TIRE'S LAST PATTEN MAKER

The shopkeeper opposite remarked teasingly, 'Filming again today, Cemil?' Cemil Tolga merely smiled, a little awkwardly. Acquaintances who had watched the documentary the previous evening stopped by to pour praises on him. The craftsman seemed embarrassed by all the attention. Suddenly he had become a local celebrity. Every night he was to be seen on one television channel or another. He was as surprised as everyone else by this interest. Where had documentary producers been all these years? It was not the work of making pattens which tired him, but being in the limelight.The owner of the corner café distributing glasses of morning tea from his tray wished him a good day. One by one the tradesmen raised the shutters on their shops. The saddlers on the other side of the street, the felt makers, pack saddle makers and coppersmitCemil Tolga is the last remaining maker of oldfashioned wooden shoes known as nalin in Turkish in the town of Tire, southeast of Izmir. He has been making pattens since 1946, when these raised wooden shoes were still widely used in bath houses and homes, but today their use is dying out all over the country. hs on the next street had already started work.

He may even be the last patten maker left in Turkey. Yet everyone who passes down the street, especially local and foreign visitors to the town, are drawn to his shop window. They cannot resist picking up the red and purple pattens, even if they do not buy a pair, and many of them stop for a few minutes of conversation with him. On the wall are photographs taken by foreign tourists over the years and sent to him from America, France and elsewhere. An air of nostalgia surrounds them.
'No one else knows how to make them any longer, and no one would bother. If I close the shop that is the end of this craft,' says Cemil. For many years now no new apprentices or journeymen have trained in patten making, and existing craftsmen have given up and turned to new occupations.

Finished pattens covered in red and purple velvet are displayed in the window next to his work bench, and on the wall shelves are many more arrayed in colourful rows. Behind him are piles of materials: the wooden forms sent by the carpenter, bales of velvet, cardboard, gold thread and sequins.

The raised patten with its high heel intended to protect the wearer from wet floors in public baths and bathrooms at home have long since been superseded by the lower takunya slipper. Pattens are traditionally made of high quality woods like boxwood and ebony which are durable under damp conditions. In the past they were richly decorated with coral, mother-of-pearl, silver, embroidery and tiny mirrors. As the simple takunya took its place, the patten began to be purchased only for trousseaus, and today even this tradition has become a thing of the past. Instead their only function is as decoration.'In former times, before cheap plastic slippers entered our lives, pattens were worn by everyone when they went to the baths, and by some in the house. Young girls engaged to be married would order pattens for their trousseaus months, and sometimes even years, in advance. But now cheap shoes and slippers have put the patten makers out of business. If I cannot make a decent living what is there to attract an apprentice? Today pattens have become souvenirs and ornaments bought by tourists.'Cemil goes on to explain that he no longer carves the wooden bases for the pattens himself. Instead his brother makes them in his carpentry shop.

He prepares the insole with velvet covered cardboard and sews them with gold thread. Then he embroiders the strap with gold thread and stitches on the sequins. He can make at most three or four pairs a day, and the price varies between two and five million liras (3-8 dollars). 'Sometimes I get orders for miniature pattens from market sellers in holiday resorts,' he explains.

'Probably tourists prefer them because they take up less room.'Most of the tools which Cemil Tolga uses are at least half a century old. The wooden clamp which uses when embroidering, the awl with which he pierces holes for the thick needles, the hammers and shears are those that he used as an apprentice and journeyman years ago.
He continues to work as we talk, and then places a finished patten in the window. He orders some tea for himself and his guests. Who knows in what glass cabinets pattens which he has made are displayed in Turkey and other countries? Who knows what albums contain photographs of him and his pattens? But probably there is a note on the back of the photographs reading, 'Cemil Tolga, the last patten maker in Tire near Izmir.'

* Erdal Yazici is a photographer

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