Photo Courtesy of Susan Spaulding
When he died they donated his shoes to the museum. He was our village dandy, a man given to ostentation and show.
When I saw his shoes on display I remembered a man who attended the village social functions dressed up, heavily perfumed and so often wearing pink knickerbockers with the shoes he became famous for.
He claimed to have had the shoes especially made for him by an exclusive cobbler in Paris. He had a bunch of stories about his clothing, how he’d come by this piece and that.
But I knew his mum made a lot of them.
He was such a character we humoured him his tales and acknowledged his right to prance up the main street on Saturday morning in his red outfit with matching red shoes. Though the red paint, which from to time peeled away from the leather, did give a bit away.
The last time I saw him was at the Handicapped Ball, dressed in his best-polished pink, his hair bobbed and his shoes dazzling as always. He swanned around the dance floor, dancing with himself mostly, and I later wondered, if he knew this was to be his last night out.