Shoe-shine 'boy' Henry Given The Flick

[Guest Tim]

SHOE-SHINE 'BOY' HENRY GIVEN THE FLICK

Sydney's oldest shoe-shine 'boy', Londoner Mr Henry Drobb,78, has reluctantly retired after spending eight hours a day cleaning the grubby shoes of the busy, the rich and the famous.

 

Squatting at the foot of the splendid raised leather chair on the ground floor of the Sydney Hilton, Henry has lavished care on the shoes of statesmen, $3000-a-day barristers and tourists for 15 years.

 

Former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger was so impressed with the job Henry did on his brogues that Mrs. Kissinger brought three more pairs of dirty shoes down from their suite for Henry to work on.

 

And now? He has been forced to give it all up. "They asked me to go," said Henry.

 

His stall at the foot of the Hilton stairs became a meeting place. 'Meet you at Henry's,' specialist doctors would tell each other. And while they chatted by his Turkish-made shoe-shine stand, World War II veteran Henry, a Londoner, would transform a pair of mud-spattered black pumps, or 'born-to-shop' ladies' court shoes, into leather so shining that you could almost see your face in the toes. It cost $4 a pair for Henry's expertise with 20 different nuggets and his soft cloths. Ladies' boots cost the same.

 

When Henry Kissinger wanted his shine he settled into the high chair, placed his foot on the special pedestal imported from the Mecca of shoe-shining, Istanbul, and began discussing serious affairs of state with his entourage.

 

'He didn't say much to me,' said Henry, [in immaculate stiff collar and dark tie, dark trousers and apron.] 'But when Mrs. Kissinger brought down his other shoes she sat down and we had a lovely chat while I got to work.'

 

Henry, a hat-blocker, came to Australia to carry on with the trade, but found Sydney hat-blocking and steam a bit hard to take in the summer. 'I was standing in the Hilton foyer chatting to the Cockney doorman about old times and he asked me what else I might wish to do.

 

'I said: "I'd do anything. Even clean shoes!" It happened that the General Manager, Mr. Tony Carpenter, was standing nearby and overheard our conversation. He asked me to come up to his office.

 

'And, 15 years later, I was still there! Within three weeks Mr Carpenter had imported this ornate Turkish brass foot stand from Istanbul, where he'd managed the Istanbul Hilton, and I've been shining the world's shoes ever since.'

 

Henry advises: 'Never try and dry wet shoes by putting them in front of a fire or a radiator. Stuff them with newspaper or, better still, shoe trees, and let them dry out. When they're ready I take to them with a clean, damp cloth and make sure the mud and grit are gone. I use a toothbrush to get into the little crevices. I will then apply the polish with another clean rag. I do not use brushes because there is a danger of adding a different shade of colour to the shoe. I might be working on a medium-tan pair after having just polished a dark-tan leather.

 

'I use both hands with the polishing cloth to finish them off.

 

'You must take care of shoes. They are so expensive these days. You can pay $700 for a pair. Church's shoes are to my mind the finest brogues in the world, possibly a little heavy for Australia. Lloyd's, which are German, are slightly lighter, but almost of the same quality. And there is nothing wrong with Florsheim.'

 

Henry had a lift-key to the Hilton Executive Suite level where guests could safely leave their expensive pumps outside their doors. 'But people have lost the habit of doing that in other hotels. There have been so many cases of pranksters swapping shoes from outside one room to another, and when businessmen have to catch early flights, that can be chaotic.'

 

Is there a sense of superiority, for a customer sitting on a high throne, looking down at Henry subserviently flapping away at his shoe? 'Oh no! Quite the opposite. They love to have a little chat. Many of them have had their shoes cleaned, perhaps by an old lady in Tokyo or a shoe-shine boy in New York, and they like to discuss different methods. In the olden days people washed travellers' feet and as they did so, told them stories and the news of the day. There must be a book in shoe-shine people. Americans seem to most use shoe-shine boys. Europeans, here on business, and wanting to look good at appointments, get down here at eight o'clock in the morning. The Japanese don't seem keen.

 

'When my wife and I watch television I see people whose shoes I have cleaned and haven't realised they were quite famous.'

 

For emergencies, Henry's elegant brass stand contained spare shoe-laces, knives, and contact glues for sticking soles, or rubber for a high heel, that had come adrift. Gentlemen, he says, liked strolling out of their offices for a 15-minute break and have a shine. 'Some brought their secretaries who sat there in the other leather armchair taking dictation.

 

'It was a passing parade of the famous. You could sit and watch the whole world go by while I polished your shoes.

 

'When they told me it was time to go it was a sad day, really. A bit like leaving the regiment, or the last day at school. I showed somebody else what to do, but I don't know if they'll carry it on.'