I didnât crawl into the Court of Session myself â the stairs are far too steep â but my reputation certainly did. After my dramatic appearance in the ginger beer bottle, May Donoghue and her solicitor, Walter Leechman, marched straight to Edinburgh to file a writ against David Stevenson.
They asked for ÂŁ500 in damages, which, in snail terms, is roughly the value of a lifetime supply of lettuce.
They assumed Stevenson would settle quietly.
He did not.
Stevenson hired George Morton, a man whose eyebrows alone could win an argument. Mortonâs strategy was simple:
⢠Claim Mayâs writ didnât show a breach of duty
⢠Claim it didnât show harm
⢠Claim she couldnât sue because she didnât buy the drink
⢠Claim, essentially, that I was none of his clientâs business
(Excuse me.)
This was the old doctrine of privity of contract â the legal equivalent of saying, âNot my problem.â
On 27th June 1930, Lord Moncrieff delivered a judgment that would echo through legal history like a wellâthrown pebble in a pond.
He ruled that:
⢠Mayâs writ was not vague
⢠It did show a breach of duty
⢠It did show harm
⢠And most importantly:
A manufacturer can owe a duty of care to the ultimate consumer
A bridge had been built â from Stevensonâs factory to Mayâs glass â and I was the tiny creature who made it necessary.
Lord Moncrieffâs decision didnât end the fight.
It simply meant Stevenson had eight days to respond.
But it was a turning point:
⢠Negligence
⢠Foreseeability
⢠Proximity
⢠Consumer protection
All of it began to shift.
For Leechman, this was no longer just about a âsnail in a bottle.â
It was about the future of the law.
For me, it was Friday.
Stevenson wasnât finished.
Not even close.
If the Outer House wouldnât save him, heâd take the battle to the Inner House â and the legal journey would grow stranger, deeper, and far more consequential.
â Follow the case to the Inner House
â Learn how this tiny incident had an impact beyond the law of negligence
â Explore classroom resources