At least I’m assuming that’s what they told my Grandad when they chopped one of his legs off. He was 14 years old at the time and was working as an apprentice shoemaker. Turns out he and another apprentice were carrying a large cauldron of boiling hot glue on two planks of wood when one of the planks broke. Ouch.
So with a leg covered in boiling hot glue it was off to the Deaconess Hospital in the Pleasance for a quick amputation and a few months recuperation. After that, guess what? He went back and finished his apprenticeship. Because that’s what you did before we turned into a nation of namby pamby crybabys.
So he ended up probably the only one legged shoemaker in Leith. Not that it stopped him knocking out a dozen bairns after he married a good Catholic girl. Here he is in the 1950’s with my Mum on the left and my Gran on the right.