Dear Sir, - I have recently taken to a pair of forearm crutches and I agree with nearly everything "A La Jambe De Bois" has to say in their favour - except that armpit crutches are not "over 5 feet in length" unless one is a giantess! My own are 49 inches. I admit I am small, but, well, 5 feet to the armpit would mean about 6 feet 6 inches.
Actually, in my dancing days before I lost my leg, I was always what is flatteringly known, I think, as the fluffy or cuddly type - how long ago that seems!
I am only 5 feet 2 inches, my detailed measurements being: Ankle 8« inches, calf 13« inches, thigh 26 inches, hips 37 inches, waist 25 inches, bust 37 inches.
I have just checked these, and find they have hardly changed since I lost my right leg when I was 19, nearly 4 years ago, except a regrettable « on the ankle and a normal 1 inch on the bust. Personally I should call it tubby, and I don't claim to be a Venus.
Anyhow, the snag about forearm crutches from my point of view, is that whenever one has to reach up to anything raising one's hands above elbow level, it means performing a minor balancing feat and dangling a clumsy piece of wood in mid-air. So if I am simply going to business and back home, I use my armpit pair of crutches. And in this weather I wear my fur coat. I can't see "A La Jambe de Bois"' difficulty in this. A padded insert in the armpit is far less conspicuous than would be any padding on the forearm. Personally, such trouble as I get in this respect is from my chest the sides of which are apt to be rubbed by my crutches so that the material becomes shiny; but this applies only to my black business frocks which I wear frequently, and in any case it doesn't show.
I have been extremely interested in Miss Roper's dress articles, and in general the more letters I read from cripples like myself, the more I feel sure that I am wiser and luckier than most of them.
To my mind the essential feminine attribute that is most obviously challenged by the loss of a leg is grace of movement,and I hope that I will never forget to be as graceful as my one-leggedness permits. For that reason I will never, if I can help it, move on a single crutch, which must mean hunching one shoulder; nor, even when I am alone, do I ever resort to hopping.
At times I still have a hankering after an artificial limb, but I know I must resign myself to crutches. So it's a question of making the best of oneself.
As regards dress, when I was on holiday in those delightful hot days when the war began, I wore an amusing dress of my own design. It consisted of a crinoline-type green linen knee-length skirt, drawn in at the waist and self-stiffened, joined to a red cotton blouse, and with a low square-cut neck, and short sleeves puffed at the shoulder to conceal the crutch padding, and heavily embroidered in peasant style in green wool matching the skirt.
It sounds crude, perhaps, but with my long black hair in a bun over the nape of my neck, and a few dark wisps of curl in front, I can assure you I felt very satisfied, particularly as the materials were soft enough to be worn comfortably and coolly.
The fullness of the skirt helped me to hide my one-leggedness when I was sitting; yet, being only knee-length, it didn't blow about or get in the way of the free movement of my crutches. Moreover, as nature has given me a clear Irish skin and complexion I felt that by exposing my throat as far as I dared, I definitely draw attention away from my possibly repulsive lower half. It certainly seemed to work out that way!
Well, I've gone on long enough. I do hope, though, that your one-legged readers will do their share in filling your columns, and that they will do so sincerely. I can't help feeling that too often they hide their real feelings. After all, none of us honestly enjoy being cripples. There are times when it doesn't much matter, but there are many times when it definitely does. It is the overcoming of the latter cases that is so helpful to fellow-cripples, and I hope you'll be giving us plenty of examples.
Personally, I loathe the feel of my crutches. I loathe not being able to dance. I loathe ordering one shoe instead of two. I loathe being stared at. In fact, I loathe being crippled, and I cannot believe that any one-legged girl gets an honest thrill out of it. Yet I am glad to say that I am getting less and less frequently conscious about it, and there's no denying the thrill one gets from one's triumph over one's handicap, and reading of the accomplishments of others, whether physical achievements of the more feminine ones of dress or sex-appeal, certainly inspire one to compete.
Yours truly,
Colleen On Crutches