St Mary's Churchyard, Honley — Right Brogue, Brown, Polished

I'd had Honley on the list for a while. There's a church up there — St Mary's — and I'd been told the wall along the lane side were a good spot. Not by anyone who documents shoes, just by a man at work who said he'd seen one there once. That were back in November. I don't rush these things. I let them sit. But the weather this morning were proper rain — the sort where you know it's in for the day — and I thought, aye, I'll go. I do some of my best work in the rain. You see things differently when everything's wet.

Drove over from home. Twenty minutes, maybe a bit more on account of the roadworks on the A616. Parked on the lane behind the church. Got out. Got wet immediately. I'd dressed for it — waterproof jacket, the green one Our Linda bought me from Mountain Warehouse in the sale, waterproof trousers, hat — but the rain were finding ways in regardless. It does that. You can prepare for rain but you can't prevent it.

Walked along the wall from the lane end. It's a good wall — old stone, mossy along the base, the sort of wall that's been there longer than anything else in the vicinity. About forty yards along, on the flat section between two coping stones that had shifted apart slightly, there it were.

Right foot. Brogue. Brown leather, full broguing across the toe cap and down both sides. Five eyelets, laces present but loose, not tied. Size nine, possibly ten. And polished. That's what stopped me. Someone had polished this shoe. Not recently — you could see where the polish had worn thin on the toe — but at some point, someone had sat down and put a proper shine on it. You don't see that often. Most of the shoes I find have been neglected long before they were lost. This one had been looked after.

I stood in the rain and looked at it for a good five minutes before I took any photographs. The rain were running off the leather in beads, which is what good polish does. The wall were dark with wet. The gravestones behind were going in and out of visibility as the rain came in waves — heavy, then heavier, then heavy again. There weren't a let-up at any point. I took eleven photographs. Five came out. The light were against me.

The shoe were balanced carefully. Not thrown, not dropped. Placed. The heel were flush with the back edge of the wall and the toe were pointing towards the church. I noted the direction. I don't draw conclusions from it but I noted it.

I had my sandwiches under the lychgate, which is the covered bit at the entrance to the churchyard. Our Linda had done beef paste on Warburtons medium white, wrapped in two layers of greaseproof on account of the forecast. She'd heard the weather and done the extra layer without being asked, which were thoughtful. Flask of tea, milk added at home. A Kit Kat — two finger, not four. I noted the distinction but I didn't question the decision. Our Linda has her reasons.

Provisions. 11:42am. Under the lychgate. The rain were steady. The second sandwich caught a bit through a gap in the roof timbers.

The lychgate kept the worst of it off but there were a gap in the roof timbers — two slates missing on the left-hand side — and the rain came through in a thin line that landed on the stone ledge about six inches from my sandwiches. I moved the sandwiches. The second one still caught a bit. I didn't mind. I've had wetter.

While I were sat there, the vicar came out. Side door of the church. He had an umbrella but he weren't using it — he were carrying it under his arm like a stick. He walked over to the lychgate and said good morning and I said good morning and he looked at the sandwiches and the flask and said "are you alright there?" and I said yes, I were fine, I were documenting a shoe. He looked at me for a moment. I explained what I do — briefly, I don't go on about it — and he nodded slowly and said "that's very thorough." Then he went back inside. He didn't ask to see the shoe. I thought he might but he didn't.

Sat for another fifteen minutes after that. The rain didn't let up. A blackbird landed on a headstone near the wall and sat there getting wet. Didn't seem bothered. I watched it for a bit. Not relevant to the shoe but I appreciated the company.

On the way back to the car I looked at the shoe from the lane and you could just about see it — a dark shape on the dark wall in the dark rain. A smart shoe in a place like that. You wonder who polished it last, and whether they knew it would end up on a churchyard wall in Honley in the rain. They didn't, obviously. But you wonder.

A wet one. But a good shoe. The polish held up. I were pleased about that.