Shoes, glorious shoes

Are you ready for episode # 4 of my September travelogue? I really hope you are as I've got something rather special for you in store!

It was Thursday the 4th of September and, although we woke up to sunshine, layers of grey cloud soon started appearing on the horizon. Thankfully the wind had finally calmed down, so that at least it wouldn't be tampering with the day's highs of 22°C. The weather forecast was still uncertain, though, with a promise of rain at some point during the day.

We'd exhausted most of the immediate area's wet weather options over the years and as we weren't in the mood for a repeat, we cast our nets further afield.

Our destination of choice was the industrial town of Izegem, a drive of just under an hour from our holiday cottage. If you're wondering about the appeal of this particular town, then let me introduce you to this gem of a 1930s Art Deco building, the existence of which I would have been completely unaware of if it weren't for an episode of  Belgium's version of Four in a Bed. The moment I clapped eyes on the building's magnificent façade, I knew I wanted to visit this former shoe factory turned museum.

Having consulted the museum's website, I noted that it was open from 10 am until 5.30 pm. However, it turned out that outside of the school holidays the museum was only open in the afternoons, so that upon arrival at around 11 am we found its doors firmly locked. 

Still, our attempts to gain entry had attracted the attention of one of the members of staff, who came and told us that the museum was closed. He must have seen the disappointment on our faces though, so after inquiring whether we'd come far, he decided to open up the museum just for us! We couldn't thank him and his colleague, who had to start up the museum's computer system to allow us to pay for our entrance tickets, enough. Such a lovely thing to do!

For decades, Izegem was widely known as the Belgian capital. In fact, the term Chaussure d'Iseghem (transl. shoe of Izegem) was a highly valued hallmark, the city owing much of its wealth to the shoe industry.

After having paid for our tickets, we were directed to take the lift to the top floor for a temporary exposition called Schoen. Passie (transl. Shoe. Passion), dedicated to the fascination with high-heeled shoes for women. 

 

The shoes on display here are a selection of two significant donations of private shoe collections received by the museum in 2024.

These donations, which add up to over 2500 pairs of shoes and significantly expanded the museum's collection, used to belong to Frieda Dauphin-Verhees from Antwerp and Louis Henrard from Liège. Together, they are offering an overview of more than a century of shoe fashion. 

Our heads still reeling after feasting our eyes on shelf after shelf filled with seriously drool-worthy shoes, we descended to the third floor. Here one can find an exhibition dedicated to that other industry that put Izegem on the map from the 19th century until well into the 20th century: brushes!

Dating from around 1935 and made in Birmingham rather than Izegem, this enamelled toilet set instantly caught my attention due to the similarity with a set we picked up in a UK charity shop many years ago.

Descending to the second floor where the main part of the shoe collection is housed, I was distracted by the splendour of the Art Deco interior. 

The original colour schemes of the granite floors, wall paintings and windows were meticulously restored in 2015. 

The whole floor was a photographer's delight, especially since we had the place to ourselves and didn't have to photograph around people. In fact, only Jos and one other guy insisted on being in the frame!

The guy in question (and I don't mean Jos!) was Edouard Dierick (1800-1875), the founder of the Izegem shoe industry. 

Aged 12, he started as an apprentice in his father's shoemaker's workshop. Following the sudden death of his father, Edouard took over the business. At that point, he had never made a complete shoe. Nevertheless, he managed to improve and increase production. He even invented a ruler to measure the length and width of the foot, a system that would be adopted in the United States a hundred years later.

Eduard is best known for the patent for waterproof shoes that he received from King William I. 

As a token of gratitude for receiving this patent, he presents William I with a pair of boots, of which he makes this identical replica (top left) for his store. Dating from 1830, it is made of calf's leather, hand-sewn and with delicate ornamental stitching on the heels.

In 1935, Edouard recreated his masterpiece by making a pair of boots for King Leopold I (top right), which were exhibited at the industrial exhibition in Brussels.

These shoes and boots, displayed in one of the rooms, all date from the early 1900s. Isn't that pair of tan lace-up boots the stuff of dreams? Not that I would ever be able to walk in those heels. Sadly enough, those days seem to be over ...

A replica of a shoe shop was set up in another room, where one was invited to try on the shoes displayed on the shelves. While Jos was resting his feet on a chair in the corner, I insisted on getting my money's worth by trying on the pairs in my size which appealed to me. The heels on the ones on the left were quite lethal, though. I was glad to be back in my trainers!

After this brief intermezzo, we oohed and aahed at the shoes displayed in a time-line of shoe fashion over the years. Suffice to say that there were quite a few pairs I wouldn't mind having in my collection. 

The former shoe factory in which the museum is housed was founded in 1863 by Emiel Vandommele, who was a pupil of the aforementioned Eduard Dierick. After many wanderings around Izegem, they finally ended up here in 1909 and the factory became known as Eperon d'Or.

They were proud to be certified purveyors to both the Belgian and the Luxemburg courts, as evidenced by the rather large Royal Arms on the front of the building. 

In recognition of the fact that Eperon d’Or had become the official supplier to both courts, the company made a bold statement by having an administrative front building constructed in front of the existing factory. It was designed in 1930 by Izegem architect Charles Laloo in pure Art Deco style.

Up until the Second World War, the shoes were made by hand, after which part of the process became automated. However, even when the factory finally closed down in 1967 a number  of models were still being made by hand.

Sadly, due to fierce competition, mainly from Italy and Eastern Europe, Eperon d’Or was declared bankrupt in 1967.

The above treasures were all made here and I'm sure you'll agree they are absolutely stunning.

And this is my very own pair of Eperon d'Or shoes! 

I bought them from a long-gone vintage shop about ten years ago, but only found out they were from this particular factory after we'd made plans to visit and, just out of curiosity, had a proper look at the pairs of vintage shoes which are living at the bottom of my wardrobe! 

Back on the ground floor, our visit still wasn't finished. 

Another temporary exhibition is currently running here, called Eigen Kweek (transl. Home-grown) which showcases the work of Belgian shoe designers.

The boots on the bottom right were instantly recognizable as being by Walter Van Beirendonck, while I photographed the Dries Van Noten shoes especially for Sheila. Both fashion designers were part of the famous Antwerp Six who graduated from the Antwerp Fashion Academy in 1982.

Finally, there was the factory hall at the back of the building, where, illustrated by a complete production line, one can learn how shoes were made in the 1950s as well as get acquainted with various kinds of leather, some of which I'd never even imagined existed.

All in all, our visit lasted almost two hours. Then, after purchasing some booklets about the shoe and brush industry from the museum shop, we returned to our car, ravenously eating the sandwiches we'd packed that morning.

But not before making some more photographs of that iconic building.

The building consists of a concrete skeleton finished with bricks. A striking feature of the two-storey façade is the staggered placement of the windows on the first floor. The tower on the corner contains the stairwell and is characterized by an open dome and vertical skylights.

The closing down of the factory was followed by its inevitable decline, but thankfully the front building was listed in 1999. The city of Izegem purchased the building in 2005 and opened the site as a museum in 2017.

But for how long?

Just weeks after our visit, I was scrolling through Instagram while on my way home, when a post from Eperon d'Or came up, announcing the fact that from the 1st of January 2026, it will no longer be run as a museum, and that seven members of staff are facing redundancy. 

The city council's decision came as a bolt out of the blue, and there has been a lot of protest, a petition - which obviously I signed - and a protest demonstration attended by 500 heritage enthusiasts, volunteers, and supporters last Saturday.

Will this be enough to make the city council reconsider its decision?

The forecasted rain arrived when we were on our way back to the cottage but had thankfully been chased away by sunshine and blue skies by late afternoon. 

You've already caught a glimpse of my skirt while I was trying on shoes. In fact, you've already seen me wearing it on the day of our little French adventure. The blue t-shirt with its three-quarter sleeves was charity shopped back in the mists of time, and picks up the blue flowers in the skirt's pattern perfectly.

So, that's it for now. I've still got one episode of my travelogue up my sleeve and hope you'll join me again in a couple of days' time.

On such a Winter's day

"There’s a certain slant of light,

On winter afternoons,

That oppresses, like the weight

Of cathedral tunes."

~ Emily Dickinson, #82 (1924)

Nearly a century has passed since Ms. Dickinson wrote these words, but they hit home nonetheless.

Winter afternoons, especially those of the granite grey variety, have the tendency to oppress, as if a heavy weight is holding you down, making your limbs feel leaden and a fog descend inside your head. We've been having far too many of such days lately, grey and wet affairs, but not nearly cold enough to be classified as true Winter's days.

And then you wake up one morning with the sun piercing through the layer of clouds, and it's as if a curtain opens up inside you, lifting your mood almost instantly. 

We had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of such a day on the Sunday before last, when plans were afoot for going to our monthly indoor flea market. 

Some minor, overnight frost had cooled down the temperature considerably, warranting the wearing of some long neglected Winter woollies. 

And why not wear my faithful old tweed suit? It had been quite a while since I wore it as a whole, rather than just the jacket which, as it happens, I last wore on a walk during the Christmas holidays.

When I found it on the rails at Think Twice many years ago, I didn't actually think twice and snapped it up without any hesitation. I fell in love with its classic shape, its mustard colour speckled with red and brown, its caramel buttons and, of course, its furry collar and cuffs.

The jacket's belt loops bear evidence of the fact that it was once accompanied by a belt, now long lost in the mists of time. This allows me to use one of my own choosing, and in keeping with the rest of my outfit, I opted for a purple one.

The jacket's collar was the perfect canvas for trying out the fur clip my bosses were kind enough to give me.  Copper and more purple, could it get any better than that?

At first, I wasn't sure what to wear with the skirt and I tried several blouses and jumpers, none of which looked right. I was about to give up and wear something else entirely, when I saw this purple vintage jumper winking at me from the top shelf. Initially, I thought it would be too warm, but then I remembered it can be quite chilly in the cavernous flea market venue. 

I love the diamond pattern at the yoke, each containing an embroidered flower. Admittedly, I did hide one of these with my floral brooch. 

The zebra print belt added a whimsical touch, as did the diamond patterned purple tights, which were a gift from Kezzie.

OK, I'm ready to go now!

After our initial disappointment as there seemed to be less stalls than usual, we soon got into the swing of things, especially when I found a brooch less than a minute after walking in. It was the green Merhorse on the bottom right and you will be getting a much better view of it later in this post.

Childhood nostalgia for Jos, who fell for this rectangular carton box full of magic lantern slides.

Our friend Tania's stall always yields one or two treasures, this time in the form of a vintage collapsible wirework egg basket. Here it is among the other kitchenalia in Dove Cottage's kitchen, ready to provide the eggs for one of Jos's famous English breakfasts.

At the end of the very last aisle, we spied this Kodak Brownie camera on a stall presided over by a couple who lives in our village.

It's a Kodak Brownie "Holiday Flash", a popular camera with a moulded brown and tan Bakelite body, which was produced between 1953 and 1962.

It did not come with its flash, but for the sake of this blog, we attached the flash of another Brownie camera from our collection.

There are quite a few Kodak Brownie cameras among our modest collection. The flash belongs to a 1950s Brownie Starlet camera, which Jos found, complete and still in its box, in the waste disposal unit of the block of flats we used to live in back in the 1990s.

Tania's friend Rita's stall tempted us with this stunning Art Deco style bonbonnière, which has found its rightful place on the 1930s side-table in our sitting room, where it is being kept company by our 1950s Bakelite radio.

No more handbags, I told myself, but did I listen? You bet I didn't, as how could I possibly not fall for this fabulous bottle green bag? 

Well, I was always going to allow myself the exception of out of the ordinary ones like this. It has got a quality seal inside which says that it was made in Belgium.

I've already mentioned the Merhorse brooch, but I found more. Here they are all grouped together for you to pick a favourite.

Let's have a closer look.

One of my star finds is the oval brooch on the top left, with its leaping stag. It turns out that the shimmering blue background is made from ... butterfly wings! This kind of jewellery, usually made from the South American Morpho butterfly, was popular from the Art Deco period up to the 1960s.

Apparently, butterfly wing jewellery is still being made today, using butterflies from butterfly farms. If this sounds cruel, then note that these farms are considered as a form of environmental protection of endangered rain forest, allowing more eggs to hatch than when left in the wild. The butterflies then die naturally of old age, which is around 130 days, after which their wings are used to create this amazing jewellery.

The Merhorse is made from ceramic, and is definitely one of my favourites, not in the least because of his gorgeous green colour. Isn't he fabulous? And definitely vintage, judging from his trombone clasp.

While both the butterfly brooch and the Merhorse were separate finds, all the others were picked up from the same jewellery heaped stall, one of our regular stops, for a silly total of € 12.

There was a fearsome cross between a big cat and some kind of mythical beast (top right) and a fabulously dressed and behatted lady carrying a bouquet of flowers (bottom left).

The coppery duo of delicate, slightly tarnished, pearl-hearted flowers is my particular favourite, and might very well be the oldest one of the bunch, while the heavy gold leaf and the blue enamelled floral one are both more recent.

Well, that's all I have time for now.

There will be one more January catch-up from me in February. Until then we will be off on a short break next week, so no need to send out a search party if you don't hear from me for a couple of days!

See you on the other side!

Home & Garden

I bet you're all dying to know what we bought at the castle so, without further ado, let's have a peek at the things which came home with us.

And the winner is ... Sheila! You were spot on, dahling! Well done! We bought the green deer, which is actually a  lamp. A 1930s Art-Deco lamp to be more exactly.
I mean, it's green, it's a deer and it's Art-Deco: if ever an object ticked all the right boxes, then this is it.

The wiring was a bit dodgy, so Jos, who's a skilled electrician, changed it and added another lamp fitting and hey presto: less than a day later it was already taking pride of place on our sitting room's mantelpiece.

Dove Cottage actually dates from the 1930s, so it couldn't have come to a better place, even if it does have to share the limelight with several other favourites.

Centre stage is taken by this pretty wooden pendulum clock, which Jos found at a local junk shop.

On its left, behind the deer, is a vintage floor and furniture wax canister. This, as well as the tiny sample pot next to it, was gifted to us by my parents around the time we moved into Dove Cottage, and have been in the same spot on the mantelpiece for coming up to twenty years now. They both came from a shop in our village, which used to be owned by a great aunt, one of my maternal grandfather's sisters. The shop, of course, is long gone, but I walk past the house it was in every weekday morning on my way to the bus stop.

Moving to the right now, where there's a motley crew of objects vying for attention. The amber glass candlestick is 1930s as well, and so is the Art-Deco bonbonnière on the bottom right. The ceramic couple, wearing traditional Dutch costume, is identical to the pair I used to play with when staying at my paternal grandparents, resulting in quite a few breakages and the ensuing gluing on of heads!

In front is a souvenir ashtray from Expo 58, the famous Brussels World Fair, containing a souvenir book of matches with an image of the Atomium.

Lurking in the recess is a plaster statue of Our Lady of Boom, which we picked up in a charity shop. Boom (the "oo" is pronounced like the "o" in bone) is the town where Jos grew up.

Above the mantelpiece is a mirror in a gorgeous wooden Art-Deco frame, which was going for a song in a charity shop as its glass is riddled with black spots. Reflected in the mirror is our 1950s light fitting, also charity shopped.

This cosy corner in our sitting room is a meeting of styles from different decades. The chairs are 1950s which we had to Phoebe-proof with plaids. The metal shelving, produced by Dutch company Tomado, and currently highly collectible, is 1950s as well, and so, of course, is the framed Expo 58 poster.

Back to the 1930s with the inlaid wooden side table. On top, a late 1950s Bakelite radio. The framed photographs are of my grandparents in old-fashioned bathing suits at the seaside (left) and Jos's mother carrying one of her plants on the right.

Opposite this corner and above the modern flat screen television (we do have some mod cons!) are two display cases carrying the poshest of my Barbies, with some of Jos's Davy Crockett collection on the right.

Is it a boy or a girl? I've never been absolutely sure, but he or she is carrying a jug of ostrich feathers, very fashionable in the 1920's.

I couldn't resist the kitsch wooden wall plaque with a tableau of plastic deer, going for € 0,50 in a charity shop. The display of vases and birds on the bottom right is sitting on top of a cabinet.

I'm the first to plead guilty when it comes to clutter, but all these objects have a soul and a story to tell. They have found a place, not only inside Dove Cottage, but in my heart as well.

After this little detour, it's back to the rest of our finds. 

As you'd probably expected, I bought several brooches. I selected four from the Brooch Lady's folders, and found another three at one of the stalls upstairs.

How cute is that cuckoo clock? The celluloid deer and the carved mother-of-pearl bird brooch were just € 5 and € 7, which is quite cheap. They both needed cleaning, but just soaking them in soapy water already lifted most of the dirt.

Have you noticed the stylish little hat in the group picture? The minute I laid eyes on it, I was in love. The stall's owner urged me to try on a rather spectacular 1920s cloche hat, but I had my heart set on this one, even though it didn't come cheap.

I thought it would rather suit the snooty Idina, so here she is modelling it for you!

The weather continued to be fine on Sunday (I'm still rambling on about last week here) so we spent a bit of time in the garden. I'd already done some serious pruning on Friday afternoon, getting rid of some of the exuberant ivy which is threatening to take over our little plot. A huge heap of twigs and cuttings is now ready to be collected by the town council in a week or two.

We also planted out our poor rhubarb plant which had been waiting patiently in its pot. No need to plant any more Aquilegia, as they self-seed like mad: look at those little seedlings huddling together in this terracotta planter, abandoned after the demise of its original inhabitant. 

More signs of Spring in other parts of the garden. Our Clematis armandii is slowly reaching its zenith, the warmth of the sun releasing its heavenly almond scent. The little stone dove will soon be surrounded by the small pink flowers of our ground-covering Geranium, while Alchemilla mollis, commonly known as Lady's Mantle, is one by one unfurling its downy leaves. Quite unexpected, as I'm sure I didn't plant it there. Yet another of our self seeders!

As much as I love green, our garden was sorely in need of a bit more colour, so we made a trip to the garden centre to pick up some flowering Spring plants.

You've got to love a bit of flower power ...

I'm not very visible in this post, so I will take Idina and her fabulous new hat to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style this week!