‘Shame. Thought you were going to say he won him around.’
‘Nope, John ended up out on the side of the road. And he’s there roaring and shouting that Thomas would be sorry and that he would build a firm that would knock him sideways.’
Eric grins. ‘Which presumably he did?’
Jo grins back at him, thinking how good it is to share this with him.
‘Long story. But, yes. Anyway, at this point he’s in London, on the side of the road, with barely any money. So then he decides to get himself to Australia as he’s heard that people are growing rich finding gold.’
‘As you do. And did he find gold?’
‘No. But he found a lot of prospectors wearing really badly made boots.’
Eric laughs. ‘Don’t tell me …’
‘Yes, John started making them new boots. And he invented something called the Prospector’s Boot. It had a space in the heel where prospectors could hide their gold, where no one would find it if they were robbed – which happened quite a lot.’
‘Great idea,’ Eric says, appreciatively, and his enthusiasm reaches something within Jo and she is conscious that she would like to share more stories with this man. And to hear his stories too.
She picks up her thread, ‘Thatdidmake him rich – because many of his customers paid him in gold nuggets as they didn’t always have ready cash.’
‘This is great stuff, Jo. What happened next?’
She continues, smiling warmly at him, relaxing into his encouragement. ‘He entered some boots he’d made for the Great Exhibition in 1851.’
‘So, was he back in England for that?’
‘No, still in Australia, but he won a gold medal. And he was only twenty-two at this stage …’ Jo wonders, looking at Eric, why age is such an issue with her? She knows the answer to this, but then she remembers sitting in a woodland sitting room with a Runaway Vicar and a man in embroidered slippers. Had age mattered then?
‘What next?’ Eric prompts.
‘Oh, well, he then decided to make a pair of boots for Queen Victoria’s son, the Prince of Wales.’
‘Was that Bertie? The womanizer? Am I getting that right? Science was more my thing at school than history.’
‘Yes, that’s him. How John did it, I have no idea, as they must have been made to his exact measurements and John was still in Australia. Anyway, he sent him the boots as a gift and Bertie loved them. Then John writes and asks if he can have a royal warrant.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me,’ Eric drains his coffee, and Jo is conscious that she doesn’t want him to go.
She carries on quickly. ‘Well, at the time Queen Victoria was giving Albert and Bertie a hard time for handing out royal warrants, as she thought she was the only one who should do this. So, maybe Bertie gave John one to annoy his mother, or maybe he thought it wouldn’t really matter as this was an Aussie boot-maker that he would never hear from again.’
‘But I have a feeling that wasn’t the last he heard from Mr Lobb.’
‘No. That’s when John came to London, with his gold and his royal warrant and set up a shop on Regent Street.’
‘Ah, I thought you were going to say he set up next to old man Thomas on St James’s.’
‘He did,’ Jo grins, ‘but that came a bit later. I’ve seen photos of the shop on Regent Street. I looked it up after reading Malcolm’s notes.’
‘Malcolm?’
‘The friend I’m helping. The amateur historian.’
‘What was the shop like?’ Eric asks.
‘Very traditional, but above the door was the biggest royal warrant I have ever seen. It was simply enormous.’
‘I wonder what Bertie thought.’
