Showing posts with label shoes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shoes. Show all posts

Wednesday, 2 March 2016

Sole Searching

When I meet Peter Callea, I’m guilty, sickly guilty. I’m guilty because I haven’t stepped foot into a cobbler’s store in years – I can’t work out if it’s because I chuck my shoes out once they’re done or if my shoes are too cheap to have repaired. Either way, I instantly regret my poor choice in shoes the minute I step into his shoe repairs store.
I’ve brought in a pair of my husband’s Birkenstock clogs that he wears as a chef. They are covered in oil and bits of food. A decade ago, my husband would wear his chef clogs right down to the core, they would last him two, maybe three years. Now they are lucky to last through a whole year, with the prices of his clogs increasing as the quality decreases.

When I arrive, a gentle buzzer rings and Peter comes out from behind a brown curtain next to the veneered wood paneled wall. He stands proudly behind his counter, wearing a neat tradesman’s apron, his white hair slightly wild. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head at me.

The shelves behind him are stocked full of boxes of shoelaces in multiple colours, Nugget shoe polish in all sorts of tones, brushes, pieces of leather, rivets, eyelets and small tools. Peter doesn’t seem very sure of me but when I pop the clogs on the counter he looks them over and ‘tsks’.


“They don’t make them like they used to. It’s the glue, it doesn’t last.”

It’s true, nothing these days is made the way it used to be. I’m a pathetic time-poor sufferer of the online shopping syndrome, the mass manufactured products that are showcased in emails sent to you at the perfect time once your kid is asleep offering sweet incentives like ‘free shipping’. Why leave the house when someone can bring it to your home for free?

For the last 58 years, Peter has been fixing and mending shoes in his Somerville Road store. He wasn’t always a cobbler, he began his training at the age of 13 as an apprentice in a shoe making factory in Southern Italy where he watched shoes being made for the first few years until he moved to another factory where he was given the opportunity to create. He went on to migrate to Melbourne and worked first at a local tannery in Richmond, then at the Olympic Tyre Factory where he cleaned tyre rims and then a small workshop behind the now Footscray Arts Centre.

“I went to Footscray, along the river, where there were a lot of small factories near the bridge. I saw there was a door open at one of them and I could see a man inside doing leather work. I went in and said I was looking for a job and he asked me if I had worked in a leather factory before. I started the next day. 18 months later I started my own business here.”

When he first opened his store in 1958, business was thriving. The small shopping strip in the Kingsville pocket of Somerville Road featured four butchers, a grocery, gift shop, flower shop and a petrol station.


“Fifty-eight years ago I would start at 6 o’clock in the morning and finish around 7 o’clock in the evening. Back then I would repair 65-70 pairs of shoes a day, this is the time when people would only have one or two pairs of shoes each. Today, I will go for days where no one comes in.

“My profession is the shoemaker. Start from nothing, prepare the leather and build the shoe. Years ago I would put a pair of shoes that I had made in the window and they would be sold that day. Now, no one buys handmade shoes like we used to make. In the beginning I made shoes here in my store but a few years ago there was a fire in my workshop and I lost all my tools. At my age, it doesn’t pay to replace everything, so I stopped making shoes.

“Young people don’t want to learn the trade – you can’t learn the trade in 24 hours - and the old shoemakers will pass away. Soon there will be no one who knows how to repair shoes.”

Peter’s wife Narina pops out to see who her husband is talking to and I introduce myself. Narina invites me to look at the workshop behind the curtain. It smells like leather in the crispest sense. The machines are old and cared for, bathing in natural dusty light sneaking in past the window signage.

As I leave, Peter hands me half of a perforated swing tag. I watch him tie the other half to my husband’s shoe, his hands are old and you can see they have been his lifelong tools. Heading towards the door, I notice a brilliant brown leather brogue amongst a whole wall of shoes showing similar swing tags. I pick it up and comment on how nice it is, but quickly I can see the layer of dust sitting on the toe.

“The problem is, people drop off their shoes with promises to come back, and they never do. I do the work, sometimes very quickly, and I wait and I wait for the owner to return. Most people now don’t come back.”

I place my swing tag in my wallet, next to the receipts for the dry cleaner and the picture framer with a promise I will return.

And I do. After spending $200 on a pair of leather clogs, what’s $20 to have them fixed and looking brand spanking new again? It’s not about the $20 though, is it? It’s about so much more: speaking to someone in a shop who cares about your shoes, understanding an old  school trade, enjoying stories of the past, understanding where your item comes from and most of all watching someone really love what they do and have done for over half a century.

I’ve got another pair of shoes ready for a new sole. This time I’m taking my son with me and I’m hoping Peter can show him how real shoes are made. What a treat.

Cobbler Peter Callea can be found at 220 Somerville Road, Kingsville.

Discover more local stories by Ali Webb at www.houseofwebb.blogspot.com

This article first appeared in the March issue of The Westsider newspaper. 

Fabulous photos by Paul Large.


Sunday, 14 February 2016

Best weekends

Are there any other publicist / chef relationships out there? If so, please knock on my door and have a beer with me as I'd love to hear your stories of logistics, shift work, balance and options and how you find ways to pump up the jam.

Hubster and I totally pumped up the jam yesterday. We had a freaking RARE as fuck Saturday DAY AND NIGHT off together, but as we have an almost three year old, there was no sleeping in. Instead we pre-planned the night before a seriously rad beach trip.

Our favourite beach to head to is Indented Head because it has a funny name and one shop called a General Store and no phone reception. It's very cool.

We packed badly (only one nappy and no shoes for the kid + a broken beach tent) but it didn't matter. It was a pearler of a day and shoes are overrated in summer.

If you have never been to Indented Head before, it's time to try it. Especially if you have a toddler. There's a shipwreck, rock pools and sail boats. And it's just so goddamn quiet you can hear yourself think. Only about an hour and a bit from Melbourne-town too. Leave your phone at home.

But it came time to leave the beach and grabs some snacks which meant pick up some shoes for the kid thanks to the superbly hot ground. We could only source Haviana thongs in Portarlington for $25 a pop (kill me - for thongs!) which meant the extravagant lunch we had in mind turned to pies, Oak flavoured milk and jelly slice at the local bakery. Which turned out to be pretty excellent if you're into 1990s-style baked treats.

It's these weekends, half planned, half winging it that turn out the best. Flicking on the radio to hear Foreigner, spotting a pirate ship at the pier, grabbing a kilo of muscles from a boat, and my favourite, scoring freshly picked fruit at the local Williamstown Farmers Market and watching my kid sit on the ground and devour piece after piece after piece until all my coins ran out.


Happy Valentine's day to all the loved up people out there. May you be eating the food my man is cooking up today while he works or listening to the sweet sounds of the orchestra while I work tonight.

I hope next weekend is filled with just as much love, if not... .find yourself a jelly slice and discover love at first sight!