**The One-Armed Lad Cooks Broth for Late Friend’s Nan, She Buys Him a Prosthetic & Makes His Dream Come True**
A boy with one arm felt sorry for his late mate’s poorly grandmother and made her broth, even though it was hard with only one hand. The frail old lady repaid his kindness in the most touching way.
“Promise me you’ll look after Nan Margaret, won’t you? She’s worn out, she just won’t admit it, Thomas,” William said through tears to his best friend. He lived with his nan after his parents left him when he was diagnosed with leukaemia. Since Thomas was his closest friend, he begged him to care for his grandmother if he didn’t make it.
“Don’t fret, Willy! You’ll pull through! I was poorly like this once—stuck in a hospital bed, just like you—but I got better. You will too,” Thomas reassured him with a grin.
The boys were nine and inseparable, attending the same school in their quiet Yorkshire village. They’d smashed more than a few neighbours’ windows playing football until William collapsed one day and was rushed to hospital.
Nan Margaret and Thomas soon learned William had leukaemia. The doctors urged immediate treatment, so Margaret spent every last penny of her savings and wages to help him. But his health worsened, and one night, he passed away in his sleep.
Thomas stood sobbing by William’s grave. “Willy, I’ll take care of Nan Margaret—that’s a promise! I’ll miss you…” He sat beside the grave awhile, pouring his heart out to his friend.
Two years earlier, Thomas and his mum had been in a horrific car crash. She died before reaching the hospital, but Thomas survived, though he lost an arm. For a seven-year-old, it was crushing. Then, another blow—his dad walked out on him. Thomas ended up being raised by his widowed grandmother, Eliza.
With just one arm, the other kids at school teased him mercilessly. William was his only friend. And now, he was gone too.
“Nan, am I cursed? Dad said I was bad luck before he left. Everyone I love dies,” Thomas wept one evening.
Eliza hugged him close, blinking back tears. “Oh, pet, never think that! You’re the kindest lad I know. How could you be bad luck?”
“But I must be. God punished me by taking my arm. I loved playing the violin, but now I can’t.”
“No, love, that’s not why,” Eliza said softly. “See, God had two choices—give you a full life but take something, or take your life entirely. He chose to let you live. Life’s hardships make us stronger. And you, my boy, are the strongest lad I know. You can do anything, even with one arm. It makes you special.”
By supper, Thomas had calmed down. As Eliza tucked him in, he said, “I ought to visit Nan Margaret tomorrow. She must be so lonely. Can I go?”
“Course you can, duck. Sleep well,” Eliza whispered, turning off the light.
The next day after school, Thomas knocked on Margaret’s door. The frail old woman took her time answering, leaning heavily on her cane. When she finally appeared, she looked dreadful.
“Nan Margaret! Are you all right?” he gasped.
“Just a touch of fever, love. Come in—lessons done for the day?”
“Yes, but you look—”
“Oh, you sound just like my William,” she cut in fondly. “Always fussing over me. Sit down—I’ll fetch you some biscuits and milk.”
As she shuffled to the kitchen, Thomas noticed how weak she was. That evening, he couldn’t stop fretting. Deciding to make her his mum’s special broth, he dug out her old recipe book while Eliza napped.
With one arm, stirring was a struggle, but he didn’t quit. Eliza had told him he could do anything.
He tasted the broth and frowned. “Needs salt… but Nan Margaret might not take much. Gran doesn’t.” So he left it nearly saltless but full of heart, packed it in a flask with some crisps, and scribbled a note for Eliza: *Gone to see Nan Margaret. Back soon.*
When she opened the door and saw the broth, Margaret burst into tears. “It’s not as good as Mum’s, but I tried,” Thomas said sheepishly. “And I didn’t add much salt—Gran doesn’t like it.”
She took a sip. The broth was overcooked, but she finished every drop. “Perfect for a poorly old bird like me,” she murmured, eyes glistening. “I’ll be right as rain soon.”
Thomas grinned. “Take care, Nan Margaret. Bye!”
Back home, Eliza scolded him gently. “You shouldn’t be near the stove alone! But I’m proud of you, love.”
“Told you I’m your special lad,” he beamed.
From then on, he brought her broth daily until she recovered. Then one afternoon, Eliza handed him an envelope. “Someone’s left you a little thank-you.”
Inside was a cheque with more zeroes than he’d ever seen. A note read:
*Dear Thomas,
You’ve been an angel, bringing me the best broth in all England. I’m much better now, so here’s a little gift. William once said you adored the violin but had to stop after the accident. This should help. Ask your nan about a prosthetic arm.
With love,
Nan Margaret.*
Eliza squeezed his shoulder. “She’s giving you a second chance, pet. I couldn’t afford it, but she’s our blessing.”
Tears streamed down Thomas’s face. “If she’s happy, I kept my promise to William!”
The prosthetic arm let him play violin again. Over time, his passion grew—and when university fees loomed, Margaret stepped in once more.
Now, Thomas is a renowned musician in his county, all because two lads and their grandmas treated each other like family. In losing William, he gained Margaret—and honoured his friend’s wish.
**Lesson Learned:**
Kindness repays itself in ways we can’t foresee. Though the broth was barely edible, the love in it healed more than any medicine. And sometimes, the people who feel broken are the very ones who mend others.