When the House of Lords agreed to hear the case, May Donoghue and Walter Leechman felt as if the universe had cracked open and handed them a second chance. They didn’t know it yet, but the next two days would be filled with drama, wit, sharp disagreements, and enough legal tension to make even a snail sweat.
And yes — the hearing attracted crowds.
Lawyers. Journalists. Academics. Curious onlookers.
Everyone wanted to witness the showdown sparked by a humble mollusc who had taken an ill‑timed dip in ginger beer.
The dates were set: 12th and 13th December 1931.
The stage was grand.
The stakes were enormous.
And I, the snail in question, was somewhere in Paisley, blissfully unaware of my growing fame.
William Milligan rose to speak for May Donoghue.
He spoke for three hours — which, in snail time, is roughly the length of a small eternity.
But oh, he was magnificent.
He laid out:
• the facts
• the issues
• the law
• the need for consumer protection
• the argument that manufacturers owe a duty of care to the people who use their products
He explained that negligence should be:
• flexible
• adaptable
• rooted in foreseeability and proximity
• not limited by outdated ideas like privity of contract
He asked the Lords to uphold May’s claim.
He asked them to see the world as it was becoming, not as it had been.
I like to think he also silently thanked me for my service.
George Morton, defending David Stevenson, rose with the confidence of a man who believed the law was firmly on his side.
He argued:
• there was no duty of care
• no causal link
• no damage
• no reason to change the traditional boundaries of negligence
He wanted the Lords to dismiss the claim and preserve the old ways — ways in which snails like me were legally irrelevant.
Rude, but expected.
Milligan was given the floor once more.
He didn’t waste a moment.
He appealed to:
• justice
• fairness
• the evolving needs of society
• the ability of the law to grow
He asked the Lords to make room for a principle that would protect ordinary people — people like May.
And then… it was over.
The five Law Lords withdrew to their chambers:
• Lord Buckmaster
• Lord Atkin
• Lord Tomlin
• Lord Thankerton
• Lord Macmillan
They had heard every argument.
They had weighed every point.
They had listened to every word.
Now they would decide the fate of the case — and, unknowingly, the fate of negligence law across the world.
The courtroom fell silent.
History held its breath.
And somewhere in Paisley, a snail continued his slow, oblivious journey across a garden wall.
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