How Long is a Piece of String

The New Riding Boots.....

My father, as I have said before, was an excellent shoemaker as were his entire family.   None of his children took up the trade.    Moreover, his entire family were famous for Army type high officers’ boots and he had learned this skill to perfection. 

A riding school, in Delgany, about 8 miles from the shop were regular customers.   In order to fulfil an order (and a promise) he had spent the whole weekend completing a truly beautiful pair of full length riding boots.

I was at this time aged about 10  and on the Sunday afternoon after he had completed the boots, I was to deliver them to the riding school. He warned me to be careful and to take the bus. He gave me the sixpence for the return fare. The boots were too large to parcel so I was to carry them.

I went off and decided that there was no way I was going to waste the sixpence on the bus journey. Not only were buses in those days few and far between, but the Sunday service was almost non-existent. The weather was fair and I could borrow a bicycle.

This I did without any problem and away I raced with the boots tied together hanging across the handlebars. Away out the country I raced.  I had formulated a route in my mind that should take me half way there up-hill and the remainder downhill all the way to the village.

The trip from home to Delgany via Kilmacanogue is through some of the most beautiful scenery you are ever likely to see and the journey seemed to pass very quickly. 

The quiet of the car-free roads always lulled me into a state close to sleep, and this occasion was no exception. Except, that is, until I reached the Glen o’ the Downs with Little Sugarloaf to the left and Big Sugarloaf to my right.

The name still to this day strikes terror into me. However, it is in fact a sight to be seen. Nowadays, it is motorway through the sheer mountain cliffs, but then it was what was known loosely as a country road. From the top to the bottom is about two or three miles and it is very, very steep.

Bearing in mind that the first half of the journey had been either uphill or on the level with no downhill grades, I did not up to this stage have to use the brakes. Now I certainly did, and yes, you have guessed, they did not work. As I picked up speed, my heart rate kept pace.

As was the unwritten rule in those days, when your brakes failed on your bike, you whacked your foot against the front tyre and got some retardation by that means. That is a good idea under normal circumstances but the riding boots by this time had taken upon themselves a life of their own and were causing havoc jumping around on the handlebars.

As we bounced onward, still gathering speed, the string I had used to tie the boots together with decided that it had not been manufactured for such a journey and decided to snap. Bang went the boots up in the air, landing some twenty yards back in the centre of the road.  As I continued to try to stop, (and I swear this is true), the only car I had seen going in either direction in the previous hour, came along towards me (and of course the new boots).  I jumped off the moving bike and raced back waving my arms at the driver.

Believe it or not, he appeared to drive straight at the boots, which were hit and flung once again up in the air. The car did not stop. I picked up the boots and sat on the side of the roadway. I had the bill in my pocket and it came to £12. A lot of money in those days, about two weeks wages for a man. Once again I had visions of my father killing me. Of that I had no doubt......................

I clearly remember that I did not cry. I have since found out that fear can bring out the best as well as the worst in people. I decided that I could not go home to Dad nor could I in fact deliver the boots in their present state. So, the only alternative was that I had to do something about it..................

I did. I climbed over a wall and examined the bark of trees. I knew that some were good for staining as I had received many a caning in school for having brown fingers, the result of opening green walnuts or peeling hazel sticks. On such occasions, I was always accused of smoking.....................

However, once again I digress. I found two barks of trees; don’t ask me what they were, as I was working in remote control at the time. They made an excellent stain, whether or not it would remain permanent, did not worry me. As long as it lasted the next hour or so would satisfy me and keep everyone happy. A sticky substance from a riverbank, which looked like putty, was used to fill in the scratches and small tears.

As a result of my efforts, a few hours had passed, and little did I know at the time, but it was to save my bacon. You see it was getting dark.  

I continued on my journey very slowly and when in fact I got to the village it was dark. I licked the scratches, which made them shiny and stood back from the door, which was opened by one of the sons of the owner of the riding school. I gave him the bill and he went to his parents to get a cheque, which he gave to me. I gave him the boots, which to my utter surprise and dismay, he just threw into a cupboard, in which I could see were several other older riding boots.   I left in a hurry, and even without lights, or brakes, I returned home at record speed.

Many times within the following years I delivered boots and shoes to the same riding school, but whether or not anyone ever noticed the damage to the new boots, no one ever said anything to me or my father.

I learned a great lesson that day, not only about natural colouring, but more importantly, that peace of mind is far more rewarding than cash, especially as little as a sixpenny piece............................

-----------------Mike---------------------