Given the amount of walking Hay and I do (or the amount of walking Hay makes me perform), I've been looking for a while for a pair of waterproof walking boots. Miracle of miracles, I found a pair in a local charity shop that were not only brand new and had never been worn, but were a perfect fit.
I test drove them on Sunday and they were perfect - I could wade in streams with no water ingress whatsoever.
Hay was initially convinced they were leather, but I explained that they couldn't be, as leather isn't waterproof without copious layers of Dubbin and the laces and tongue would always provide leakage points. These were waterproof to the top.
This started a conversation about George Mallory's Death Boots. Mallory would climb mountains in the most inappropriate attire - invariably a Harris Tweed suit and a stout pair of leather boots. Sometimes he would be pictured in shorts, singlet and the stout leather boots, climbing some frozen peak.
He was not alone in dressing in unsuitable attire - legions of young men would similarly attire themselves in clothing that was only just adequate for a Scottish moor and go off to all corners of the world braving the elements. There's a whole industry now in tweed suits a la Mallory.
This is a picture of the boots he used on his final climb on Everest and were found on his body. They were of the type that resembled old fashioned footballs or rugby balls when I was a teenager - they'd become so waterlogged they'd take you head clean off it they came into contact with it. .Heading the ball was an invitation to concussion and possible mental instability.
The rugby boots got so waterlogged, if one didn't have any Dubbin, that a match played in rain would quickly descend to a pedestrian pace as 30 kids (less the ones in possession of Dubbin) loped around as if their feet were encased in concrete. Not only that, but Sister or Matron would be administering to cases of trench foot till next Saturday. Damned things took a week to dry out and even then resembled those dried pigs' ears you give to dogs to chew.
The rugby boots got so waterlogged, if one didn't have any Dubbin, that a match played in rain would quickly descend to a pedestrian pace as 30 kids (less the ones in possession of Dubbin) loped around as if their feet were encased in concrete. Not only that, but Sister or Matron would be administering to cases of trench foot till next Saturday. Damned things took a week to dry out and even then resembled those dried pigs' ears you give to dogs to chew.
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