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11 Mar 2010 6:23 AM
My family, on my mother's side, come from a line of people that have small feet and, unfortunately, the gene has been passed on to me and on to my son.
It is a constant problem, for us to be able to find a shoe that will look good and yet fit properly. Even a shoe, with a good brand name is often passed over due to the fitting being wrong. In my case, I only take seven and a half, in a shoe, and that is small for a man 5' 8" tall. My son is the same height as myself and his feet are even smaller than mine. My son takes a size 5 shoe, which is an advantage if he can find the right size, for it is so small it is exempt from VAT tax.
For almost his whole life, my son has had to settle for trainers for he has never been able to find anything suitable for his feet.
Two weeks ago, when my son went out to work, he walked on a patch of 'black ice' and the footwear, he had on, proved to be none supportive to his needs.
Has he fell, on the ice, his ankle twisted under him giving him bruising that looked awful and giving him a foot that was to swell to twice its normal size.
My son could not walk so I drove him to see our local G.P. and it was thought best to send him to the hospital to see if there were any breakages. Luckily, there were no bones broken and it was deemed best to rest the foot for a few days. My 'First Aid' days told me that the best way of getting the swelling down was with an 'ice pack.' Nothing better than a bag of peas, out of the freezer, wrapped in a cloth.
We kept replacing the cold compress until the swelling started to go down but, for a time at least, my son's foot looked like it was deformed.
For a few days, my son could not put his foot to the floor and when he went back to work the affected foot doubled in size again.
It was clear that my son, as is the case with me, needed foot ware that was going, if only for a short time, to give his ankle some support but where were we going to try and find such a shoe in his size?
We had been to every known shop, in town, and none of them could help us but this was not a surprise to us for we had been to all the shops before, time and time again.
One day, I was in conversation with an old friend of mine, and while we were talking about bird watching, I happened to notice he had on a pair of boots I had not seen the like of before. He explained he was having problems with his feet and had to find a specialist shoe shop to get a pair of boots he could walk in without them causing any more problems to him. Out came my pen and I was writing an address down, of a shoe shop, that was only about 45 minutes drive away from where I lived.
As soon as it was practicable, I drove my son to the shop, my friend had mentioned to me but, while we were on our way, we kept an open mind for we had been on many 'while goose chases' in the past.
To our surprise, there was a shop, that specialised in foot ware but, when we saw the shop frontage, we were uneasy as to what we might find for the shop window was filled with shoes of all types and kinds but, in the main, the shoes on display looked as though they had been sitting in the window for many years.
After looking in through the small panes of glass, supporting a large panoramic window, my son had made his mind up to leave but I persuaded him to enter the shop with me.
We pushed on a door, that was reluctant to open, and felt the need to push the door, at the bottom, with our feet, before we could enter.
Once inside, we had to manoeuvre ourselves so that we could close the door behind us for shoes, of all shapes and sizes, were stacked from the floor to the ceiling. Everywhere we looked, there were shoes piled on top of boxes but that was only the beginning for shoes were stacked, 'higgledy pigeldy,' on shelves, on stairs, in wooden chests and in bags.
Looking round the shop it was like looking round an imaginary shop that may have been open in Dickensian Days. The shop was a 'little gem' the likes I had not seen since I was a little boy and there was a heady smell of real leather in the air.
As we closed the door behind us, an old fashioned door bell rang out to tell the owner that someone had entered the shop but no one came to see us. We called out, and this had no effect so we called again. A door, at the back of the shop, slowly opened and creaked like something you might find in a horror movie. I shouted again and a reply came from an old man who was having problems walking.
'What is it you want?' he said as if we were intruders and as he struggled to walk towards us.
The man, in an old tatty waistcoat and shiny trousers that could have once formed a three piece suit and with a pair of glasses a teacher may have worn in the 1950s, on the bridge of his nose, reminded me of a character out of the Pickwick Papers.
I was taken aback by the man's attire but drew breath when the shop keeper spoke for his manner of speech seemed very peculiar to me. His voice started low, went very loud and his o's seemed to carry on for ever .
'Have you got a pair of fives, in a shoe,' I said before my son had time to make a bolt for the door.
His reply came as a 'oooooooooooooo that's an awkward one?'
There was a pause, that seemed to last an eon, and I asked again.
'Ooooooooo, er. Let me see.' He said scratching his head with a pencil. 'That's a tough one.'
By this time, I too was now ready to leave thinking that we were too much trouble for the old man to deal with.
There were more ooooooooooooooooos and then a spark of life seemed to take the old man over.
'Just a minute.' He said as he directed his eyes to one of the many boxes piled up at the side of us. 'I may just have the very thing.' The shopkeeper said, dragging one leg, as he tried to walk to a pile of boxes; only he would know what was in them.
'There you are, lad,' he said pointing to my son. 'Try that one on and see what you think.'
My son began to lace up the footwear, struggling to keep his balance on one foot for there was nowhere to sit, then asking where the left foot shoe was.
The shop keeper, now talking to me, said, as he pointed to a shelf over my head.
'Now, if you can just pass that one down to me, off the shelf, you will have a pair.'
I felt the need to look, several times, on a shelf that supported lots of left footed shoes as well as things that could best be left in a museum, and could not see what the man, now bending over a counter, he had been using to support his rotund torso, wanted me to find.
'Oooooooooooooooo, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaar you blind? He said. 'Look, it's there, I can see it from here!'
In truth, there was so much clutter I could not see anything.
Eventually, I was able to do what the man wanted me to do and my son put on the shoe I handed down to him.
I asked my son how the shoes felt and he told me he wanted to walk up and down a bit to make sure. There was only a narrow channel, in the shop, to walk through, and I thought there was not enough room for my son so the shopkeeper, who was obviously used to people wanting to walk in the foot ware, before making their mind up as to whether or not they wanted to make a purchase, said, 'As long as all the tags are left on, you can try walking in the shoes outside the shop.'
It felt very strange to be inside a shop that was more like a cave, with gems tucked away here there and everywhere, and to be treated as if we were living in a 'by gone age,' but the keeper of this shop had what we wanted and that should be good enough for anybody that wanted something just that little bit different.
While my son was parading up and down, in the shoes, the man behind the counter, who had to clear more room to do more leaning, said to me.
'The quality of those shoes is very goooooooooood, and,' he said as he lowered his head so that he could see over the top of his glasses, 'they are at the right price tooooooooooooo.'
I smiled, inwardly, and was about to make a comment when my son came back to the shop counter and said that he would like to make a purchase. Instantly, the shopkeeper's attitude changed towards us and he became over bearing with information about the purchased shoes.
When he saw the money, he sort of collected it a little bit like a Praying Mantis would attack its pray; one second the money was on the counter and the next it had been whisked away.
The experience, we endured, while making a purchase, was alien to us but the quality of the goods was second to none and it is my guess that it will not be long before my son and I will be back to the shop for more shoes or boots.
By for now,
John.
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