Back in the day (early 1960s), most adults wore ‘granny boots’ in the winter. They were short, and fur-lined, with sensible soles and a zip up the front. Ghastly. And uncool, that’s for sure.
Long, calf-hugging, sexy, stylish ‘Kinky’ boots were all the rage amongst the fashion-conscious and, aged 12 or 13, I desperately wanted a pair.
I certainly needed some additional footwear. School was right on the other side of town and there were two buses to catch, plus a fair bit of walking, not least from the bus stop ‘outside’ school to the building itself, which took a good five minutes. And this was 1963 or 64, two very cold, snowy winters.
My grandmother was charged with taking me to buy boots one Saturday morning. I don’t remember much about the shopping trip itself. I suspect I was too embarrassed, and scared of Granny, to insist. She will have had no idea of my agenda and I can imagine her being scathing about the unlined, slippy-soled apples of my eye. I do remember the tears I shed when I got home with my little granny boots, just like the ones she wore.
I was resourceful (?deceitful) though and everyday I’d leave the house wearing the boots, like a good girl, then as soon as I was out of sight I’d change them for my ordinary shoes, preferring to be cold and wet all day, than warm, dry and deeply unfashionable.
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