These reflections were sparked by the comments following Nancy Cole's 'A Different Kind of Courage' Part 17. And in particular by Angharad and Karen's contribution. :)

It is not just a question of arm's length Karen.

The Welsh are quite deadly up to about 15 ft. when it comes to throwing stiletto heels. Cross them at your peril. It is thought that the art developed in the wilder regions of the Principality when, their sheep being safely tucked up in bed and TV reception being unavailable either because of the mountainous nature of the terrain or non-payment of the licence, they found themselves with time hanging heavy on their hands. The said craggy mountains precluding the flat surface necessary for the establishment of a rugby pitch and all English owned cottages in the vicinity being burnt to the ground they were forced to seek leisure diversions elsewhere.

What could be more natural than that they turned to the English for Salvation?

We, the English, had of course long since developed the sport of welly chucking or 'wanging' and indeed had become highly proficient at such. Indeed it remains perhaps the only sport where we have established, and maintained, a well justified international pre-eminence.

Welly wanging is of course essentially an outdoor pursuit and as such is not hazard free as both thrower and spectator(s?) are liable to be covered in splodges of mud, cow muck, and general detritus of a wet and somewhat smelly nature. Whilst not actually banned under Health and Safety Regulations, it is subject to a stern caveat restricting its practice to consenting adults. Because of these various disadvantages it has made little progress in the higher echelons of English Society except amongst those of the younger generation seeking to annoy their parents.

Initial attempts to introduce it to Wales proved unrewarding. If you throw a wellington in England it will travel for a distance measured in horizontal yards and can be retrieved without difficulty and, if necessary for competitive reasons, re-thrown. Throw the same wellington with the same force and trajectory in Wales and, whilst the same horizontal distance may be achieved - greater even because of the high altitudes there prevailing, the said wellington will almost certainly plunge several thousand feet vertically into some unplumbed abyss and risk decimating the local sheep population. Not to mention a shepherd and/or his dogs. Early competitions thus proved to be lengthy affairs and frequently darkness would fall without even the first heats being completed as a single throw could take several hours to retrieve.

Alternative attempts to throw at the bottom of such declivities meant that the wellington would only travel a few yards before hitting the side of a mountain thus reducing the competition to a farce.

It is credit to Celtic ingenuity that, after several wasted years in trying to perfect an indoor welly wanging derivative, with predictably disastrous results due to the restricted layout typical of Welsh habitations compounded by their national proclivity for adorning their shelves with pottery reproductions of sheepdogs and their walls with rosettes won by said dogs at the local trials, interspersed with daguerreotypes of forgotten uncles officiating at eisteddfods, that a successful answer in the form of the stiletto shoe was finally arrived at.

At first of course the breakage rate remained the same and the number of cases of physical injury actually increased quite considerably. Crucially however the mud problem that had so enraged the house-proud Welsh housewife was alleviated. Moreover this freed up the wellington and enabled it to revert to its original use permitting the man of the house to don it and thus venture outside and actually do some work.

The vital breakthrough came five years later when the principle of accuracy rather than distance was established. Although the identity of the innovator is disputed there seems little doubt that the Eureka moment come in the middle of a darts match in a pub in Powys. A dart hit the wire of the triple nineteen and rebounded piecing the toe of the shoe of the barmaid. Not to mention the toe itself. This impressively proportioned lady removed the said shoe and launched it with some force at the original dart thrower. He, a member of the visiting team, was incapacitated by this attack and being unable to resume his place at the ochie, the game was awarded to the home team by default.

The rest as they say, is History.

Subsequently the game reverted to it origins as an outdoor pursuit as it was realised that mountains were ideally suited to having targets, or 'English' as they had become humorously christened, hung on them. This reversion was hastened by the acknowledgement that indoor accuracy could not always be guaranteed by young and over enthusiastic learners of the game.

Of course there are downsides. It is rumoured that in some of the more inaccessible parts of the country there has been a marked increase in the mortality rate although, as such reports are usually at second or third hand and invariably in Welsh, no authorised or verifiable statistics are available. However isolated instances of unaccompanied English tourists disappearing without trace have been reported although it may be to soon to draw any firm conclusions from this as such fatalities were never that uncommon. The non-arrival of an entire coach load of Morris dancers en route from Sevenoaks to The National Eisteddfod is more worrying.

The Welsh Tourist Board reports a decline in visitor numbers of late although of course other factors may be at play. However the more prudent would-be tourist would be well advised to check the small print of their travel insurance, specifically those clauses covering injuries sustained under the key words, shoes, acts of violence, self defence, crossfire, etc. The British Embassy in Cardiff will advise on regions most at risk and a swift response to all tourist enquiries by British citizens is guaranteed within twenty four months.

At least the Welsh do not publicly debate the lethal effects and killing prowess of conflicting makes of shoes. As a practising coward I shall have to forgo an expedition across the Atlantic to the USA's violent shores. My blood runs cold just reading some recent postings. And they seem such nice girls too! So the Gower Peninsular it will have to be.

One good thing came out of it though. I discovered Nancy Cole's 'A Different Kind of Courage'. I have missed the first16 episodes so shall now go back and read them. If they are as good as Part 17 then the journey will be well worthwhile.