Sirs,
I know full well that we have some shoephiliacs in the Speakeasy. I had rather a shoe-related adventure today, and gained some excellent shoe-knowledge courtesy of the proprietor of a lovely, traditional shoemaker's shop. The purpose of this post is manifold:
i. To get shoes back onto the Speakeasy agenda where they belong (!)
ii. To repeat the head cobbler's valuable tips for you, and to hear your invaluable comments on them (apologies if you know them already)
iii. To recount my adventures in a shop from the Olde World that has somehow remained (much like our favourite London barbers and shaveries) at odds against the modern world
iv. To show off some great shoes to likeminded gents.
Oxford is a pretty, old place - one that was somehow spared the bombs of Hitler that destroyed so much else of Britain (not to forget our own bombs dropped on Germany, of course). We have some lovely tailors here which look like the old Truefitt-and-Hill style shops of London's Mayfair area. They are small, dark, oak-filled, and usually extremely warm, from the large open fires found therein. Even a shabby student such as myself can expect a discreet and generous degree of service from a pleasant old soul who has no doubt seen people infinitely more well-disposed than me, and yet who is gentlemanly enough to treat me with an equal degree of respect.
If those are the tailors, which I know quite well, this story is of a shop I didn't know at all: Ducker and Son of Turl Street, a tiny, ancient lane right in the heart of the city, winding between Lincoln, Jesus, and Exeter Colleges. I was walking past with my wife, and there was a lovely pair of women's shoes in the window, advertised at a sale price. So, for the first time, we went into Duckers.
Shoes, shoeboxes, and leather books lined its walls. A low doorway led from the small shop into a darkened back area. First impression: leather. It was everywhere, hanging from all surfaces, not least filling the air with its beautiful aroma. A charming old man in a good suit underneath a green overall (a great sign!) greeted us and showed us to a pair of heavy, green leather chairs.
While my wife tried on her shoes, I looked around this ancient place, wondering why I had never entered before. Looking at the truly immense price-tags underneath the shoes, I realised why. However, the shoes had a bewitching effect on me. The longer it took my wife to try her shoes, the longer the spell of the shop had its opportunity to weave its magic upon me. I could feel the scent of the leather disappearing into my mind with silent approval. I felt that special brand of vulnerability known only to a man that loves shaving products upon walking into Trumpers.
Before long, I was in the chair, and being measured. It turns out that my feet are actually 3 sizes smaller than I thought (size 9, not size 10 1/2, measuring in traditional 1/2 sizes). The shoes I buy usually are, clearly, far too big. The gentleman knowingly told me that this is because I have wide feet and, in a normal shop, would therefore need bigger shoes in order to achieve the required width. To console me, he said that this was very common, but that now I had walked "into a shoemaker's shop". After I had expressed a preference for a particular tan-coloured shoe, he disappeared up a ladder and returned with a pair of newborn shoes.
I think for the first time since I left school, I experienced the fit of shoes that actually meet the size of my feet, rather than, as the gentleman noticed, shoes that are far too large. I was concerned - what was that feeling of slight constraint around the arch of my foot? He assured me that this was how shoes were supposed to feel: that was the feeling of comfortable support provided by good shoes that fit properly.
So, perhaps unsurprisingly, I handed over my bank card and let nature take its course.
However, buying the shoes was really only the start of the adventure.
He reached up to the series of leather tomes, and pulled down the one with the largest number: "27". The large, heavy pages were covered with names, contact details, and foot-related data. As I provided the information, he duly penned it into the book. He later told me that his ledgers contained the names of prime ministers, authors, and notaries - the few I recognised included J.R.R. Tolkien and Baron von Richthofen (WWI's "Red Baron" flying ace). "Just so that I have your measurements when you need more shoes, or a repair to these ones, sir."
He then sat my wife and I down again, and imparted some shoe-related maintenance knowledge. His manner was very interesting, and clearly the result of the years spent talking with customers - his tone was instructive, proud of his product, but also of a tone that made it sound that he thought I knew it already. Of course, I didn't (my shoe knowledge is rudimentary), but I appreciated the tact and delicacy with which he provided this detailed education.
My wife is better with the details than my hopeless attempts to remember, but I do recall the following:
- Polish them every time you use them, or, at least twice per week.
- Use cream to repair damage, but do not press at all. (This reminded me of shaving.) Pressing can damage the leather, and make dark spots appear. I was instantly reminded of the dark spots covering most of my shoes from unknowingly doing exactly this.
- Apply polish with a brush, cream with a cloth. (Having read the Shoe Shine thread, I know there are alternatives to this law.)
- He provided all of the items required to maintain the shoes for free. This was pleasant, but also a disturbing reminder that I had just paid a terrifying sum of money for my shoes (see below). A small brush to put on the polish, another to take it off. Use different sets of brushes for different coloured shoes.
- Good shoes, like cars, need servicing. He emphasised that I should notify him when I felt the shoes needed attention ("you'll know when", in answer to my question), and that he would send someone around to collect them. The leather soles could wear on the ball of the foot, or heel, and "a simple service and they will be back in this condition", he said, gesturing with some pride towards his (now my!) shoes.
- Always put them on by fully opening wide the laces, bending wide the sides, and pulling forward the tongue (his demonstration was exceedingly wide, in fact). Push the toes in as far as possible, and apply a shoe-horn at the rear to hold the backs out while sliding the heel into the shoe.
So it was done. He walked us to the door, held it open, said a sincere thank-you, and saw us out into the drizzling winter morning.
As promised, the articles in question:
(Click for a larger image.)
He even provided felt foot-bags, which my wife usually makes for me. The Chinese (as is my wife) say that the quality footware is critical for maintaining good health. In English, we have a related saying, "If you want to know the quality of the man, look at his shoes." Have I been converted to buying in Ducker and Sons? Honestly, after wearing that old man's lovely shoes, I sincerely cannot imagine how I managed without. Like so many other threads that we have here in the Speakeasy on similar subjects, it pays to invest in quality. I wish I had discovered good shoes a long time ago... That quiet old shop doesn't need to shout about itself; it just sits in silence, knowingly, certain in the knowledge that "we'll let them come to us".
I hope you enjoyed it; apologies for the length, and thanks for reading.
Toodlepip,
Hobbes
I know full well that we have some shoephiliacs in the Speakeasy. I had rather a shoe-related adventure today, and gained some excellent shoe-knowledge courtesy of the proprietor of a lovely, traditional shoemaker's shop. The purpose of this post is manifold:
i. To get shoes back onto the Speakeasy agenda where they belong (!)
ii. To repeat the head cobbler's valuable tips for you, and to hear your invaluable comments on them (apologies if you know them already)
iii. To recount my adventures in a shop from the Olde World that has somehow remained (much like our favourite London barbers and shaveries) at odds against the modern world
iv. To show off some great shoes to likeminded gents.
Oxford is a pretty, old place - one that was somehow spared the bombs of Hitler that destroyed so much else of Britain (not to forget our own bombs dropped on Germany, of course). We have some lovely tailors here which look like the old Truefitt-and-Hill style shops of London's Mayfair area. They are small, dark, oak-filled, and usually extremely warm, from the large open fires found therein. Even a shabby student such as myself can expect a discreet and generous degree of service from a pleasant old soul who has no doubt seen people infinitely more well-disposed than me, and yet who is gentlemanly enough to treat me with an equal degree of respect.
If those are the tailors, which I know quite well, this story is of a shop I didn't know at all: Ducker and Son of Turl Street, a tiny, ancient lane right in the heart of the city, winding between Lincoln, Jesus, and Exeter Colleges. I was walking past with my wife, and there was a lovely pair of women's shoes in the window, advertised at a sale price. So, for the first time, we went into Duckers.
Shoes, shoeboxes, and leather books lined its walls. A low doorway led from the small shop into a darkened back area. First impression: leather. It was everywhere, hanging from all surfaces, not least filling the air with its beautiful aroma. A charming old man in a good suit underneath a green overall (a great sign!) greeted us and showed us to a pair of heavy, green leather chairs.
While my wife tried on her shoes, I looked around this ancient place, wondering why I had never entered before. Looking at the truly immense price-tags underneath the shoes, I realised why. However, the shoes had a bewitching effect on me. The longer it took my wife to try her shoes, the longer the spell of the shop had its opportunity to weave its magic upon me. I could feel the scent of the leather disappearing into my mind with silent approval. I felt that special brand of vulnerability known only to a man that loves shaving products upon walking into Trumpers.
Before long, I was in the chair, and being measured. It turns out that my feet are actually 3 sizes smaller than I thought (size 9, not size 10 1/2, measuring in traditional 1/2 sizes). The shoes I buy usually are, clearly, far too big. The gentleman knowingly told me that this is because I have wide feet and, in a normal shop, would therefore need bigger shoes in order to achieve the required width. To console me, he said that this was very common, but that now I had walked "into a shoemaker's shop". After I had expressed a preference for a particular tan-coloured shoe, he disappeared up a ladder and returned with a pair of newborn shoes.
I think for the first time since I left school, I experienced the fit of shoes that actually meet the size of my feet, rather than, as the gentleman noticed, shoes that are far too large. I was concerned - what was that feeling of slight constraint around the arch of my foot? He assured me that this was how shoes were supposed to feel: that was the feeling of comfortable support provided by good shoes that fit properly.
So, perhaps unsurprisingly, I handed over my bank card and let nature take its course.
However, buying the shoes was really only the start of the adventure.
He reached up to the series of leather tomes, and pulled down the one with the largest number: "27". The large, heavy pages were covered with names, contact details, and foot-related data. As I provided the information, he duly penned it into the book. He later told me that his ledgers contained the names of prime ministers, authors, and notaries - the few I recognised included J.R.R. Tolkien and Baron von Richthofen (WWI's "Red Baron" flying ace). "Just so that I have your measurements when you need more shoes, or a repair to these ones, sir."
He then sat my wife and I down again, and imparted some shoe-related maintenance knowledge. His manner was very interesting, and clearly the result of the years spent talking with customers - his tone was instructive, proud of his product, but also of a tone that made it sound that he thought I knew it already. Of course, I didn't (my shoe knowledge is rudimentary), but I appreciated the tact and delicacy with which he provided this detailed education.
My wife is better with the details than my hopeless attempts to remember, but I do recall the following:
- Polish them every time you use them, or, at least twice per week.
- Use cream to repair damage, but do not press at all. (This reminded me of shaving.) Pressing can damage the leather, and make dark spots appear. I was instantly reminded of the dark spots covering most of my shoes from unknowingly doing exactly this.
- Apply polish with a brush, cream with a cloth. (Having read the Shoe Shine thread, I know there are alternatives to this law.)
- He provided all of the items required to maintain the shoes for free. This was pleasant, but also a disturbing reminder that I had just paid a terrifying sum of money for my shoes (see below). A small brush to put on the polish, another to take it off. Use different sets of brushes for different coloured shoes.
- Good shoes, like cars, need servicing. He emphasised that I should notify him when I felt the shoes needed attention ("you'll know when", in answer to my question), and that he would send someone around to collect them. The leather soles could wear on the ball of the foot, or heel, and "a simple service and they will be back in this condition", he said, gesturing with some pride towards his (now my!) shoes.
- Always put them on by fully opening wide the laces, bending wide the sides, and pulling forward the tongue (his demonstration was exceedingly wide, in fact). Push the toes in as far as possible, and apply a shoe-horn at the rear to hold the backs out while sliding the heel into the shoe.
So it was done. He walked us to the door, held it open, said a sincere thank-you, and saw us out into the drizzling winter morning.
As promised, the articles in question:
(Click for a larger image.)
He even provided felt foot-bags, which my wife usually makes for me. The Chinese (as is my wife) say that the quality footware is critical for maintaining good health. In English, we have a related saying, "If you want to know the quality of the man, look at his shoes." Have I been converted to buying in Ducker and Sons? Honestly, after wearing that old man's lovely shoes, I sincerely cannot imagine how I managed without. Like so many other threads that we have here in the Speakeasy on similar subjects, it pays to invest in quality. I wish I had discovered good shoes a long time ago... That quiet old shop doesn't need to shout about itself; it just sits in silence, knowingly, certain in the knowledge that "we'll let them come to us".
I hope you enjoyed it; apologies for the length, and thanks for reading.
Toodlepip,
Hobbes
