Somewhere in London - the address cannot be more definite there flourishes quietly and happily a little society or club, all of whose members have one or more members missing. That is an essential condition of election to this unique club, the only one of its kind in Britain, and possibly the world.
As one of the original founders of "The Odds and Ends" - that is our name - let me hasten to say that it is in no sense whatever a charitable or a medical institution.
We refused to regard ourselves as crippled or maimed. We ask for or would tolerate no ones pity. On the contrary - this may seem strange but it is so - we have almost a certain pride in the deficiency of a leg or an arm, a foot, a hand or one or two fingers. At all events, we pride ourselves in going through the world and finding a thrill in life without the full equipment of limbs which normal people seem to find necessary.
The essential purpose of our gatherings is social, with good-fellowship and the exchange of experiences which result from our physical condition, That, indeed, is how the club came into being from the casual first time meeting at the same table in an Oxford Street teashop some ten years ago.
Having lost my right arm at the shoulder, I was struggling to butter a roll on the slippery plate, when the man opposite to me offered his aid, explaining, in apology, that he knew something of such awkward moments from the fact that he had lost a leg, and now relied on an aluminium one.
Our talk naturally lead to an exchange of experiences in our limbless circumstances. Among other things, I learnt how a one-handed friend of his trimmed and manicured his finger-nails, while I, in turn, explained some dodges of legless and single-armed friends of mine.
Good luck lead to our meeting again several times, and ultimately to our agreement that people in our condition could do much to interest and ease the lot of each other by "swapping" individual experiences. A more or less informal, cheery social meeting of limbless people we knew followed, first at his flat then at mine.
At first we mustered only half-a-dozen or so by invitation at the house or diggings of one or another. These parties, with our experiments in all sorts of situations arising from the absence of a limb, became regular events and greatly enjoyed, while at
the same time A learnt some dodge to relieve his difficulties from B, and so on.
As numbers grew, the strain on our private hospitality became too great, so we definitely formed the club into which we had gradually developed. It is unnecessary to describe the constitution which follows the usual lines, with the outstanding distinction that membership is open only to those who have lost one or more limbs (with three finger one hand as the minimum).
Candidates for election must also attend three consecutive weekly meetings of the club, so that their full qualification shall be proved to and recognised by the members at large. Through these personal contacts we ensure also that the newcomer (in addition to the ordinary proposal and seconding by members) will be socially and individually acceptable to the club as a whole.
For the acquaintanceships and sociability between our members is necessary more personal than in clubs devoted to such purposes as postage-stamps, dancing, bridge, music, tame-mice, etc., etc. In the beginning our membership consisted practically entirely of ex-Service men who had suffered an amputation as the result of wounds during the war. These still form a large proportion, but with a steadily increasing number of people who have lost a limb or limbs through motoring or other accidents.
In our club such victims of latter-day so-called peaceful transport find cheery company and helpful comradeship. We ex-Service men learnt many dodges from each other and about artificial limbs before we left the military hospitals and convalescent homes. To-day the civilian who undergoes an amputation has no or few fellow-sufferers whose experience lightens the ordeal of re-entering the world with only one arm or leg.
In that respect we could claim that our club (despite its restriction of membership to personal introduction) fulfills a definite need, though our essential objective is social enjoyment and comradeship. To realise that every other member has also lost a limb gives - paradoxically enough - a rare warmth of understanding.
It was that during the last few years has led us to admit women to membership. Long and serious consideration followed the proposal by a greatly esteemed member of his 20-year old daughter after the loss of her leg under a motor-'bus. Almost simultaneously there was application from an ex-hospital nurse whose right arm had to be amputated to check septic poisoning, contracted in tending a patient.
Ultimately it was decided to accept both for membership, and since then women have been eligible under the same conditions as men. The step has never been regretted, for to have only one arm or leg is so much heavier to a woman than a man that she seems to appreciate the more the society of others like herself, instead of being noted by men and women as the "one-legged girl."
In the main our club life is that of any other social gathering, with occasions supremely unique. You, as a normal bodied person might stare if you could secretly enter and see that middle-aged fourth at a bridge table holding and playing his cards with his feet. A close glimpse would show that his toeless socks allow him to use his toes as deftly as you do your fingers.
In the music room a man and a girl with one arm each manage a solo (not a duet) between them at the piano. Then the girl on her own tackles the instrument with her one hand and the five toes of her other foot. Two hefty young single-handed men are betting which will pick up a needle quickest from the floor with a bare foot.
In the consulting room old members are giving tips about using a wooden arm, and the best type of metal leg. The big deeply carpeted room which centralises the life of the club is, in turn, place for a waltz (note those two with only a leg each and crutches discarded), a hopping match for monopedes, and wrestling between one-armed and one-legged opponents.
Here for time, though in sun-bathing costume, we forget the mutilation which we should feel if pranking among curious-eyed two-legged, two-armed folk. No such can enter here.
We members go home with leg or arm strapped on again, almost normal in the world's eye and happy after our jolly comradeship together. A touch of admiration, too, for that dark-haired young girl swinging along so nimbly on her shapely one leg and stiff pole of a crutch. Yet what grace and strength an the bars and rings in the gym she displayed half an hour ago!