Abe Cohen visits Poland to trace his family roots. Returning to their home town he recognises places from his late grandfather's many stories and wanders for hours imagining how things must have been when they formed a ghetto.
His grandfather told how, when forced to flee, they only had time to take what they could carry. A few personal items and the clothes they wore was all and he always regretted not collecting his best shoes from the local cobbler. They had been his wedding shoes and held great sentimental value not to mention they'd been expensive already.
Spotting a small shop in an alley he investigated. Peering through the grimy window he spied a dark and dusty interior. Shelves housed dozens of pairs of shoes bearing hand-written tags with the owners names. An old man hunched over a bench at the rear, his mouth full of tacks he tapped away with a small hammer. Surely not? Could this be the place which his his grandfather had described so many times over the decades?
The door tinkled as he entered and Abe approached the counter. Without looking up from his work the old cobbler asked "Vot do you vant?". Abe told his family's story as the man tapped away and finished by asking if he'd known his grandfather. At this the cobbler paused, tilting his head slightly. "Black Oxford brogues?" he asked "Size nine and a half, slight vear on the left heel vere the owner turns their foot out ven they valk?". Absolutely amazed Abe could only answer in a voice choked with hope and emotion "Yes........er, yes! That's them!".
"They'll be ready Vednesday"
I only ride 'em, I don't know what makes 'em work