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.
No related posts.
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
