In our family we kids always wore shoes to school. It was a home rule and a school rule, and such rules were hard to evade in those days. Secretly, though, I envied the kids who spent every day, school days, weekends and holidays exclusively in bare feet.

Shoes softened the feet and put you at a disadvantage in so many activities. If, every day, you ran bare footed through games of football and red rover, you developed immunity to any stones that stubbed your toes, and the soles of your feet grew a dark leathery hide that resisted the attack of even the most vicious patch of bindi-eye.

We who were denied the school day freedom of naked feet found ourselves at a disadvantage when chasing or being chased by bare-foot brigadiers immune to the roughness of a gravel road or the heart of summer bitumen.

Riding a bike, however, was an activity that held hazards for those whose feet were uncovered – a steadying foot to the ground on a sharp curve imitating the style of a speedway rider always drew blood and it was not advisable, either, to push your foot against a spinning tyre to add effectiveness to the worn brakes on your two-wheeler. Both practices were reserved for those whose feet were shod.

These days, I like nothing better than to treat my feet and toes to the luxury of a soft lawn or a sandy beach so they can delight in the freedom and fun of being naked in contact with the good earth. But, away from comfort underfoot I’m a pampered pedestrian whose soles are a soft, tender temptation to even the most insignificant prickle or piece of grit.

Thinking back, I can remember only rarely feeling secret satisfaction and no jealousy towards the boys in bare feet. That was when they successfully evaded the clumps of burrs in the paddock only to land with both feet firmly planted in the most recent, most warm deposits of the cows grazing nearby.

Michael Goodwin