Dear Sir, - I was particularly interested in Sadie's latter in a recent issue of your paper concerning "one-legged sheiks". For I happen to be married to one, and I myself are alsa one-legged. So we are well matched.
I never knew what it was to have two legs, as I was born with my left leg ending in a stump just below the knee.
My husband lost his right leg just above the knee when a boy.
Naturally one-legged girls fascinated him most. The same in my case. One-legged men have always thrilled me. In fact, I quite delight in seeing their tucked-up trouser-leg, which resembles a neat little pouch, and always don trousers or breeches indoors, with the left leg sewn into a similar pouch.
Strange, too, Sadie mentioninq "velvet bags," termed "corduroy" on this side of the Atlantic. Both my husband and I are intrigued by this material. I love to see him in his dark brown velvet corduroys.
When we are together we discard our crutches and use each other as supports. We love hopping about like this together. It is such fun.
My husband is never happier than when I am wearing velvet corduroy breeches in the softer, more feminine quality, or a dainty corded frock. We don't even object to the rather penetrating earthy odour which usually arises from corduroy. After all, this is very similar to the scent of Harris tweed. Perhaps Sadie will be interested to hear that I met my future husband in a railway carriage. How well I remember the eventful day, when, catching a train to Derby, I opened the door of the compartment, throwing my crutch and bag on the seat, hopped in. Whereupon the following startling facts presented themselves to me: There were two crutches on the seat where I had thrown mine my own and a stranger's. Then I became aware of a man sitting in the corner seat, and caught a glimpse of a corduroyed masculine leg partly concealed by the newspaper. HOw those blue eyes of his stared, first at me, then swiftly down at my corduroy skirt.
Well, I hopped to a corner seat, and was about ta put my bag on the rack when a masculine voice said, "Allow me," and the man in the corner jumped up and came to my assistance - or rather hopped. For, to my delight, I realised that the newspaper had concealed the fact that my fellow-traveller was also one-legged, with the right leg of his brown corduroy breeches ending above the knee. Following the direction of my gaze as he balanced himself on his one leg, he laughed gaily.
"We seem to have some points in common!"
"W - why, yes!" I gasped. It's all rather amazing!"
Balancing myself on my only leg, I watched him as he deftly put my bag on the rack. I remember so well that, as he reached up, the ribbed surface of my skirt scraped against the corduroy of his trousers with that rather intriguing "Squeak" which this material makes when chaffing together.
It was a case of love at first sight.
How extraordinarily interesting our bodies and the clothes of our bodies can be! Life is a strange thing.
Yours truly,
One Legged Mate