help if I rubbed it? Let me soothe your stump, Adrian. Lie back!

Adrian obeyed. If he were alone, he might well have removed the peg to massage his stump. It was true. Massage did help. Arthur’s hands were slightly cold from holding his bottle of beer. He cupped his hands and lifted the stump to inspect it more closely. The scars from the explosion, when the flesh had been torn and ripped, were still livid. The skin was puckered and the thigh itself appeared to be much thinner with less meat on it compared with his own stump. Arthur gently kneaded the flesh and fondled the tip where the severed femur was. Arthur was rapt. He said nothing but his eyes never left the stump. Adrian’s underclothes were draped over his other nub, the mound of flesh with an inch of femur remaining of his right leg.

            – Would you be interested in seeing my other stump, Arthur?

Adrian rearranged the material hiding his nub and Arthur turned his attention to it. It was by far the shortest stump he could ever imagine. Unlike the other, this one was quite pristine. The only scar was from the amputation with a row of puckered skin along it.

            – It looks so short. Why did they have to take so much?

            – The bomb shattered my legs, Arthur. This one took the full force of the explosion and there wasn’t much left to put back together. But the nub is quite useful and supports me when I’m sitting down, so it is quite useful really, although it doesn’t look it.

Arthur fondled it and Adrian’s penis started to become erect. He was embarrassed and tried squirming to hide it but Arthur knew what he was doing and continued massaging the nub and fondling it with his fingers.

            – Do you like that feeling, Adrian? Do you want me to stop?

            – No! Don’t stop. It feels good.

            – I can see we have a new visitor. Does that always happen when you play with your stumps?

            – You mean my…

            – Indeed, squire. Do you mind if I see it?

Without waiting for an answer, Arthur delved into Adrian’s underwear and took the firm warm penis into his hand. The glans was wet and slippery. Adrian was too surprised and embarrassed to react. He was hardly able to move away and in any case, his entire lower body was becoming weak with a delicious sensation. Arthur’s warm hand moved around the tip of his penis and Adrian jerked and his penis ejaculated a generous quantity of sperm into his clothes and onto Arthur. He tilted his head back and tried to regain his composure. Arthur watched his reaction. Together with the relief, Adrian also felt a nebulous sense of guilt. He had very little knowledge of carnal matters but believed that what he had just experienced was somehow wrong.

            – Have you got a hanky? You need to wipe that up.

Adrian dug into his plus fours’ pocket and extracted an almost clean handkerchief. He cleaned his pubic hair and genitals and found a small puddle on his bed.

            – Give it to me.

Arthur took the sodden handkerchief and held it in frigid water in Adrian’s tiny kitchen nook.

            – Do you want another beer, squire?

            – Yes. Please.

 

Adrian rearranged his clothes but did not replace his plus fours. The stump was bare and felt clammy in the cool room. No mention was made of the sexual encounter and conversation turned fitfully to other matters until the atmosphere calmed. Arthur was much less nervous and Adrian was more relaxed.

 

It was fairly late when Arthur suggested he should make a move and get home. It was quite a way to Stepney and he was unsure if the trams were running. Adrian was reluctant to let the disabled boy brave the darkened streets at this time of night and suggested that Arthur should stay overnight. He could sleep in the armchair.

            – That’s very kind of you. Or we could snuggle together for a cuddle and stay nice and warm.

Adrian was too tired to argue, although it did sound like a good idea to keep warm. The room was cold during the night. Shortly after ten, the two amputees clambered into Adrian’s bed, where Adrian’s stump pressed into Arthur’s groin where his own small but hard penis poked it. Arthur cradled Adrian with his leg and the young men eventually slept.

 

The men were awoken by the sound of a motor vehicle backfiring in front of the area. The room was still dark. Adrian reached across to his table lamp and turned the switch for the electric light bulb. Arthur rubbed his eyes and sat up.

            – Good morning, squire. Did you sleep good?

            – Yes, I did. I think the beer made me sleepy.

            – What time is it?

            – My clock says six thirty.

            – Time to get up. Adrian, thank you for letting me stay here. You won’t tell anyone what happened, will you?

            – No, I won’t. It’ll be our secret.

            – That’s best. But shall we do it again soon?

Arthur’s friendly face bore an expression of expectant mischievousness. Adrian chuckled.

            – We’ll have to see. Now let’s get our pegs on and see if there’s anything to eat. Shall I make a pot of tea?

            – A cuppa Rosie Lee would go down a treat, squire.

The bread was stale and the cheese had hardened under its muslin cover but they enjoyed each other’s company at breakfast. Adrian filled his large billiard with Navy Cut and slowly filled the room with pungent masculine aroma. He usually smoked his nosewarmer at breakfast but this morning was special. He wanted to make an impression and knew how powerful a message the large pipe sent. Arthur rested his chin on his hands and watched him smoke. They drank two cups of black breakfast tea. Adrian washed the cups under freezing water over the tiny stoneware sink and stacked them to dry.

            – I must go now before people begin to wonder where I’ve got to. I’ll call on you again at Cohen’s. Is that alright? I would like to see you again soon.

            – Alright. I don’t suppose anyone would suspect anything odd about a man with a peg leg appearing at Cohen’s. Perhaps next Thursday? You know I have Friday off, don’t you?

            – Oh, the sabbath. Yeah, I know all about that. I’ll see you then.

Adrian expected a handshake but Adrian drew close, careful where he placed his peg in the small room, and held Adrian by the shoulders. He leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. It was the most extraordinary thing to do. He scrabbled with the door lock and left without another word. Adrian collected his wits and started the arduous trip up thirteen steps to greet his mother and perhaps have another bite to eat.

 

He crutched into the drawing room, where his father insisted on eating breakfast surrounded by at least some degree of decorum. However, his father had departed for the City and his mother sat nursing a final cup of tea, glancing at articles in the newspaper.

            – Oh there you are! We were quite at odds last evening, Adrian, when there was no sign of you. We did rather expect you for dinner. You might let us know beforehand if you intend to dine out.

            – I’m sorry, mother. I came home rather later than usual.

            – Yes, we knew you had returned when your father checked to see if there was a light in your room. So we knew at least that you were safe.

Adrian was mortified. What if his father had knocked on the door when Arthur was… when they were together? It was a shock to hear from his mother that his comings-and-goings could still be controlled and announced simply by his presence or absence at dinner. If he was to meet Arthur again, he would need to be extremely careful. More open with his parents but more secretive in his own life. It was a conundrum. He collected his wits.

            – Thank goodness you weren’t worried. I do apologise, mother. It won’t happen again.

            – Never mind, Adrian. Have you broken fast?

His mother always used such old-fashioned terms.

            – I had a piece of cheese.

            – Come into the scullery and I’ll give you a couple of eggs. Do you know, they are talking of a shortage of eggs? Can you imagine such a thing? Do the chickens stop laying because of the war? I rather think not, if you please!

Adrian listened to his mother’s genteel complaints about how the war had impacted her household. If only she could see the other young men of his own age who were able by hook or by crook to make an appearance at Cohen’s to be fitted with the simplest and cheapest artificial limbs to replace those lost in the name of the King and Empire. A temporary shortage of eggs or cottage loaves was of little consequence compared with a lifelong shortage of healthy limbs.

 

Adrian returned to his room after an hour. His mother was still fretting over her sister’s family and the continuing silence concerning Albert. Overnight, he had lost his innocence as well as his virginity. He found his father’s unheard, unsuspected check the previous evening and his mother’s demand that he notify her in advance of his whereabouts to be shocking impingements on his freedom. It was intolerable. If he wished to invite a friend to his room, why should he need to inform his parents? He was an adult and had seen more of the lifestyle their generation had created for him and his peers than most others. He would not tolerate it.

 

He checked his calabash was filled with tobacco and placed it into his jacket pocket along with his silver pipe tool and some matches. After shaving with a mug of hot water, Adrian inspected himself and declared himself fit to face the world once more. He crutched his way up to the street and set about striding the mile to Hyde Park. It was a crisp morning and the trees were bare. Their appearance suited his mood. He felt disappointed, almost betrayed. As a severely disabled cripple, he supposed he would always be the subject of his parents’ watchful gaze, checking on his well‑being and encounters with outsiders. It was not good enough. He looked forward to sitting on his customary bench watching passers‑by while indulging himself in a bowlful of tobacco in his favourite pipe.

 

The most obvious solution was to find his own rooms. It would be convenient if they were close to Cohen’s, obviously, but he could also travel in on the metropolitan, if he could manage all the stairs. He had no idea how to go about applying to rent rooms but he suspected that Cohen might know of a landlord who might have rooms available in the vicinity. One of the grudges borne against Jews was their wealth scraped from hard-up people through rents. It was time to see if there was any truth to the matter. Adrian thought about his parents and how they would react if he moved away from them. His mother would be upset, that went without saying, but it could not be helped. She would soon grow accustomed to the new situation and he could visit them when he had free time. It was a noble vision but Adrian himself suspected that he would not adhere to it for long. If he wanted to meet a friend when he had a moment of time, he would do so. He thought of his range of friends and acquaintances whom he might like to spend time with and at the front of his mind was the cheeky surprising boy who had left him hours previously. Compared with Arthur, his older friends seemed positively Victorian. So staid and correct. They were honest and completely respectable, of course, but they offered nothing new. Never a new idea or radical thought. Adrian already thought of his parents as old-fashioned. Dare he include his friends? He knocked his calabash against his knuckles and put the pipe into his jacket. He strutted slowly along Piccadilly, admiring the opulent buildings and imagining the lives of people who lived in them. Familiar lives, wealthier, but nothing too special. Adrian wanted to experience something different, not to be found in the genteel drawing rooms along Piccadilly. He wanted the excitement and danger of Stepney and Shoreditch, where respectable people never set foot. He wanted Arthur.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Saturday promised to be busy. There were already several customers crowding the door before Cohen’s was even open, limbless young men smoking and joking with each other. Most of them were East Enders treated in local hospitals and provided with the same list of artificial limb manufacturers which Adrian had received.

 

Cohen had thought about the problem of crowding. There was room in the front of the shop for half a dozen customers to sit and wait to be seen in the workshop, but there were often twice as many clients. He ordered two long benches which would fit along the back wall in two rows where waiting customers could sit and watch others testing their new artificial legs. They would gain some knowledge of what was expected of them before they left the premises. The new benches were due for delivery today and he hoped they would suffice. Until then, the most severely injured clients would sit in the front of the shop and the rest would have to stand and wait their turn in the workshop.

 

Adrian had learned the most efficient way to prepare the wooden arm sockets for Ben to continue working on. He could easily handle ten every hour. Ben’s work was more complicated and time‑consuming. He had to attach the metal wrist which the hook screwed into, and feed the control cable through the brass eyelets in the upper arm cuff and along the socket. Next the canvas straps needed to be threaded and buckled into place and finally the artificial arm could be attached to a harness. Ben had allowed Adrian to watch him working during short breaks and thought that the time was ripe for Adrian to extend his skill. Work pressure due to increased demand also played a role in his decision.

            – Adrian, do you think you could make an entire arm? I’ll give you the components and you can give it a try. I’ll show you how to put the wrist on. That’s the only difficult bit.

            – I think I know how to do it. The difficult thing is getting it seated squarely.

            – Yes, that’s the most important thing. Try it.

There were three sizes of wrist for the three varieties of socket. They needed to be glued and secured firmly into the socket with four roundhead bolts. When the wrist was a tight fit, it was tricky getting the holes to line up. Adrian reached across for a cuff and cable.

            – It looks like you know what needs to be done. It’ll be a big help if there are two of us producing arms. Do you know how many are on order? Guess! Sixty-three!

            – Oh! And I suppose they are all needed as soon as possible.

            – They are indeed.

Ben and Adrian cleared their workbench of prepared sockets by late afternoon and produced fourteen working artificial arms, nine for the right arm and five for the left. Two of those were paired for two ex-soldiers who had lost both hands.

 

Just before leaving, Adrian sought out Cohen senior and excused himself.

            – Do you happen to know a landlord, sir, who might have rooms available?

            – Are you looking for somewhere to live? I thought you lived in your parents’ basement.

            – Yes sir. I do. I would like to become more independent.

            – Quite understandable at your age, Adrian. I do know someone who may be able to help you. He has mentioned that several lodgers have disappeared recently. Let me put a word in for you. I assume you would prefer a ground floor flat.

            – Yes sir. That would be ideal.

            – Leave it to me, Adrian. How are you coping with the work? I’ve never seen it so busy.

            – Ben and I are managing, sir. Keeping up. It’s a fine feeling to know that your work is helping someone.

            – Good. I’m glad to hear it.

            – Thank you sir. Good evening.

 

Adrian had no idea how soon he might hear anything about a room for rent. Arthur came to Cohen’s on Thursday evening and waited in the front of the shop almost until Adrian was ready to call it a day. The pair of them made their way again to the Royal George and settled at a table near the back.

            – I’m pleased you came so soon. I’ve been thinking about you this week. Sometimes it seems I have no friends after being hurt. People call so rarely.

            – Yeah. I know what you mean, squire. It’s as if having a leg off is catching. People don’t want to come near you. What was that you said last time? ‘Friends in…’ something.

            – Adversity. I think we really are.

Adrian and Arthur both fought to find words to describe their feelings. Both were cautious about saying anything which could be misconstrued by an outsider if overheard. Their relationship had already resulted in something which could put both of them behind bars. A few minutes later, their bond had strengthened further and Adrian’s trust in the mercurial Arthur grew. Adrian asked Arthur to buy another couple of pints of best bitter, took his nosewarmer pipe out of his pocket and lit it. The pungent shag coloured the air around the table. Arthur placed two mugs of ale between them and sat silently, admiring Adrian’s face adorned with the unusually short black pipe and the subtle movements of the man’s lips.

 

            – Did I tell you I’m looking for new rooms? I want to move away from my parents’ house. I found out that they are watching me.

            – What do you mean? How can they watch you?

            – When you were with me last week, my parents wondered why I had not dined with them at home. My father actually went outside to see if there was a light in my room. Imagine if he had come in!

            – Strewth!

            – So that’s why I want to find new rooms. Then you can visit and no-one will know. I dare not invite you home this evening, much as I would like to.

            – Oh! I was hoping we could be together this evening.

            – So was I. I’m sorry, Arthur. We have to wait.

 

The Royal George quietened a little as workers made their way home after a pint. Adrian and Arthur stayed for another hour, nursing a third ale. They drank up and departed in separate directions towards Paddington and Stepney, both feeling a void and thwarted.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Cohen senior approached Ben and Adrian’s workbench with an amiable expression. He handed Adrian a note bearing two addresses, two dates and times.

            – My good friend Aaron Silverstein will meet you at these addresses and show you ground floor rooms which are presently vacant and available for rental. Friday afternoon and Sunday afternoon. I suggest you have the day off work unless you want to work in the morning.

            – Thank you, Mr Cohen. This is very kind of you.

            – Not at all, my boy. Think nothing of it.

 

At a few minutes to four on Friday afternoon, Adrian crutched along Dean Street in Soho until he found the correct address. He adopted his tripod position, placing his peg leg in front and leaning back on his crutches. It was by far the most stable and comfortable stance for the young legless man. A tall bearded man wearing a Homburg and a long black woollen coat approached him.

            – Are you Adrian Bell, sir?

            – Yes, that’s me. Are you Mr Silverstein?

            – I am indeed. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, I understand that you are looking for an apartment. I have one immediately available in this building. Shall we inspect it?

Silverstein sought through a fistful of keys until he found the right one and held the door open for Adrian. Cohen senior had warned him that Bell was on crutches but he had not mentioned the extraordinary solitary peg leg. It was plain why the boy wanted a ground floor room.

            – This is the apartment. It is one of two on the ground floor. It has direct access to the back area.

They entered an empty room with a high ceiling and a large casement window overlooking the back yard and a struggling apple tree. One corner had a small sink and cold tap next to a gas stove with two burners but no oven. The walls were covered in dark green wallpaper which seemed to devour the meagre light from the window.

            – Is there a water closet?

            – In the area, I am afraid. The ground floor in this building was originally used by servants and water closets were not installed in order to save a few pennies, I dare say.

            – I see. You will understand that I find it difficult to use an outside toilet.

            – I understand very well. But the room is free and the rent is three shillings and fourpence a week. Think about it for a couple of days and I will meet you again on Sunday afternoon at the Parson’s Green address. You may be relieved to hear that the Underground railway station is almost directly opposite.

 

Adrian was disappointed with what he had seen. The room was perfectly adequate for all he needed with the exception of the outside toilet. It was simply too impractical to use daily. He was fairly certain that he would not find himself living on Dean Street. Now he needed to find the best way to travel to Parson’s Green and a map of the streets. Perhaps his father might have a modern map, otherwise he would have to visit the library on Saturday.

 

The family ate a Sunday lunch prepared by Mrs Bell, who had been able to purchase a leg of lamb simply by queuing early outside the butcher before it opened. She recognised several neighbours who were now reduced to shopping for groceries themselves, having lost their kitchen staff. After three hours of tedium tending to the range, she was proud of herself for producing a fine roast. Adrian thanked her profusely and her husband commended her. Adrian had not yet mentioned his search for new accommodation and felt a little guilty about keeping a secret from his parents but it seemed the politic thing to do until he knew for sure.

 

He had discovered that the address in Parson’s Green was indeed almost directly opposite the metropolitan station, served by the District railway. He could journey from Paddington station to Earl’s Court Road and change trains. If he left at three, he should arrive in time to meet Mr Silverstein outside the property. Adrian spent some time making himself look presentable, with a white shirt and tie, plus fours with one leg pinned up, his brown tweed jacket and a bowler hat. He locked his door and began his journey, first climbing the five steps to street level and pegging along the street towards the underground station. More steps, and he imagined sitting in the carriage if there was room or standing and clutching one of the poles inside as the train rocked and clattered its convoluted way south. He would balance on his peg leg. He studied the route map on the platform, seeking a route from Parson’s Green to Charing Cross Road. He could make a journey which might be direct or require changing trains once. Then he would have to peg quite a way past Trafalgar Square to reach Cohen’s. It could not be helped. It would be unpleasant in the winter months with the never-ending drizzle and slick icy pavement in the mornings. But worse things were happening. He should be content with his lot.

 

The station at Parson’s Green was on an embankment with a long staircase leading down to the station exit and the street. Adrian used the brass banisters to lean against as he cautiously lifted his peg down each step while also holding onto his crutches under one arm. Not once did he wish he had his own legs or for a helping hand to keep his balance. Other passengers noted the cripple struggling but few considered interfering. One or two men slowed their departure from the station in order to gawp at the single rigid peg leg, drinking in the image of a fashionably dressed young man with catastrophically destroyed legs, teetering on mere stumps and crutches and the wondrous wooden peg leg.

 

Silverstein had recently arrived and entered his property. He stood just behind the ground floor apartment’s bay window, keeping watch for the unmistakable figure of his prospective tenant. He watched Adrian exit the station and look around to get his bearings. When Adrian started in the correct direction, he went to the front door and stood in the doorway, ready to beckon to Adrian.

 

            – Good afternoon, sir. You managed to find us in good time. Do come inside and I will show you the apartment.

Adrian vaulted over the threshold on his peg into the hallway, dominated by a stairway to the upper floors. Silverstein led him a few yards further into the building and stood aside as Adrian crutched into his prospective new home.

            – This is the drawing room as you see. A view of the yard from the window. The hearth is a generous size and warms the room perfectly. If you follow me. This is the front room, a little larger. Through this door is the scullery and the door to the back yard and the coal shed. And just off the kitchen, on the other side of the wall—look! This is what you wanted. An indoor water closet.

            – This is wonderful. I would love to live here but it must be very expensive.

            – Not at all. Rental is cheap this far out of town. The rent is thirty-five shillings a month.

            – Per month? Not per week?

            – No, per month. I collect the rents personally and make the trip only once a month.

            – So it’s about eight and six a week.

            – Eight and ninepence, to be precise, assuming four weeks.

            – It’s still a little pricy for me, Mr Silverstein.

Adrian suddenly had the most exciting idea.

            – Would it be possible to share with a friend? I have a friend, another cripple with a peg leg like me, who would be overjoyed to live in such a fine modern place.

            – I have no objection. Do you know this person well? Is he reliable? Settled?

            – He’s an apprentice shoemaker, sir. Most respectable with a regular income and currently in need of a ground floor home because of his disability.

            – Are you sure this would suit you too, regarding your own disability? You could manage here?

            – I’m quite sure of it, sir. Everything is on one level and with a little modification, if I may, the lavatory will be perfect for a legless man such as myself. I hope you would have no objections if I add extra railings either side of the commode to help me up and down.

            – None at all, if you do a tidy job. Well, will you take it? When would you like to move in? How about the start of the month.

            – November the first. Very well! Thank you, sir. This means a lot to me.

            – I know, my boy. Independence is a fine thing. Let us meet again in the last week of the month and you can collect the key and settle the first month’s rental. I will pay a visit to old Cohen and let him know I’d like a word with you. Oh, there is one other thing. The upstairs apartment is also empty and I am keen to find new tenants. If you hear of anyone who might be interested, do tell them to get in touch. I would be most grateful.

            – I certainly shall, sir.

Adrian settled his peg in a better position and reached out his hand to shake Silverstein’s. Silverstein had taken a shine to this honest young gentile, disadvantaged worse than anyone he had ever seen, but plucky enough to continue as best he could. It was the same mindset which had carried his own people forward through myriad tribulations throughout the centuries, and Silverstein admired Adrian for it.

 

Adrian was elated. He swung his peg leg with greater verve and energy than for many weeks, energised by renewed optimism. He was sure that Arthur would grab the chance to move from his dingy tenement and share the rent. They would be paying less than five shillings a week! They could afford to go out together more often, buy some nice furniture and have their own things in their own apartment. Adrian sat on the metropolitan and wished he could get word to Arthur. He would have to wait until Thursday when Arthur would probably call at Cohen’s for him shortly before six. It would be a long week.

 

Adrian did not go home directly. He entered his parents’ house first and, after several initial pleasantries, announced that he had found suitable rooms in Parson’s Green and would be moving in on the first day of the new month. He emphasised the advantages of having more space and not needing to tackle the steps down to the area, not mentioning the dozens of steps his daily railway journeys would entail. His father was surprised and his mother was disappointed and upset.

            – I don’t understand it, Adrian. How can you manage for yourself? You have a hot meal here waiting for you every evening. Who will do for you? You have no knowledge of how to run a household.

            – Don’t worry, mother. I am going to share the rooms with another friend. You haven’t met him yet. He has a peg leg like me and that’s how we got to know each other. I’m sure that two invalids living together will be as strong as one man with all his limbs. We can learn to do for ourselves. It’s time I became independent, mother, and it is not far to come to visit. As soon as we are settled, I will invite you to Sunday lunch and you will see how I live.

            – You make a persuasive case, my boy. I support you. How are you going to move your furniture? You can take more items than you have in the basement room. We have too much here already. I’m sure we can let you take a few more pieces you might need. What do you say, my dear? The boy could have chairs from the sitting room, couldn’t he? And the chest of drawers from the guest bedroom? They are never used.

Adrian imagined his new living space filling up with ugly Victorian furniture but was grateful nonetheless.

            – That would be so very helpful. Thank you, father, mother.

            – When is this move to take place? We shall have to make arrangements, my boy. One can hardly expect you to carry the furniture yourself.

 

Before Adrian could move anywhere, he had to ensure that Arthur would be joining him. Together they could easily afford the rent which was too much for Adrian alone. After a bite to eat in the scullery, Adrian made his way downstairs to his room and began to plan the prospective move. He made notes of the furniture and utensils he would need from the start. He looked around for inspiration, considering the things which he needed and which he could live without. He had noticed that the house in Parson’s Green had wooden floorboards and it was not difficult to decide to keep the floors free of mats or carpeting which he could easily trip over. He would have to write to the various companies for water, gas, electricity and coal but had no idea how to discover the names and addresses of the relevant companies. Perhaps Silverstein might know. There was a light tap on his window. Adrian twisted around to see who was there but saw no-one. It was probably his father. He pushed himself up and crutched across to the door. Arthur stood there with a grin on his face.

            – Surprise! I was in town so I went to Cohen’s and they said you had the day off so here I am. Can I come in?

            – Oh, yes of course.

            – I wanted to see you. You seem to be on my mind all the time.

            – I know. I feel the same way. I’m glad you came. I didn’t expect to see you before next week and I have something to ask you.

            – Oh really? That sounds interesting. Listen mate, do you mind if I take my peg off?

            – Of course not. Is your stump sore?

            – It is a bit. Getting to be. I must have walked about three miles today.

            – You shouldn’t walk so much, Arthur. You will hurt yourself and not be able to wear the peg at all. You’ll be back on crutches for a fortnight at least.

Arthur kicked his trousers off to access his peg leg and its waist belt. He had asked his sister to cut the leg off his trousers and she had sewn a neat hem. The trouser leg was only three quarters of the length of his thigh and his black peg leg was exposed for all to see. Adrian approved – he himself announced his disability with his plus fours and their short trouser legs. Arthur threw his peg leg onto Adrian’s bed and put his trousers on again. The tip of his naked stump poked out of the shortened trouser leg. It looked remarkable.

            – So what I wanted to talk to you about concerns us and our future. I was looking at an apartment today. It’s the ground floor of a house and it has an inside toilet and a little kitchen. Two rooms, front and back.

            – Sounds nice. Are you going to move in?

            – That’s the problem, you see. It’s a little more than I can afford at the moment, but if there were two people sharing the rent, it would be quite cheap. So I wanted to ask if you’d come and live there with me.

            – What, just me and you living together?

Adrian nodded and smiled at the excitement on Arthur’s face.

            – I’d love to. Where is it?

            – Parson’s Green.

            – Oh! That’s miles away! I can’t walk that.

            – No need to walk. There’s an underground station right opposite. We can get to town on the District railway and I can travel here to Paddington.

            – I’m not sure, Adrian. It’s a long way to travel. I have to get to Stepney every day and back again. That’s where the shop is. Well, you know that.

            – I’m sure you’d be able to take a metropolitan to somewhere and catch the tram.

            – I suppose so. How much is the rent?

            – Well, we only have to pay once a month and it’s one pound fifteen.

            – So about… four and eight a week each. That’s not much! Could afford to take the metropolitan with the money we’d save.

            – Yes! So what do you think?

            – It sounds like the best thing I could ever hope to hear and we’ll be together always.

            – Yes, always.

Arthur hopped over to Adrian and hugged him until his knee began protesting.

            – I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.

            – Well, luckily Parson’s Green is a lot closer than that.

Adrian made tea, smoked a bowlful in his calabash and the two amputees described their aches and pains. Arthur stayed until nine o’clock, donned his peg and made his way home, elated that he would shortly be seeing Adrian every day.

 

Ben had been working hard on Sunday and there were only two prepared sockets left. Adrian immediately set about drilling and gluing, handing sockets to Ben as needed unless he had the opportunity to continue working on them himself by adding the cuffs and cable. They were interrupted by customers who were generally a genial lot. Sometimes a young man would complain about his disability and his bad luck but both Ben and Adrian were able to assure new amputees that life went on and that missing an arm and having an artificial arm in its stead was no excuse to settle for less. Life went on, just in a different pattern. Few of the despondent arm amputees failed to agree after seeing the legless man and his peg legged companion working on artificial arms for men like themselves.

 

On Wednesday afternoon, a young ex-soldier tottered across with a short walking stick and announced himself as Albert Smith-Hall, stating that he had come for a fitting for his artificial arm. He was wearing two short peg legs which had seen better days. They were scratched and scuffed. They had originally been painted black but large chips of paint had fallen away.

            – I believe we have the socket ready to try, sir.

Ben sought the man’s custom leather socket among the huge variety hanging from the wall rack. Adrian was intrigued by the man’s peg legs.

            – Excuse me for asking but those pegs aren’t new, are they?

            – No. They belonged to my uncle who was invalided in the first Boer war. Lost his legs exactly the same as me. So he offered me his old pegs to save a few bob and here I am, ready to collect my arm and I’ll be set. More or less, anyway. Still need a place to bleeding live but apart from that.

Adrian remembered what Silverstein had suggested—if there was a potential tenant for the upstairs apartment, he would like to hear from him. Adrian was impressed by the appearance of the short legless man who would shortly have a brass hook for his arm stump and thought that he might have something in common with Arthur, judging by the man’s speech. He listened in on the man’s chatty conversation with Ben while his artificial arm was tailored to his precise requirements.

 

The man had nearly died and had heard that the triage officer had already refused to accept him for evacuation. But the officer’s superior had recognised the boy from home and insisted that he be included in the evacuation transport. The man arrived back in England where his shattered legs were amputated below the knees and his right arm above the elbow. He recovered on the south coast for several weeks until he was transferred to St Giles hospital in Holborn. His swashbuckling uncle arrived to visit and inspected the boy’s stumps and pronounced his satisfaction.

            – Nothing wrong with you, boy. You can have my old pegs. They’ll do you for a good few years. Don’t know about your hand. Just use your other one. That’s why you have two, by God!

The old captain saw to it that his old peg legs and crutches were waiting and ready for the boy as soon as the triple amputee from the latest conflict was delivered home to Hackney.

 

            – Sorry to interrupt, but did I hear you say you need a place to live?

            – Yeah. My mother said she can’t bear to look at me and she starts crying every time she sees me. I can’t put up with that sort of goings on. Gets on my wick!

            – Well, look. I’m just about to move and my landlord said the flat above mine is for rent. The rent is about ten bob a week but if there’s two of you, it’ll be a bargain.

Adrian was aware that he was adopting Arthur’s vocabulary but it seemed appropriate.

            – You mean you’d be my downstairs neighbour? Blimey! That would be a fine thing, you with no legs and me with pegs and a hook.

            – My friend is sharing with me. He has a peg leg too.

            – Oh my gawd! Three of us. Well, four. I do know a man who might like to come along. He’s still in hospital but he’s going to need a hook or two, I reckon. Lost his arms last month and is still in hospital having his innards fixed. I promised him to be his hands if he’d be my legs. His name’s Charlie Potts. Have you heard of him? There was an article in the Standard about him last week.

            – No, I didn’t see that. Sorry.

            – No matter. Anyway, we got on like a house on fire. I reckon he’ll be in here sharp as soon as I tell him about you. So who do I apply to for this apartment, as you say?

            – Give me your name and address. I’ll let the landlord know and he’ll be in touch, I expect.

 

Silverstein turned up on Saturday morning, first convening for several minutes with his old friend Cohen. He explained that he was renting his property in Parson’s Green to one of Cohen’s employees and would like a word with the man in private. Cohen summoned Adrian to his cramped office. Silverstein and Adrian shook hands and Cohen left for a few minutes, allowing the men to talk.

            – Have you come to a decision?

            – Yes, sir. I’ve spoken with my friend who is also keen to share the apartment with me. As I may have mentioned, he’s also disabled and uses a peg leg. Oh! And before I forget, there was a customer, Albert Smith-Hall if I remember correctly, who is interested in renting the upstairs apartment. I believe he’d also prefer to share with another invalid, an ex-serviceman who lost his hands. I have Hall’s address here somewhere.

Adrian felt through the pockets in his overalls until he found the slip of paper with the required information. Silverstein thanked him. He had intended on requesting the first month’s rent in advance but reconsidered and asked for only the first week’s rent, eight shillings and eightpence. Adrian handed over four florins and a shilling and received fourpence change.

            – Will you be moving in on the first?

            – Yes sir. I was wondering if it would be possible to move my furniture on the previous Friday, sir. Our workshop is closed then and we have an entire day to get organised. I need to ask you about utilities. I’m not sure how to go about making an agreement with all the various companies.

            – You can leave that to me, my boy. Everything is already connected so I will have the contracts transferred to your name and you will only need to sign the papers later.

            – Thank you, sir. That is a relief.

            – I will send you a contract for the rental after you have moved in, or I may bring it when I come to collect the rent. Just to make everything official and above board. And now, all you need is a key to the door.

Silverstein extracted his large key fob and detached a silver front door key.

            – This fits both the front door and the door to your apartment.

            – I need another one for my friend, too. May I make a copy?

            – Yes, of course. I’m afraid I have only the one. Well, I mustn’t take up more of your time. I hope you and your companion will be comfortable in your new home.

Adrian thanked him again and rose, grabbing his crutches for support. He pegged back to his bench with a huge grin on his face. Ben glanced at him and laughed at his sudden transformation.

            – You look like the cat who got the cream!

 

– – – – – – -

 

Arthur put word out among his friends and acquaintances that he needed both a couple of burly lads to carry some furniture and the loan of a driver with a horse and cart. Manpower was scant but after a few days, he had two volunteers and a driver from the Stepney tanners. They had all seen Arthur several times since his return from the fighting and were well aware that shifting furniture was beyond his capabilities. Arthur could hardly afford to pay for the assistance but promised that he would treat them all to ales one Saturday night. It was as good a deal as any.

 

Adrian picked out a few pieces of superfluous furniture from his parents’ home. Mrs Bell was concerned about curtains and insisted that Adrian let her know as soon as possible the dimensions of the front bay windows. She had some excellent green velvet which she may be able to alter to fit. It was unthinkable that a ground floor apartment abutting the street could be occupied without curtains. All of the furniture in Adrian’s basement room could be taken. Mr Bell considered it unlikely that the room would house a housemaid again. It might be possible to turn it to financial advantage by renting the space to a respectable tenant.

 

The arrangements provided a theme which occupied their leisure hours during the last two weeks of October. One week before his move, Adrian escorted his parents to view the property. They travelled on the metropolitan, changing at Earl’s Court Road. Adrian wanted them to realise that Parson’s Green was actually quite close and easily reached. Adrian let them into the apartment. Mrs Bell brought her tape measure to check the dimensions of all the windows. She pronounced herself satisfied with the property. It was small but modern and well-appointed and she was easier in her mind for knowing that her son would be living in a respectable area.

 

Mr and Mrs Bell were aghast at the huge number of steps which the journey entailed. Adrian put a brave face on the matter, carefully negotiating his peg leg onto each new step one after another, although he also found it frustrating and intensely tedious. Some central stations were equipped with lifts but not here, further from town. All in all, it was a successful outing. Adrian was relieved that his parents approved of his new rooms. It occurred to him that neither of them had yet met Arthur. There would be raised eyebrows as soon as the chap opened his mouth.

 

Albert Smith-Hall arrived to be fitted with the completed custom-made artificial arm which Ben had spent considerable time crafting. He greeted Adrian and they exchanged news about the imminent moves. Adrian would be settled over the coming weekend and Albert and his handless friend Charlie Potts would arrive a fortnight hence. Albert worked his way onto a wooden chair, his pegs jutting out to each side and set to removing his jacket and shirt. Ben inspected the arm stump and rolled a cotton stump sock onto it.

            – Slip your stump into the socket and tell me if it is comfortable.

The socket was burnished leather of a deep chestnut brown with polished steel reinforcements. It was attached to a wooden forearm painted to match which terminated in a split hook. The elbow joint could be moved with the opposing hand to a suitable angle and tightened if necessary with a broad knurled screw on the inner side of the hinge. The hook was operated as usual by tensing the opposing shoulder or by stretching the arm.

            – This feels very accommodating, sir. Quite an extraordinary sensation, if I may make so bold.

            – Put your hand through this leather loop and pull it onto your shoulder. I need to see if it fits properly. You’ll soon learn to sense if your harness is loose and needs tightening, I expect. Now you can test opening the hook. Just stretch your arm forward.

The hook opened easily and closed, pulled by a heavy steel spring. Albert grinned.

            – Try holding the hook still and moving this shoulder forward.

Albert shrugged to adjust the harness slightly and tried opening the hook again, successfully.

            – Now if you want to move your forearm, just push it to the angle you want with your other hand and tighten this screw if needed. You’ll be able to pick up objects weighing a couple of pounds with the hook and the elbow will take that much weight. How does it feel?

            – Fine.

            – Good. Would you like to wear it now? Let me help you with your shirt.

Albert turned to Adrian and asked if Arthur had already found a horse and cart.

            – Oh! You know about that, do you? Yes, in fact, someone is coming from Stepney on Friday morning and two of Arthur’s friends are going to help us. As you might imagine, I can’t manage much in that respect myself.

            – No. I know what you mean. I don’t have any of my own furniture, so I don’t have that problem and I believe my friend has found a steam lorry to carry his goods.

            – Really? I must come and watch. I love the smell of a steam lorry!

Ben waited for Albert to get his pegs under him and helped him with his jacket. Albert took his short walking stick in his left hand and raised his brand new brass hook to shake.

            – Well, thank you for this. I’ll see you later, neighbour.

            – Ha! I expect so.

The diminutive figure crossed the workshop on his ancient peg legs and went into Cohen senior’s office.

            – What did he mean by ‘neighbour’?

            – He’s moving into the apartment directly above mine in Parson’s Green.

            – Good lord!  Think of the noise, Adrian! Those pegs of his are going to make such a racket you won’t be able to hear yourself think.

            – I think we can buy him a pair of rubber ferrules if his footsteps become a problem.

 

– – – – – – -

 

On Friday morning at ten o’clock, the sound of a horse’s hooves outside alerted Adrian. Mrs Bell glanced out of the sitting room window and saw a handsome, well-groomed dray pulling a green goods cart which announced ‘Barratt’s Tannery & Leather’ in neat yellow copperplate along its side boards. The driver sat proud on his seat, wearing a bowler hat and smoking a clay pipe. His three passengers climbed down from the cart, one with a black peg leg on full display for anyone to see, if you please. She heard Adrian’s voice calling out a welcome and retreated from the window, not wishing to appear overly inquisitive.

 

Arthur remained on the pavement, chatting to the driver. His burly helpers, Bert and Clive, were astonished at the sight of Adrian on his solitary peg and crutches and followed him inside to begin transferring the sparse furniture out into the area. Adrian had retained some cardboard boxes in which his mother’s groceries were delivered and packed them with his clothes and sundry items. Adrian had stripped his bed and upended the mattress. It was a difficult process and an impressive effort. Bert and Clive insisted they be left to get on with the job but agreed that a cup of tea would be most welcome presently. Adrian balanced in his tripod position as he filled the kettle with water for tea.

 

Half an hour later, all five men stood in the empty basement room sipping builder’s tea from Mrs Bell’s mismatched porcelain cups which she had given to Adrian.

            – There are still a couple of pieces of furniture to come from the house. We’ll go up after this, if that’s agreeable to you. Arthur, you’ll meet my mother.

            – Yes. Don’t worry, Adrian. I’ll be on my best behaviour.

Adrian hoped Arthur would make a good impression. He knew his mother would not appreciate seeing Arthur’s peg leg so blatantly displayed. Adrian rapped on the front door out of deference to his mother’s domestic authority.

            – Hello, mother dear. Here we are, ready to take the pieces we picked out.

            – Good morning, gentlemen. Do come inside and I will show you.

There were four dining chairs and a small but adequate ornate dining table waiting in the sitting room. Mrs Bell indicated them and asked Bert and Clive to follow her to the second floor, where a mahogany chest of drawers stood proud of the wall.

            – This dresser is only on loan to Parson’s Green and I do hope you will be especially careful with it.

            – We’ll be very careful, ma’am. It is a beautiful piece of furniture.

Bert actually thought it fairly ugly but appreciated that it had been well cared for over the decades.

            – Very well. I will leave you to it. I wish to speak to my son.

She returned down two flights of stairs and entered the sitting room where the two amputees were admiring one of Adrian’s boyhood picture books he had spotted in the bookcase.

            – Mother, I really should introduce you to my good friend Arthur Callahan who I will be sharing Parson’s Green with.

Arthur stood at attention with his hands behind his back, legs slightly splayed. It was an elegant stance. Mrs Bell recognised that the young man, despite his exhibitionism, had made some effort to dress presentably. He had attractive clear green eyes, and his chin and cheeks held a hint of blue after a careful shave the previous evening.

            – I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Callahan. I see you have much in common with Adrian. I do hope you will manage to cope together.

            – I’m sure we will, ma’am. We’re very fortunate to find such a fine apartment and on the ground floor.

            – Indeed.

Arthur’s East End vowels grated but he was making an effort to speak clearly. His friendly smile and twinkling eyes worked their magic. Mrs Bell decided she rather liked the bold young man.

            – Adrian, I will retire to the drawing room. I leave you in charge of proceedings. Do please make absolutely sure that the doors are closed when you leave. Remember to lock the downstairs room.

            – Don’t worry, mother. Thank you for your help.

She touched her son’s face briefly and left the room. Adrian looked at Arthur and smirked.

            – Well done! I think you passed the test.

 

Bert and Clive spent more time cautiously carrying the more opulent furniture out to the cart. Adrian asked Arthur to bring the tea things from his room, the last items to leave, including the kettle. Arthur rinsed the cups under cold running water and stacked them into a string bag. He closed the door and Adrian threw him the key to lock it. The driver perched ready to continue the journey after making sure the horse was watered and the two helpers settled into gaps between the furniture, satisfied that the load was secure. Arthur clambered up and took Adrian’s crutches while Adrian pulled and dragged his legless body onto the cart. He swung his peg around and pronounced himself ready. The driver coaxed the dray into motion and the tannery’s well-laden cart creaked away from Adrian’s home.

 

– – – – – – -

 

The apartment at Parson’s Green was transformed from an empty shell into a passable residence over the following days. The front room became the bedroom with a writing desk and bookshelves and the back room became a so-called living room, in the latest style, a place to dine and relax. Arthur arranged for a daily delivery of milk with the local grocer and became a regular customer, fetching bread and miscellaneous grocery items. Adrian’s parents had again visited, bringing the window curtains which so occupied Mrs Bell’s imagination. The rich green velvet lent an air of respectability and domesticity to the outward appearance of the house.

 

Adrian was at work when the new neighbours arrived. The steam-powered Sentinel lorry attracted the attention of all the small boys in the neighbourhood who were fascinated by the sounds and smells emitted by the boiler. Albert Smith-Hall and Charlie Potts stood by, equally exciting figures to the onlookers with their peg legs and gleaming brass hooks like real pirates have, which the boys insisted the two young men demonstrate over and over again. Their meagre furniture was in place within the hour. They shook hooks and hands with the driver and fireman and Albert began the arduous climb to the first floor on his foot-long peg legs. They spent the rest of the day setting up a table and chairs, and pushed their beds together to make a double. They preferred to sleep at the rear of the house where there was no chance of them being overlooked.

 

Charlie suggested that they should introduce themselves to the downstairs neighbours, with whom they had so much in common. Albert thought it a good idea to call on them in the early evening and propose that they acquaint themselves with the local public houses in search of good ale and a convivial atmosphere.

            – Go down and ask if the boys would like to accompany us.

            – The moment you open the door.

Charlie had trouble with opening locks with a hook. Albert waddled across and opened it for him and stood waiting at the top of the stairs to hear what was said. Charlie went down and rapped on Adrian and Arthur’s door. Arthur opened it.

            – Good evening! My friend and I have moved in today. I’m sure you heard the noise. I’m terribly sorry if it disturbed you.

            – Not at all. We knew you were coming today and Adrian is at work.

            – I am relieved to hear it. My friend and I would like to invite you both out for a visit to one of the local establishments for a glass of ale.

            – Now, you mean? This evening?

            – Yes indeed.

            – That would be great fun. I’m sure Adrian would agree but we shall have to wait for him to arrive home first.

            – Of course.

            – Would you like to wait here? Would you like to ask your friend down to join us?

            – Thank you. Albert! Come downstairs! Don’t forget the keys.

            – Coming! Two ticks.

Presently they heard Albert’s pegs on the wooden stairs. He came into view wearing his heavy jacket and carrying his short walking stick.

            – Albert, may I introduce you to Arthur!

            – Pleased to meet you. Do call me Smiffy.

            – Very well! Smiffy. Please come in. Adrian should be back before long.

They settled themselves around the cloth-covered dining table and exchanged news about how their respective moves had gone. It was a way of passing the time. Neither party wished to discuss their recent injuries and new artificial limbs without Adrian’s presence. They were stories to be related only seldom, deeply personal and private matters, understood only by other disabled men whose lives had been altered beyond recognition.

 

Adrian arrived twenty minutes later. He had been working for ten hours and was ready to take his peg off and relax. Instead, he found his friend with the new neighbours.

            – Adrian, before you take your jacket off, do you fancy a pint? Smiffy here suggested we pay a visit to one of the locals.

            – Smiffy? Is that you, Albert? Ha! Let me think.

Adrian looked at the expectant faces of the others and found his second wind.

            – Very well. Shall we make tracks before I fall asleep?

Arthur put his jacket on, escorted the new neighbours out and locked the door. It was a chilly evening but clear. They turned in the direction of the railway bridge and continued slowly, at Smiffy’s pace, until they reached the first public house on that side of the street. Charles hooked the door open and held it for his legless companions.

 

It was still early and many of the usual patrons were otherwise engaged on the other side of the Channel. They settled around a circular table. Charles and Arthur ferried glasses of best bitter to their legless friends whose peg legs almost interlocked under the table. Adrian’s crutches and Smiffy’s walking stick were placed out of the way against the wall.

            – Cheers! Your very good health!

Adrian had not met Charles before and was interested in his hooks. The wrists were barely visible as Charles moved his arms and unlike those which Adrian was well used to seeing. He asked about them. Charles stretched his arms, opening the hooks, exposing more of the wrists.

            – The arms are hinged steel which curves around at the bottom and the hooks are screwed into them.

            – So how do you wear them? How do they stay on?

            – I have a leather cuff on each side up here, above my elbows, see? Then there’s another one just below my elbows and where my stumps are, there’s a leather cup I put the ends in. Then below them there’s just three inches of the steel either side which holds the hooks on.

It was an odd explanation but Adrian thought he understood. It would be interesting to have a closer look some time. It was the wrong place to start demonstrating one’s artificial limbs in full public view. He knew very well what Smiffy’s arm socket looked like, having made it himself.

 

Charles bought the next round. Arthur helped him carry the ale from the bar. The landlord was initially startled to be confronted with such an array of severely disabled young men, but the sound of their conversation and occasional outbreaks of laughter soon reassured him that they were just ordinary chaps who had come a cropper and his nerves settled down. The war had raged for three months and there was time enough to become accustomed to seeing shattered young men.

 

Smiffy recounted the story of his short well-used peg legs which had been made for his uncle back when the Queen was on the throne. Fate had seen fit to repeat itself. He described his leg stumps, how there was a bit of bone just under his knees and how he was actually kneeling all the time. There were hinges with locks halfway up the pegs, so he could walk as he normally did or make his pegs rigid and strut around like that. He was becoming used to being only four foot four inches tall and no longer worried about how he appeared to outsiders. He enjoyed hearing the regular beat of his wooden pegs on the pavement. Arthur was fascinated but at the same time grateful for being able to use a full-size long peg which he was proud to display in public. He rapped on the thigh socket with his knuckles and felt the vibrations in his stump.

 

Charles had lost his hands in an accident with some ordnance. A box of grenades had been hit by shrapnel which detonated. More shrapnel blasted outward and his hands were blown off and a piece lodged in his ribs.

            – Lucky to be alive, really, if you think about it. Five men died in that accident and three of us were hurt. And I got these.

He raised his extravagantly curved hooks and opened them, demonstrating what he had got. He positioned them either side of his mug of ale and lifted it carefully to his lips.

 

Adrian related the story of how he had lost his legs in another blast before the war had even started. It seemed so long ago now. His wounds were healed and no longer pained him, he was accustomed and inured to his solitary peg leg and crutches. Life was more inconvenient at times but Adrian was content to be known as a severely crippled man, struggling on and admired by others. It was a rare and exclusive status.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Most of the staff at Cohen’s Artificial Limbs had already celebrated Hannukah privately. Cohen allowed a day or two of quiet reflection but the workshop remained operational, although the shop itself was closed. Ben was absent so Adrian worked on alone, producing nine artificial arms complete with harnessing and ready to wear. Everyone now looked forward to Christmas, during which the entire workshop was closed for three days. Cohen knew from experience that there would be no customers and the Gentile staff members also deserved their holy days.

 

Adrian’s parents had invited Adrian and Arthur for a Christmas dinner. Adrian enquired about the frequency of metropolitan trains during the Christmas period and discovered that there would be no connections from Parson’s Green on Christmas Day. He reluctantly informed his parents that he would be unable to attend and felt downcast by the disappointment his mother tried bravely to hide.

 

Arthur had bought his mother a present he hoped she would like and taken it with him one evening after work. He had run into some of his old friends in the alleyway outside and ended the evening in a state of considerable intoxication and returned to Parson’s Green dusty and battered after falling several times. Adrian made him promise not to indulge unless he himself was present. Arthur was apt to agree.

 

The four amputees at Cripples’ Corner, as their neighbours began to call it, decided to hold a joint celebration on Christmas Day. Adrian’s apartment was the only one with four dining chairs. Adrian went to the trouble of boiling some potatoes and Arthur had sourced some succulent chicken breasts in Stepney the previous day. It was his job to gently fry the meat in butter. Adrian sat nearby, giving unnecessary instruction. Smiffy brought a bottle of gin and Charles had persuaded his father, who very rarely drank, to dispense with a bottle of Scotch whisky which he had won in a raffle in nineteen five. A good time was had by all, a crowning achievement for four young cripples whose lives had been shattered into new directions by nineteen fourteen.

 

Far away but not entirely out of mind, voices of British and German soldiers joined in unison as they sang Silent Night, Stille Nacht together. Hope had not yet entirely fled the world.

 

1914