Cobbler Cobbler Mend My Shoe

Tim was nineteen years old, getting ready to go to university, His parents had organised his accommodation A house for students, roomy, very near to outskirts of city, His friends shared all costs, ready for their future education. Tim went through his things at home very carefully, Took his favourite clothes, guitar, and some trinkets, Excitedly, finished his packing, when almost voluntarily, A yellowish old small paper fell into his homemade biscuits. It was an old receipt from a cobbler dated years ago, February 1959 Eloff Street Johannesburg, close to the University, Tim threw it into his case, keen to keep this, for it was history, The signature was his grandfathers who died last year, Fre Hitty. But Tim and his friends for now, only thinking of girls and party times, Tim decided to go into the city, had to buy books and stationery, The bottle store first, beers, a party this Saturday, amongst the vines. However, next to the store Tim saw a shop which looked rather eyrie. There was a sign, Cobbler, arrows pointing up a dark passage and stairs, ‘Cobbler’s Place’, written at top of receipt that he pulled out of his pocket, Yes, goodness me, this place does still exist, an old man holding two pairs Of shoes appeared, easily almost ninety, Tim handed him the docket. The old man took it, slowly walked to the back through a narrow door, After a good half an hour he returned with a smile on his weathered face, Well, if you pop in tomorrow at the same time, your shoes will be ready, Cost of living has gone up since my youth, you must now pay more than a penny. No problem Sir replied Tim, but amazing is that the shoes are not ready, All the way back from 1959, seeing that your shop and your work still exist, Yet i still have to collect them tomorrow, may i have my grandfathers Freddy's Shoes back please, no but the old man began to say, Sir Tim said, I do insist. Apologies to all but i left out my last four most precious meaningful lines, i have now attached them.