A TRUE STORY

BOYHOOD MEMORIES OF RUBBER WELLINGTON BOOTS

By Alf, January 1999.

Last Sunday I returned to the town where I was brought up and drove past a wood where I used to go 
when I was a boy to enjoy myself in my Rubber Wellington Boots. I always wore black Wellington 
Boots reaching to just below the knee, loose-fitting against my bare legs. A stream meanders through 
the wood, overflowing at times and making some wonderful mud to wade through.  My mother used to 
take me to the woods when I was small and I was always fascinated by the other children who were 
usually there fishing for tiddlers and wading around.  How I longed to join them, sometimes I had my 
Wellington Boots on, but I was not allowed to paddle in them.

At last the day came when I decided to go there alone.  I think mother assumed I had gone to a nearby 
park as usual, and I was careful not to let her see that I had my put my Wellington Boots on, although 
there was no real need. as I often wore them when I went out to play.  The wood was about 15 minutes 
walk away and soon I was descending into the valley, the path getting wetter and wetter all the time 
after the recent rain.  I was in my element, but the stream was mostly too deep for my Wellington Boots.  
Eventually I found one of the bogs. Carefully I entered and experienced the thrill of my Wellington 
Boots sinking into the wonderful soft oozy mud.  I watched them sink down to the rims at the top; I 
moved my legs and watched the mud ripple with the movement.  I pulled my Wellington Boots out and 
did it again, they were now completely covered in mud, not a square centimetre of black rubber could be 
seen anywhere. I walked through the mud, watching my glistening Wellington Boots sink to the tops at 
every step.  I could stand it no longer, a quick look round to make sure I was alone, a quick zip down of 
my flies,  and a stream of hot spunk shot almost instantaneously onto the mud.  It was the one of the 
shortest, but the most marvellous wank of my life!

Then of course I returned to normality.  There was mud everywhere on my clothes - how was I going to 
explain it to mother and clean up my Wellington Boots?  I often wore them to school  and kept them on 
in class if there was the slightest excuse (“I think it’s going to rain today Mum, can I wear my boots?”)  
and they had to be fairly clean for that. A bit of mud around the soles was OK, but not caked right to the 
tops of the legs so that it flakes off on the carpet!  I don’t actually remember how I cleaned up, but I 
managed it somehow.  

Of course the need to go booting  again returned very quickly and I managed to get proper permission 
to go to the wood, “fishing for tiddlers” I told Mother, but of course the real reason was just to wade in 
the mud. in my Wellington Boots.  She probably guessed, because the only thing I ever brought home 
was mud!

 Last Sunday I looked down into the wood from the road above and remembered those days.  I looked 
at my feet - my bare legs were invisible below the knee, disappearing inside my black Bullseye Trent  
Rubber Wellington Boots!

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