Oh What a Tangled Mess

When I was about seven or eight the fashion magazines were full of glamorous young women sporting knitted twinsets. For those readers younger than about sixty, that’s a short sleeved jumper and matching cardigan, often teamed with pearls.  In my eyes they looked very posh. 

We were a working class family with a difference. We (or rather, my mum) had a knitting machine. This was a very up to date, very slick piece of machinery. Quite a status symbol, although it wasn’t bought for that reason. You attached the wool, pulled the shuttle back and forth, and watched in awe as the garment grew.  Mum had knitted with a ball of wool and a pair of needles for as long as I could remember, and like most children of the fifties, my brothers and I were frequently kitted out in knitted jumpers, scarves, cardigans and balaclavas. When the knitting machine arrived it opened up a whole new world. Mum could knit skirts, dresses, jackets, all in double quick time, and I soon became the proud owner, at eight years of age, of a knitted twinset.  

It was at about this time that I became the object of some class bullying, led by one particularly spiteful girl. Although I didn’t have a name for it then, I was sent to Coventry, and spent a very miserable few weeks (months? It seemed an age) suffering, literally in silence. Now, I don’t remember a direct correlation between the appearance of the middle class twinset and the start of the bullying, but, looking back, this particular girl had accompanied me on a photography session with our ‘nature’ teacher (who obviously interpreted ‘nature’ very liberally - and thereby hangs another long tale..). I’d been proudly wearing the twinset, and I vaguely remember some sarcastic comment, so, who knows? If it hadn’t been the twin set it would have been something else, I’m sure. For whatever reason - and I never did find out - this girl was determined to make my life miserable. 

My first glimpse into this particular craft world, came with a French knitting set.  Every little girl had one. It consisted of a cotton reel with 4 nails in the top.  The wool was twisted around the nails, with the help of a crochet hook, and a long thin snake began to twist its way  through the hole in the bottom of the reel. I never did discover what to do with the finished article. I think it usually ended up as a rather pathetic scarf for one of my dolls. 

From there I progressed to proper knitting and larger items. The pairs of knickers I knitted for my favourite doll, Suzy, must have been very hot and uncomfortable, but I never once heard her complain. At about the age of sixteen I bought some flesh coloured wool (why??) and set about knitting myself a jumper. It was the most unsuitable item to be worn on a Saturday night at Tottenham Royal, as not only was it hot, but it was also short, figure hugging and looked, from a distance, as if I were naked from the waist up. To add to its ‘appeal’ I had added a small pocket which sat directly over one breast, and had a delicately embroidered flower in the middle.  I got a lot of attention that night, and never wore it again. 

There are so many knitting stories I could relate here, some of them successes, some disasters, and, by far, the majority ending up half finished in carrier bags, shoved in cupboards.  When I was about twenty I had a craze of knitting from old patterns, and made my husband a complicated 1940s zip up cardigan in dark green, followed by a totally ‘made up as I went along,’ 1940s style sleeveless vest, with text and patterns all across the back. One line I remember knitting was, ‘Keith Maniac from Guatemala,’ which was an in joke between us. Dave wore it with pride. I can see why he was anxious to marry me.  When I was expecting our first baby I got hold of a fiddly French pattern and knitted a babygro in the finest wool. It took a while, not only due to the thinness  of the wool, but also because my husband insisted I knit ‘Up the Rovers’ across the back.  Strangely, said son has always supported Blackpool. 

At about this time it was my brother’s 21st birthday. I asked what he’d like and he requested a vest like Dave’s. John had given me a list of things he’d like on the back. The only one I remember was a guitar. I set off with numerous balls of wool, some picture references, a wad of graph paper, and needles poised.  My brother was 65 last birthday. Each year, he asks plaintively if it’s finished yet. It might be, very shortly, if only I could find the carrier bag with the half completed jumper and 27 balls of tangled wool. 

The Ins and Outs and Ups and Downs of Knitting by Jill Reidy 

Clock ticking

Needles clicking

Wool spinning 

Mum grinning

Getting going

Jumper growing

Stitches slipping 

Energy dipping 

Needles flying

Mum sighing

Wool tangling

Ends dangling

Eyes darting 

Ladders starting

Needles sticking

Clock still ticking….

Knit one 

Pearl one 

Knit one 

Pearl one 

Increase 

decrease 

And repeat…. 

Thanks for reading ……….. Jill