Looking at these boots is like seeing my face in the mirror when I shave of a morning. A page – nah! a dozen chapters - from my personal history.
They were bought in 1952 or 1953 and cost, I think, £5. Their only defect was the laces which quickly gave up the ghost and were replaced by what you see – strangely waxed nylon. A year later they accompanied me on a month’s course at the Outward Bound Mountain School at Eskdale in the Lake District.
Their function would have been more apparent in their original form. I was besotted with rock climbing and these were – are – climbing boots. But in those days the soles were covered in nails. Hard metal tricounis round the toes, softer hobs over the rest. Nails were going out of fashion since they wore away the holds on established routes. At a later stage the nails were replaced with moulded rubber soles.
I was never a good rock climber but I loved the mountains. In any case I’d moved to London and it was harder to get to the places that matter. For various reasons ski-ing became the easier option and the boots went into the attic. We moved house several times, each time posing the question about what could be discarded. Not surprisingly the boots survived. Junking them would have been like throwing away my face.
Monday, 11 August 2008
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