the pirate wore brogues

History conferences tend to bring together a very weird and wonderful slice of humanity. They’re certainly not all old crusties by any means despite what you may think – there is a fair percentage of young nerdy types too! Actually, ‘nerdy’ is probably not quite right – it’s more like just a bit strange.
As are many of the exhibitors who request table space to vend their wares(?) on these occasions. Many are educational publishers professing profound (ooh, surprise alliteration) interest in history (“I’ve always loved it”. Yeah. Right. I bet you say that to everyone running a conference. Next week at the geography teachers’ conference I’ll bet they’ll be saying how much they like topographical maps. Humpff. Fickle.) Now, where was I?…Oh, yes. The exhibitors. So, there’s booksellers and archives and a whole assortment of cultural institutions with an interest in capturing a slice of the school history pie. Dressing up to reflect the character and content of the goods and or services you offer seems to be a preferred mode of capturing the interest of teachers and students. A cunning costume adds just the right dash of authenticity. Uh-huh?
So where did the pirate come from? He spent quite a bit of time hanging out with the National Trust people (also in costume) but I’m a bit uncertain as to his history credentials. For one thing – he didn’t talk like a pirate. Not once did I hear a “Shiver me timbers” and he was waaaaay (annoyingly so) too liberal with the bad gags. Pirates, I have always assumed, leaning towards the humourless. Secondly, he was wearing brogues. A most unseaworthy type of shoe and nary a big silver buckle in sight. Finally, and most damningly, Trish caught him out shouting into a mobile phone. Most inauthentic for a pirate.