Dear Sir, - I was amazed to see that you published my little drawings! I never thought that they would be good enough to get in, but I take the publication of my letter and drawings of myself as an encouragement to tell you more of myself and my adventures.
Then, as I was sitting down to write, by a strange coincidence "A, H." sends his drawing of his monopede friend in U.S.A. and her girl acquaintances. It is indeed strange that one of them is legless, for such a girl, living a few miles from here, is one of my closest pals - has been since childhood, when our two mothers (of crippled-for-life daughters) met. So I enclose a drawing of her (with her permission) as perhaps your readers might like to see that here in England, we, too, can - as "A. H." points out "dress smartly and in the fashion."
Sylvia, for that is her name, has overcome her terrible handicap in an amazing fashion and is a free-lance journalist of no mean repute, as well as being a budding author.
In defence of we English cripples, I hope I show in my drawings of her (I am an amateur artist, and illustrate her articles a good deal) and myself that "A. H." need not think that we are "shabby" in comparison with your equally unfortunate American cousins. Sylvia, confined to her chair for ever, unable to walk, dance, or even like myself move herself about on crutches; dependent absolutely on hand, foot and fingers of friends; carried or wheeled everywhere - she has not forgotten that she is a young woman of twenty-four years of age - and she dresses like one. Don't worry - "A. H.", Sylvia and her gallant band of comrades up and down the country a bravely putting a smart face on their dreadful handicaps and are trying to fall into line with their fashionable and whole sisters.
I have drawn Sylvia in her wheel-chair as she attends cinemas, the theatre, and other social events, where she sits nonchalantly smoking a cigarette, is the focus of a hundred staring, sympathising and admiring eyes. I think, secretly, she enjoys her "limelight", and is to been seen at all sorts of events, wheeled by her younger sister who is, if anything, prettier than herself.
I should like to refer further to "A. H.'s" letter - or rather to the accompanying drawing by Hilda Holt - which showed her on her black crutches.
I don't know whether it is a mistake on the part of the artist but I must say that it would be dangerous, almost impossible, for Hilda to get about on the crutches she depicts. Firstly, they are not the right length from armpit to hand-grip (measured by crutch makers from armpit to wrist). Her hands are much too high and he arms too bent for her to walk far without great discomfort.
Secondly, there is no sign of "crutch-tips" - the all-important rubber ends of our crutches. I should not like to trust myself on my crutches unless they were tipped with rubber ends, and, as these frequently wear out with constant use, I often go to my crutch-maker, who fits a new pair. Plain wood would slip on the ground - and I, for one, have a mortal terror of injuring my one remaining leg and joining Sylvia in her pitiful helplessness.
Thirdly, I would not like to have to travel far - and I am not very heavy, although plump and rounded after so many years of confinement to the comparative inactivity of crutches - on Hilda's arm-cushions on her crutches. They are far too narrow and sharp, and would soon cause pain, inability to bear her body's weight, and finally "drop-wrist," or, as it is known, "crutch-palsy."
I find I have written too much again and cannot tell you of my personal experiences - but I will write again soon. Meanwhile I enclose, with my drawing of my legless girl friend a sketch of myself in my A. R. P. uniform, and on my "mobile" but rather uglier crutches.
I hope they will reproduce. Would you like me to write again, Mr. Editor?
Yours truly,
Margaret.