The Curious Case Of

             A ‘PAIR’ OF GREEN WELLIES

 

It isn't often I go for a walk these days; not since I retired in fact. So I was a bit surprised when I found myself strolling on the river bank, keeping an even pace with a Moore-hen. EI was even more surprised when I spotted what looked like a piece of broken drain pipe sticking out of the mud at the water's edge. As I got nearer I realised that it did not have the perfect roundness of a fall-pipe, but that it was more of an uneven shape, rather like the leg of a ‘wellie’ boot perhaps. Nearer still and I indulged myself with a quiet chuckle for that indeed was what it was.

              'Curious' I said to the bird, but it declined to respond. Now 'curious' is a favourite word of mine, often used in thought, the written or the spoken word. Whenever something surprising or unexpected occurres out it comes. This was curious by any standards and retirement from the force was not a good enough reason not to exercise my brain. Indeed, following an unexpected event be it large or small, it is an imperative.

              Chief inspector Sydney Brook is my name; Syd to my friends of course, and being retired was no reason to stop solving a case if one fell in my lap. Another imperative of course was to determine that there was in fact a case to be solved.

              "Where is the other one?" I asked out loud, and waited for the startled Moore-hen to provide me with an answer.

              It seemed to be the obvious place to start, despite the moor hen’s reluctance to contribute, preferring to move further away from me, oblivious it seemed of the gentle but unstoppable current.

              "Is there a case; and what’s so special about an old boot." Once more I addressed myself to the river bird but the More-hen stayed its distance refusing to engage in conversation.

             For reasons which later I found hard to explain I stooped to pick up the boot but found it more difficult than I had expected due to the mud's reluctance to release it. That reluctance however was overcome by a mighty pull, accompanied by a distinct gurgle from the region of the boot, a "Bloody Hell" from me when I landed on my back-side only narrowly missing the water, an action which produced a startled burst of speed from the Moore-hen.

              Now that I had it in my hand I didn't know quite what to do with it. A cursory inspection revealed nothing to support my earlier curiosity nor indeed reason to instigate further investigation. Any other thought worthy of a retired police chief inspector’s expertise seemed superfluous.

              "Should I just throw it back in the river?" I asked out loud, unaware that the Moor-hen had used my struggle with the boot to make good its escape. Now I was talking to myself.

              "No!" I almost scolded, for to do so would be environmentally irresponsible. Just because someone else had been environmentally irresponsible was not an excuse for me to be the same."No;" I told myself "I must take it home." A quick glance told me that my earlier audience of one had not returned to witness my public spirited gesture, or that I continued my journey alone;  boot in hand.

              Shortly I came upon the meeting of the waters where a stream joined the river. Though it was not much bigger than a brook it was just too wide to leap so I was obliged to follow its bank until I could find a suitable - by which I mean narrower - place to cross. It was I suppose no more than a hundred yards or so before I came across such a place. A narrowing of the stream between slightly higher banks provided a tempting challenge.  Mind you it was not a challenge to be taken lightly; even though only a few years earlier I would have done it without hesitation. But since discretion is not always the better part of valour I was determined to give it a go. The narrowing of the stream meant that its water were at this point both deeper, and running more swiftly. Two factors to be taken into account amongst other deliberations. Taking all into account however the decision was made. I would go for it!

              Could it have been some form of adrenaline rush, a heightened awareness, or just an increase in perception brought on by a moment of danger, I don't now? But what I do know is that halfway during my leap over  the 'Grand Canyon' I looked down and there, far below, in the turbulent waters of that little stream was the unmistakeable outline of another boot. Another green ‘wellie’.

              But was it the 'other' one? I had to know. Soon, with the help of a conveniently found stick I was able to continue my walk, but now carrying a pair of boots. Although muddy they appeared to be the same; both the same green and the same size; both had the same sole pattern and the same maker's mark. A pair without doubt, and as they appeared to be brand new - for neither showed any sign of wear - they were quite a find. But would they fit me?.

              Ignoring the fact that they were wet I was keen to try them on. But how was I to know that my curiosity was to lead me straight into another, even greater mystery. For it was soon evident that although both boots were tailor made, they were not a pair at all for both were made for a left foot. 

              Knowing myself as I do I know I will not be able to rest until I find the person who is doing what he does while wearing a pair of green 'wellies' with two right feet.