Aspley Underpass — Left Birkenstock, Upright

I'd been meaning to do the Aspley underpass for a while. Not a walk I particularly enjoy — it's the one next to the B&Q, and you don't go through it for the scenery — but I'd noted it as somewhere I should have a proper look at. You want to vary where you go. Otherwise you start seeing the same sort of shoe in the same sort of places and that's not what this is about.

Drove over on the Wednesday morning. Parked in the B&Q car park, which I don't think they mind as long as you're not there all day. Walked the short way round to the underpass entrance on the town side. Cold morning. Seven degrees. Drizzle starting by about half past ten. I'd anticipated the drizzle. I'd dressed for it.

About two metres in from the near end of the underpass, against the base of the left-hand wall, there were the shoe.

Left foot. Birkenstock sandal. Brown leather, cork sole, two straps with buckles, both buckles still working. Leather worn but intact. Sole gone on the outer edge, which tells you the owner walked with a bit of a lean. Good condition overall, which — and I'll be honest — is the most surprising thing about the whole business, given where it were sat.

And it were sat. Upright. As if waiting. That's unusual. Most shoes I come across are on their side or face down in a puddle. An upright one is a different sort of shoe.

Took nine photographs. Seven came out. Pleased with two of them in particular — there's one with the underpass going off to the light at the far end that I think captures it properly.

Sat a few metres back on a low bit of kerb and had me sandwiches. Our Linda had done cheese — Wensleydale on Warburtons medium white, buttered, wrapped in greaseproof. Banana. Tunnock's caramel wafer. Flask of tea (milk added at home). Took a photograph of the lunch before I started on it, as is my habit. The banana were beginning to turn. You can't always get the banana right.

Provisions. 11:18am. Photograph taken prior to consumption, as is my habit. The banana were beginning to turn.

Not the most scenic setting I've had me sandwiches in, I'll grant you. But the underpass were quiet — I weren't approached — and the drizzle kept the odd dog walker moving along. Had a good twenty-five minutes with the shoe.

Tracing — First Attempt

On the inside of the ankle strap there were a series of digits written in a small even hand. Eleven figures, no spaces. I took them for a phone number.

I rang it on the Thursday morning, half past nine. Turned out not to be a phone number. Turned out to be a product reference code printed on the strap by the manufacturer at the factory, and I'd dialled the head office of Birkenstock, in Neustadt (Wied), in Germany. A very patient woman explained this to me in good English. I apologised. She said it were no trouble. She also said they don't keep records of individual shoes and that they hadn't done so since 1774, which struck me as a surprising amount of history to be carrying about.

I wrote Birkenstock a follow-up letter the next day, asking if they had any further advice. They've not replied. I've logged the non-reply in the field book.

The shoe were filed in Box 7 (Unclaimed) pending further developments.

Update — 22 March · Identification

The shoe has been identified.

Our Linda saw the original post on the Sunday night and came into the kitchen on the Monday morning and said "I know that shoe, Dad." Then she went to work — Our Linda runs Mossop Pharmaceuticals plc, she's the managing director, has been for a good few years now — and once she were at the office she emailed me about it properly. She prefers to put things in writing. She's always been like that. I reproduce her email below in full, with her permission:

Dad — that is the shoe. I am certain. The man who built the Mossop Pharmaceuticals plc website, Adam, wore that exact sandal to our initial consultation in approximately 2015, and I remarked on it at the time. I said, those look comfortable, Adam, and he said, they are, Linda. He was also wearing the other one, as a pair. I am not sure when or where he lost it but I was not, on reflection, surprised to hear that he had. The website has been very successful and we continue to use it without modification. I recommend Adam's services without reservation. He is also, as I recall, very tall. — Linda (Mrs).

I subsequently contacted Adam by email — Our Linda supplied the address — and he confirmed the shoe were his. His exact reply, which I reproduce without any editing, were:

Yes, that were mine. I lost it around 2015. I had assumed it were in a bin.

He didn't say anything else and I didn't ask. I didn't ask how a leather sandal last seen in 2015 had come to be sat upright in the Aspley underpass — the one next to the B&Q — in January 2026. He didn't volunteer a theory and it didn't feel right to press him. The matter of the intervening ten years is not addressed in this report and I don't intend to address it elsewhere.

The shoe has been moved from Box 7 (Unclaimed) to Box 3 (Identified — Not Repatriated). This required relocating a left flip-flop (ref: K/289/SOW) to overflow, which is logged separately.

A long one, this, for what started as a quiet underpass visit. I weren't expecting the identification to come through, and I certainly weren't expecting Our Linda to be the one to make it. She takes a limited interest in the site in general — she says she finds it very calming — so it come as a surprise.

The shoe has been missing for ten years and has now been found for three months. It'll remain with the collection. Its owner hasn't asked for it back and, on balance, I'd prefer that he didn't.

Aye. A strange one. But a good morning, overall.