I was moving with my wife and small twins to Liverpool, and called on my uncle, a farmer, and aunt, my father's sister, in Stroud, Gkoucestershire, before we left. If you see a man in Liverpool with one arm, they joked, he's an old friend. Give our regards to him. On our first Sunday in the city in 1958 my wife and I decided to walk with our children to nearby Sefton Park, and called in for a coffee. Sitting at a table was a man with one arm. Just for fun I approached him and asked him if he was, by name, the man my uncle and aunt knew. He was.