Castle Hill, Almondbury — Right Boot, Brown, On the Drystone Wall

First time out properly since we got back from Spain. I'd not been sure when I'd go. Wednesday were a write-off — Our Linda put a wash on and I unpacked the case and that were the day gone. Thursday I went to work. Friday I went to work and then sat in the back garden for a bit because the light were nice. By Saturday morning I were itching to get out, and Our Linda said "go on then Keith, you've been pacing." I had not realised I were pacing.

I wanted somewhere I could see things from. That's not how I usually pick a spot — usually I go on a tip-off, or a feeling, or a place I've had on the list — but this morning I wanted height. So Castle Hill. The Victoria Tower up at Almondbury, on the top of the hill. You can see right across to Holme Moss on a clear day, and down over the town, and out towards the M62 if the haze is low. It's a place I've been many times but never documented a shoe at. The hill is mostly grass and footpaths and people walking dogs. Not a typical sort of spot. I thought I'd go anyway.

Drove up the lane behind the church and parked in the car park near the foot of the hill. There were three other cars and a man in a high-vis doing something with a clipboard near the gate. I nodded. He nodded. Walked up the path that goes round the south side of the hill — gentler gradient, takes a bit longer but you get the views earlier. The wind were strong from the south-west, the way it gets up there, but it weren't cold. Coat zipped halfway. Hat in the pocket in case.

About two-thirds of the way up, where the path bends round towards the tower, there's a long drystone wall that runs along the field boundary. Not a high wall — chest height, give or take. I were walking along beside it when I saw it.

Right foot. Boot. Brown leather. A proper walking boot, the sort you'd buy at Mountain Warehouse or Cotswold, with a Vibram sole and the lacing going right up over the ankle. Six pairs of eyelets, then two hooks at the top. Laces present, tied properly with a double knot. Size ten, possibly eleven. Mud on the sole, dried, so it had been there at least a day, maybe more. And it were sat upright on the flat top of the wall, facing the valley.

That were the thing. It were facing the valley. Heel against the field side, toe pointing out across the drop, level with the horizon. Whoever placed it had set it up like it were looking at the view. I don't always think about these things in those terms but I did this morning. After Spain I think I'm a bit more inclined to notice the placement of things. I'll try not to make too much of that.

Took twelve photographs. Eight came out. The light were good — bright but not harsh, the sort of clear April light where the colours sit properly. Got a few from along the wall, then one from below where you could see the boot against the sky, then one from behind so you got what the boot were looking at — which were the rooftops of Almondbury and the trees coming into leaf and the hills going off into the distance. That last one were the best of them, I think. I'll put it up when I've sorted them.

Sat with it a while. Didn't have my folding stool — left it in the boot of the car because it's a steep enough walk without carrying extra. Sat on the wall a few yards down from the boot so as not to disturb it. Our Linda had done egg and cress on Warburtons toastie loaf, wrapped in greaseproof. Flask of tea, milk in. A Penguin biscuit, blue wrapper. The cress were fresh — she'd done it that morning, not the night before, which makes a difference. I noted this with appreciation when I got home.

Provisions. 11:38am. Egg and cress on Warburtons toastie. The cress were fresh that morning. The Penguin were the correct flavour.

While I were sat there, two women came past with a Labrador. The Labrador had a look at the boot, sniffed it, and then carried on. The women didn't notice it at all. They were talking about a wedding. The Labrador knew there were summat there but couldn't be bothered to make anything of it. That's about right, in my experience.

The view. From beside the boot, more or less. You could see right down the valley. The hills were soft with the haze.

I thought about Spain a bit, sat there. Not the sandal, particularly. More the carpet on the plane, and the orange fried rice, and the way Our Linda said it were the best holiday we'd had. I thought about how I were sat on a drystone wall on Castle Hill in Yorkshire looking at a brown boot that someone had placed facing the valley, and how that were where I were happiest, more or less. I wouldn't say it to anyone. But I thought it.

The wind picked up after about twenty minutes and a bit of cloud came in from the west. I packed up. Had one last look at the boot. It were steady on the wall, facing the view, exactly as I'd found it. I left it where it were. I always do. You don't take them. They're not yours.

Walked back down the gentler path. Saw the man with the clipboard again on my way out. He said "alright?" and I said "aye, grand." That were the extent of it. Drove home. Barry texted on the way — he'd seen a shoe near the bus station in Dewsbury and wanted to know if I were back from my holidays. I said I were and that I'd had a good morning at Castle Hill. He sent back "crackin'" with a thumbs up. He's a good lad.

Got home. Our Linda asked if I'd had a nice walk. I said I had. She said "did you find one?" I said I had. She said "good" and put the kettle on. That were that.

Aye. Back on home ground. A boot facing the valley. The egg and cress were fresh. A good way to start back up.