The Baynhams

When I was growing up it was my Dad. It was a serious undertaking that involved sheets of newspaper, tins of brown caked polish, a brush to apply the polish and a brush to buff it off. I used to love to watch Dad cleaning his shoes with short sharp movements back and forth, back and forth, and the smell! I loved the smell of the polish. Sometimes I was allowed to help. I thought it was a treat!

In Byron's home it was also his Dad. I was warned on my first weekend visiting them that if I left my shoes downstairs when I went to bed I would come downstairs to find them polished to within an inch of their life! Never mind if they needed polishing or not, his Dad would polish any footwear left lying around, his last job before heading upstairs to bed.

Why are some jobs a treat and some a chore? Is it the jobs that are done less frequently that hold a bit of magic or mystery? It was the kids last day in school today. They got off the school bus a little while ago and stuffed school hats, jumpers and bags into the shoe cupboard not to be seen again for a whole TWO WEEKS! Just before the shoes were thrown in after the bags I took out the black shoe polish to give them a quick clean. No more old fashioned tins of hard polish. Now we have convenience in a sponge topped, liquid filled bottle.

Gareth saw me about to start and begged to be allowed to polish his shoes, then Sian's, then Rhiannon's, then mine! His eyes lit up as he polished them up so you could see the sun shine off the leather.

A happy boy, a happy Mum. One less job for me to do. And maybe an old tradition being continued by the next generation of shoe polisher....