Cumbrian rugby union player James Addyman: 'I probably shouldn't have played. But I was having none of that'

Although less than two months had passed since finishing chemotherapy, and only six since his arm was amputated, James, 22, was determined to play against Workington because the game marked his 17-year-old brother Will's first senior match. Older brother John, 25, also returned from Army duty in Ireland, where he is serving with the Royal Engineers, to make it an unforgettable sibling day.

Comfortably the most remarkable sight of all was James, who came on in the second half, thumping into tackles despite having only one arm. "It was quite incredible, really," said Trevor Keough, the Keswick chairman, when we spoke before my meeting with James.

The man himself is cheerful as he recalls that February afternoon. "I probably shouldn't have played," he laughs. "But I was having none of that. I was like, nah, I've done much more dangerous stuff this year. Let's go and play."

Keswick won the game 29-14 and the three brothers, tired and happy, posed for a photo before pints were sunk. Was it an emotional occasion? "A few people have asked me that," James says. "To me, not as much as you'd think. It probably was to my Mam more than anything."

James appears an upbeat soul, and says he does his best to disregard his disability. "Now I've got used to not having the right arm and shoulder, I don't really think about it. Your body naturally adjusts.

"Everybody asks if I still go to catch with two hands. Not any more - although I did at first. I remember helping my mate, Josh, sort out his wedding. We were laying some fake grass in the barn, and I got a Stanley knife and went to put it in my right hand, and just dropped it. I had to laugh."

How, specifically, did he adapt during the Workington game? "Well, it's a lot easier catching when it's coming from one direction - you can pull the ball into your body. If it's coming the other way, and it's a long, down the line pass, I basically stand out of the way and ruck over afterwards. With tackling, you've just got to hit them with your left shoulder."

Did anyone in the opposition, noticing that the left arm was all that James had, hold back? "They maybe did for the first tackle or so, but then me and Will hit one guy so hard that he knocked the ball on. After that, you could see them thinking, 'Right, he's actually gonna hit us here.'

"I wouldn't want anyone holding back. Definitely not."

Trevor Keough had described James as a "solid, decent west Cumbrian bloke" and it is apparent, when telling his story, that he has little appetite for dwelling on the emotional ravages of cancer. From a farming family, in Asby, he is keener to make practical sense of what life has thrown at him and, as he says, "get on with it".

The Workington game was his first for about 18 months. A promising number eight, he began his rugby life as a league junior at Arlecdon, before moving to union with Keswick. Good enough to earn North of England trials, and Cumbria selection, he also had a year with Carlisle, where he was named player of the year.

It was during a 10-month trip to Australia, where James and a friend had decided to see a little more of the world, that his problems started. An apprentice at Iggesund Paperboard, near Workington, he secured fitting and welding work in the Queensland outback and then in Sydney, where he lived with some fellow travellers in Bondi - and in January 2017, whilst in the gym, he noticed discomfort in his shoulder. "It was just a tiny, little pain. I thought I'd torn a muscle. I left it a couple more weeks, but it still hurt." A physio suspected a damaged rotator cuff, which James conceded would need surgery. "I thought I'd fly home, get that done, and if I wanted to go back, I'd go back."

The pain, though, worsened when he landed in England, and the cause of it baffled a shoulder specialist. "It got found out a bit by accident," he says. "They were doing X-rays before an MRI scan and the guy said, 'This isn't right - a bit of your arm bone seems to be missing.' That's where the tumour was, eating the bone."

James said he had started fearing the worst the more tests he was required to do. Although the diagnosis of osteosarcoma - an aggressive type of bone cancer - was a jolt, he was pragmatic about the sudden need for his right arm to be removed. "I was absolutely mortified. But it had to happen. 'Either your arm's going to come off, or it [the cancer] is gonna spread'. When you look at it like that, it's one of the easiest decisions I've ever made."

Surgery was delayed because of James' temperature, which at one point soared to 40.9 degrees because of infection ("I'm a bit gutted I didn't make it to 41," he says), but eventually, at Newcastle's Freeman Hospital last August, he underwent the 11-hour procedure. It then took several more days for him to leave his bed and recognise his new reality. "It wasn't that weird until I looked in a mirror," he says. "Oh, Christ, they took off quite a lot there, didn't they?"

While he had to learn to walk again, having spent so long motionless in bed, James says he instantly felt healthier once his arm had gone, the infection and chemotherapy having taken a punishing toll beforehand. "I went into hospital at 102 kilos and went down to 77. That includes losing the arm, mind. Afterwards, I remember eating loads. You won't believe how much I ate. I've enjoyed that part very much."

Chemo continued until this January. "It could still be nasty, but a lot better than before. There was one time I was nearly sick on my brother across the table, mind. Was just eating a nice meal, sausages on toast, and it happened that quick. It was a good thing I was so near the sink…"

Family ties are strong throughout this tale. "My Mam [Sue] definitely had a rough ride with it," James says. "The months before I had my arm off, she was there, every night, holding the bowl while I was being sick. With Dad [Nick] being on the farm, it was hard, but to be fair to him, every couple of days he was through. He must have been knackered.

"The first weekend after I lost my arm, John flew back from Belfast and literally just sat in the room with me for the weekend. That must have been boring as hell for him."

Are the three brothers close? "Oh aye, we all get on like a house on fire. Fight at some times, like brothers do, but love each other anyways."

In his early days back home, between hospital visits, James slept for long hours, a simple trip to watch the rugby exhausting him. Since then it has been a steady climb back to normality, and he is now healthy enough to put in some decent hours on the farm - as well as handling the challenges of his altered life.

"Doing up zips is one you do not expect," he says. "It's nearly impossible. Tying shoelaces with one hand - no problem. Learned that dead quick. YouTube's a great thing. But little tiny, fiddly zips…no. All my trousers are now buttoned."

He was quick to learn to drive an adapted car, with a steering ball, while his determination also applies to rugby, for Keswick have involved James in extra coaching duties, something he plans to step up. "I want to be coaching the seconds full-time, and stick in with those lads," he says.

And playing? "Next season, hopefully every game," he declares. "I'll use the summer to get fit, because my fitness is awful compared to what it used to be. Although to say I couldn't walk a while ago, it's alright, I suppose."

He is also looking into the possibility of joining a disability rugby league team, having spoken to Leeds Rhinos. "I didn't even know it was a thing. I just saw it on the news. I thought it would be good to get involved with, to bring up awareness and stuff. It would be good if we could get a few people going down there. Cumbria's such a big rugby league place, so you would think there would be more than just me who wanted to do it."

It is at Keswick, though, where his roots truly lie. James rejoined the club because he was among so many friends, as well as family, while the club have held fundraising events, both in light of his journey and in memory of a staunch supporter, Zoe Harper, who died of cancer last year.

The camaraderie of Keswick means a lot to James. "Everyone's been spot on, really supportive. Once I got back to the club there was a little bit of sympathy, but they're all my mates, so everybody started taking the mick again fairly quickly.

"I'd rather people did that. They'll say, "Right-hand drinking only," and I'm just sat there…"

He is back in hospital this week to have some nodules removed from a lung. "That should be that," he says. "I'll be going for scans every month, but, fingers crossed, no more chemo, and no radiotherapy."

It is too early, he says, to make big life plans, not least because the farm is a demanding place. "It's coming up to lambing time," he says, laughing about performing this essential task one-handed. "I did it last year when I had a bad arm, so I'll see what the difference is with no arm."

Before he leaves the Trout, James talks about the challenges of the gym, and the ways he has also adapted to one-handed weight lifting, again with YouTube's help. It is clear he is eager to throw himself further forward in a sunny state of mind, and is only briefly solemn when asked if his experience with cancer is a reminder to anybody never to take life for granted.

"I suppose it is, a bit," he says. "I've thought that before. But it can happen to anyone. When your number's called, your number's called. A lot of lads who were on the same ward as me didn't come back off it. Lads my age, as well. I'm lucky, really."