As a young child, I remember watching my Dad polish his shoes on the back verandah, newspaper spread out to the side, ready to receive the polish-on shoes. My Dad was a farmer, so it was always his work boots and sometimes, his good Sunday shoes. I also remember watching his Dad shine his shoes on his back verandah, chatting to us little ones as he went about his task. Both men had a grace that developed with the ritual of shiny shoes.
Sometimes, I was allowed to help put the polish on and buff off, with my foot in their huge shoe to keep it still.
At the end of winter, I pull out my shoe polishing kit, and give my leather shoes a once over. As I mainly wore my boots all winter, they were the only pair to make it to the verandah. I gathered up my son's black Grozby Kids boots and daughter's scuffed school shoes for company. There was the compulsory newspaper, brushes and old singlets for buffing off.
It was lovely sharing my memories with my daughter as she applied some polish to her shoes.