Early this morning as I was tramping through the wet winter woods and fields and hills with my pup -- through mud and muck, through brambles and bogs, on rain-slick pathways punctuated with steaming dung and piles of fresh fox poo (the latter a particular favorite of Tilly's, I'm sorry to say) -- I suddenly felt enormously grateful to the inventor of the Wellington boot.
They are actually named after the 1st Lord Wellington (1769-1852), as it turns out, who asked his bootmakers to create a modified version of the 18th-century Hessian boot. Originally made from soft leather, the Wellington (as it was soon known) proved equally practical on the battlefield, in the stableyard, and in the drawing room, and quickly caught on in aristocratic circles -- where even dandies like Beau Brummell were eager to ape the style of a much-decorated war hero.
In the 19th century, an Englishman named Hiram Hutchinson set up a company in France to manufacture a rubber version of the now-classic Wellington. These inexpensive, waterproof Wellies caught on with farmers all across Europe, who switched from their traditional wooden clogs; and in the next century, they were the boot of choice for soldiers in both World Wars.
Around here, in the rain-sodden hills of Dartmoor, Wellies are a ubiquitous sight, worn by farmers and shop-keepers and postmen and school kids and wood-wandering writers alike.
Above: The photo shows the household Wellies here at Bumblehill, drying at the old stove in our kitchen hearth. (Victoria's are the fancy black ones with red bows. The girl has style.)
Below: In my trusty Wellies on the north Cornish/Devon coast with Tilly this past autumn:
Here, Scottish comedien Billy Connolly performs an ode to the Wellington boot:
And, er, for those who might be wondering:
Yes, it's Sunday, the day I usually turn my computer off -- a vow I made last spring in the blog post Letting Language Take Root. And I've managed to remain pretty faithful to that too. But alas, after losing most of a month due to catching two different flues in rapid succession (complicated by other health issues), I'm in the office working today (and probably for several Sundays to come), digging out from under piles of accumulated work. And I'm sure that all the people waiting for things from me (like my various editors and anthology partner-in-crime Ellen Datlow) are relieved to hear it. . . .
