Seeing Red
Sian doesn't look forward to joining the green-wellied brigade. She yearns for her own special pair of wellies.
"Bright red wellies - a pair worn as rite of passage by all new and important arrivals on our farm. A pair worn on muddy Spring mornings to pose with inappropriate pets called Gravy or to dream about becoming the new weatherwoman on the lunchtime news. A pair worn to cook complex feasts for my cat. Or to hunt for missing furniture stolen by fairies at the bottom of our garden. My pair of bright, red wellies.
Green wellies were working wellies, the colour belonging to my brother and sister. Green meant herding sheep, early mornings and feeling cold. Green was the colour of growing up, and I didn't want to.
And yet, I wanted new wellies, special wellies. Pink wellies like Rebecca's with pictures of Princesses on them. Or googly-eyed wellies that winked at me in rows at the local shoe shop.
I never got them. Inevitably, my feet grew and when I was six, I joined the green-wellied brigade on their way to the potato field to drudge amongst the endless rows of plants for what seemed like a backbreaking eternity.
I still cling to my early childhood, and every so often slip into my new pair of wellies. And I'm right back there. Back in those blue-sky years where wellies are forever red."
