Edward Green Galway Resole

A little while back, someone suggested that Purposeful Activity was more about the Soul than the usual stitches per inch.

Perhaps, but given the forthcoming retail festivities and forgiving the soul/sole pun, below is the much requested piece from the long sold out Edition #0 of Purposeful Activity in print.

Shot over a number of visits to the Edward Green Factory in Northampton, I watch my beloved Galway boots being resoled.

Thank you again to Hilary, Euan and all at Edward Green.

Recently I have been thinking a lot about life.

Not so much my life, nor the meaning of life, but life itself as a physical yet undetermined block of time and how it quickly flips and twists. That the inevitable changes which we all face come quick and when least expected.

We may want the quiet life, but does life want that for us?

Thoughts which remind me to cherish, protect and care for what and who we have.

Thoughts which further cement my desire to just be me.

I’m discerning, I hope, and whilst not a fan of many things, I love some stuff and have bit of a thing for great stuff, why? Well why not?

Great stuff is truly great and the truly great, is amongst other things what I think life should be full of.

The problem is, we are addicted to the new, and sometimes confuse pretty good and fairly decent with truly great because we are intoxicated by that box fresh smell and the look at me I’ve got something new feeling.

So we chase the thrill, wallow in the rush and buy and quickly discard, then buy, discard and wonder why it’s not the same thrill, so buy some more, buy, buy, buy, more and more fairly decent, pretty ok, in truth bang average stuff.

Instead, let’s fill our life with great stuff, my, yours, our great stuff.

Each of us has our own list of things which tick our boxes, make ears prick up and pupils dilate.

For the purpose of this publication, let’s focus on the material. But remember that the great stuff you love can transcend.

I love cars, have done since was a boy, and through luck, life and love have been able to drive pretty much everything I’ve ever wanted to.

You may have noticed I also love clothes. Oh and shoes.

I love shoes.

I reckon I get it from my Nana.

Margaret, loved shoes and took great pride in her appearance and even greater pride in that her son and his son, were bitten by the clothes and stuff bug.

The day she died, I did something new, I went into 75 Jermyn Street, as I had done a couple of times previously, but this time left with a box under my arm.

75 Jermyn Street is special, and whilst there are other makers and of each I am in awe, from the first moment I slipped my feet in a pair I was an Edward Green guy.

That first pair, Mercer in black calf on 82 last, I roll out for special “I am the business, man” occasions. When worn with Anderson & Sheppard tailoring, they are pure Parisian intellectual playboy kit, Margaret would have digged that.

And just like that, Daniel discovered that happiness was only the one pair of shoes.

To my accountant’s dismay, it hasn’t ended that way, so as I look left a small child’s fort of turquoise boxes winks at me from corner of my studio.

Problem is, it’s Edward Green, the ultimate look great, feel great, wear great, are great footwear company.

Dover, Cardiff, Newmarket, Portland, Belgravia, Piccadilly, Mercer and more.

On day’s where I need to be specific, a pair of the above, but most day’s, uniform days, flexible days, their Galways, my Galways are on and tied up tight.

64 last, ridgeway sole, walnut country calf, perfection. I cannot imagine life without them,

And my life I live in them.

Now, as you get older, looking after yourself starts to take a bit more priority. Exercise, sleep, diet, lots of water, all the stuff that might mean you age like fine wine rather than feel like plonk being poured down drain.

But as well as the TLC we need, the things we live with need a little bit of care and occasionally the odd repair.

Earlier I mentioned that I love cars, now, my dream car is the one I drive daily, big boys toy, V8 57 plate, Range Rover L322.

I am madly in love. All consuming passion. I love how it looks, how it goes and that it goes everywhere. It is as happy bombing down motorway and around London as when going up and over the mountains, tarmac or mud, no problem. The V8 engine keeps my racing soul happy and makes my ears grin. The interior whilst luxurious also just makes sense.

Usually dogs are found in crate in boot, but seats down I can carry pretty much anything.

However, it is approaching classic status, and these will be classics. But with that comes the odd quirk, which can add to my dread of the day it’s gone.

So,I embrace the quirks, see the beauty in imperfection, but understand that we don’t want something minor to become something terminal.

The key is to find a proper garage, a better than great one, so when I spot a quirk it’s cause can be identified before becomes a thing. J&G is the only garage I use or would use.

My boots are all terrain and sit on Ridgeway soles, all my truck’s the same, General Grabber AT3’S are my choice because I know like shoe sole’s tyres matter.

Both take me everywhere.

So, recently it was a little bit odd to be sat deep in driver’s seat with my Newmarket’s on my feet as I turned truck north towards Northampton.

Not so much because I fancied the trip along A303 and A34, nor was in need of the great thinking and problem solving that a long drive brings, but after many a mile and some adventures, it was time to get my boots resoled.

TLC, it applies to everything, car, jeans, knitwear, house, shoes, whatever you care about, care for it.

Normally I would drop off a pair needing some of that TLC at Jermyn Street, but Hilary Freeman and Euan Denholm, had kindly allowed me to follow my boots around the factory over course of a few visits.

Having parked up and said hello, my boots went off to be inspected, the damaged was assessed and once worked what needed to happen, a ticket was created. This was the map they would follow across the main factory floor and the workrooms that sit around it.

First, the grey stuff is removed, apparently this is vital, don’t ask me why, but it’s first to come out and last to go in.

Then popped on the correct resin last, it starts a dance across factory. I spent my time in awe, at the force, the care, the skill and passion, as each well thought out and intentional movement took place and now as I look down at my boot clad feet I can see all of these deft touches.

It was balletic and artful.

The sole being removed with intense force by hand, direction changing with each pull back on pliers, once fully off, the old cork scraped out with swift and sharply accurate use of chisel, it felt brutal, but left the remaining boot clean and ready.

Moment’s later in another room as daylight flooded in, a smile as boots were cradled, by Dan my guide through process, stitches picked and musical preferences discussed.

Back into the main room, the remaining bottom is sanded, ready for a glued shank to be inserted then smothered in soon smoothed cork.

The cork which comes somehow from above goes from sticky breakfast treat to Great British Bake off smooth in a matter of moments. But it now must dry.

So I had lunch, upstairs with Hilary and Euan as well as the chaps from Unipair, before hitting the road, boots left awaiting my return.

Over lunch Hilary spoke of the Edward Green family, something I had felt as a customer but also as an industry professional, you could always see that people were loyal to the brand and treated it in a way that was different from others. But family was a feeling I felt as walking through the factory, not just seeing items being made ready to be shipped to each corner of the world, but feeling of family in the care and attention individually and collectively being shown to the products and by each team member towards their colleagues, how it and everyone all seemed to be headed towards a common goal.

After a little while spent kicking stones in stockinged feet, moping and wistfully thinking about outfits that could have been worn, an early start as truck again turned northwards.

Another day of sanding and cutting. But this time stitches weren’t picked, just stitched.

First, Disney’s Fantasia comes to Cliftonville Road, midsole stuck gently in place the boots are popped on what looks like a cross between Wallace’s wrong trousers on a treadmill and Fantasia’s Dancing Brooms.

Pressure pushing from below and above pushes and squidges and holds stuff in place.

A quick trip round with sander leaves midsole ready for Ridgeway.

First time you walk using a Ridgeway sole, for 200 yards you’ll wonder what the fuss is about, 800 yards in you’ll never want to wear anything else. Remember the AT3 tyres? This is the footwear equivalent, good in water, mud, on tarmac and grass. Hard wearing, comfortable and quiet.

It's application begins with a quick paint on one side with adhesive before sole is gently warmed under heat lamp before being popped on boot carefully by hand.

Next, a reminder to up my potato peeling skills, as rubber Ridgeway is trimmed smoothly and precisely by hand to match the leather midsole. Once trimmed it is inspected as if a masterpiece undergoing restoration. In my head I thought maybe this was for my benefit with my camera in hand, but later I watched the same thing happen time and again.

Once checked, I guess the main event, as sole is stitched to boot. Again that smooth, elegant action as boot is guided around, the machine vibration being worked against. It is the significant moment in resoling or creation of a boot, but is over quickly, if I hadn’t captured on camera, I might have suggested we need a slow-mo action replay with commentary to match.

Time for the heel, which is scoured as is its future home on boot, painted, heated, then upside down on a pressure machine stuck, left to cure before nails hammered in.

Once time has done it magical thing, back again, for another masterclass dose of skilful and artistic craft.

Our sole’s firmly stitched and hammered so now properly stuck are machine sanded, then buffed, sanded some more, buffed and sanded by hand, then each layer is stained precisely by hand using fine angled ‘cutting in’ brushes. How people can draw a poker straight pencil line on a piece of flat paper perplexes me, let alone using a loaded brush stick within fine boundaries further complicated by shape and material. And for it to be done consistently and almost with an artistic shrug? Madness.

All dry, and edges now buffed and buffed and antique wood cabinet shiny, boots head off for the uppers to be finished, first polishing by hand, sponges, creams, waxes, fingers and cloth all in play, building up layers, before a brush in hand runs forward and back, faster and faster until reaches what I might - if was ever able to replicate - call perfection and finished, but is just another step and followed by a couple of trips with alternating brushes on the polishing machine.

Then, done.

Resin last removed and remember the grey stuff that came out first? It’s back in on insole with the Edward Green label. Boots laced, name written on box, packed and hit the road.

I’ll let you into a little secret, normally I can’t wait to wear new stuff, would wear out of the shop if I could, but I couldn’t bring myself to wear boots for a few weeks. Why? I kept picking them up, running them around in my hands, looking at all the work that went into them, how beautifully finished they were.