Hooked

One Enid Blyton book was all it took to set me off on a life-time of reading. I’ve mentioned before about the box of books left ‘for the little girl’ in a pub we were moving into. The little girl was me, aged seven and the pub was The Boar’s Head in Blackpool. This was my introduction to The Broons and Oor Wullie, which enabled me to master a Scottish accent on paper. My teacher was not impressed, bless her. It was also my introduction to a love of Enid Blyton stories, with the donated hard-backs of The Secret Seven, The Ring o’ Bells Mystery and The Rilloby Fair Mystery. I was hooked. I read them over and over again. I remember finishing The Rilloby Fair Mystery and going straight back to the beginning. I loved it so much. A nearby newsagents sold toys and books. My parents knew exactly what to bring home for me. I still have most of the books. My children preferred Roald Dahl and J.K.Rowling. My grandchildren prefer activities on screens – a sign of the times – but Michael Rosen is loved by a grandson and Jacqueline Wilson is loved by a granddaughter. I was born in the ‘50s, thank goodness.

Another thing got me hooked, literally. My grandmother taught me to knit. My mother did, as well, but it was mainly Nanna. She crocheted a lot, making herself lacy tops that were like works of art. She had the patience of a saint trying to teach me. Watching her, deliberately going slow to show me, I would be confident that ‘I’d got it’. She would start me off by making a chain then handing me the hook and yarn to carry on. We were making a scarf. I was making a mess.

“Oh, give it here!” Another exasperated grumble as she grabbed the tangle of wool from my hands.

This went on into my teens and I failed to crochet anything except the foundation chain.

My grandmother passed away when I was nineteen. Something must have clicked because shortly after, I discovered I could crochet, after all, and I still do. I crocheted a fancy bedspread. That was the first thing I made. I have lots of blankets I’ve made from crocheted granny squares and I’ve managed to crochet teddy bears for charity. Yes, I’m crochet hooked.

Enid Blyton, known as a story writer, but less known as a poet. This is one of hers,

Fairy Snow

Yesterday, the sky was white,
For one big cloud was spread
From east to west and north to south
Above my head.

But in the night the fairy-folk
Began to wonder why
They saw no moon nor little stars
About the sky.

They didn’t like that big white cloud,
So up they softly flew
And tore it all to tiny bits
The whole night through.

And one by one the bits fell down,
Like feathers soft and white,
Until the ground was overspread
With dazzling white.

And now today that big white cloud
Beneath my feet is spread,
And all the sky is blue again
Above my head.

Enid Blyton  1897-1968

 Greetings from Dumfries & Galloway. Thanks for reading, Pam 

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You Can Never Have Enough Yarn!

I trained in Dress and Design at the "Do School" in Aberdeen, part of Robert Gordon Institute of Technology...now University. I'd been sewing since a child, as my mum had been a tailoress and she passed that skill onto me. My grandmother could not sew...but she knitted and knitted and knitted. The family always had knitted jumpers and cardigans, usually in Fair Isle or Icelandic style. How she managed all those colours was a mystery. Yet my mum didn't knit and I wasn't keen either, though I had to produce some knitwear for coursework.

Instead, I focused on weaving as a specialist subject. I had a small 4-shaft loom at home to do samples on, at college I used a "Harris" loom to produce fabrics from which I designed and made tailored garments. Also I did "tablet" weaving ...a portable method of weaving braids just like the Laplanders used to decorate their garments. For a theme I used "Inspiration For Weaving" . Using designs that appeared in textiles within the North Sea areas...so Scotland, Norway, Iceland, Fair Isles, and Shetland featured in my work. In those days there was no internet, so all research was done by reading and writing to embassies and organisations for information. I recall that I received some lovely information regarding Hardanger embroidery, so when I visited Norway a couple of years ago I was delighted to be taken to the Hardanger Fjord.

When I was pregnant I decided to sew and knit most of the garments required. I'm afraid to say that the knitted garments were mainly plain or striped as that was the extent of my knowledge at that time. Once more I was later encouraged by an elderly neighbour and she nurtured my knitting skills ...and so it was that I took up Aran knitting, with great gusto! My family benefited from real wool sweaters. I only have one cardigan left that I knitted myself. It gets an airing every winter. Why only a couple of weeks ago I looked at it in wonder...just how did I do all that? I thought.

I consider myself a sort of 'Jack of all Trades' as regards all needlecrafts. I try any new skills. I have a lucet (look that up). I've done fabric marbling. I crochet, dressmake, embroidery of all sorts, patchwork, quilting, appliqué..... I have a stash of knitting yarn, embroidery yarn, fabrics of all descriptions for a variety of uses. I probably have more than I'll ever need or use. Fellow needleworkers will know exactly what I am on about. You can never have enough yarn !

Recently I've hankered after a small loom ...but just where am I to find the space or  time to  do
any?

Anyway I read this week of the benefits of knitting to one's health...so I'll just finish that cardigan that I'm making, and finish that crochet hot water bottle cover that's half done, and crochet Anne a promised hat, and print some favourite photos onto that special fabric that goes through the printer    (might make a quilt?) ..Oh ! And I have some hand patchwork lurking in my wee campervan to while away the holiday evenings...

So where might I put this loom?

My piece this week is short and was written some time ago..

                  NEEDLEWORK.   May 2015

                  I sit and I sew- I sew as I sit.
                  Sometimes I sew- sometimes I knit.
                  The hours they pass as my fingers move quick.
                  Sometimes I crochet-sometimes I knit.
                  Sometimes I embroider- sometimes I just sit!

                   Ofttimes I pause and have a long think,
                   Take pencil to paper and fingers move quick
                   To record my thoughts.My brows they knit.
                   Sometimes I write a little bit,
                   Then return to my sewing, as I sit.

Thanks for reading, Kath.

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Yarn - A Lifetime of Knitting

If you know me well enough, you will know that I spend a lot of my time knitting and crocheting.  I love to spend a relaxing evening with a lap full of wool and I’m constantly making baby clothes and things for my grandchildren.

My hobby goes back to when I was a little girl, fascinated by my grandmother who was always knitting, and my mother who, at that time was knitting for the unborn baby that became my little sister. Between them, they taught me. One of them would start me off by ‘casting on’ about twelve stitches then I would knit rows. At the age of seven and a half I was successful at making a plain scarf for a doll. It was a mystery how I always ended up with more stitches than I’d started with, but it didn’t matter, and the holes that sometimes appeared for no reason didn’t matter either. I loved helping my mum with her little matinee coats. She did the ‘purl’ rows and let me do the ‘knit’ rows and being involved in getting things ready for the baby was the best thing ever.

My skills improved as I grew up. In my early teens I wanted to learn to crochet.  Twiggy looked fabulous in a crocheted mini dress with a chain belt. I could make that. Carnaby Street eat your heart out. My Nanna spent hours teaching me. I studied her hand movements intently as she slowly took me step by tiny step. ‘Yarn round the hook once, then through, yarn round the hook twice then through once then once again and do the same in every loop.’ Yes, I followed and understood, I could take it from there, so off I went. A short time later, I would be handing her back a tangled mess of wool. She would tut and I would be holding back tears of frustration.  I never mastered crochet in the grandmother’s lifetime and Twiggy was soon wearing cotton summer dresses with a zip up the front. I had one of those.

I managed to crochet a bedspread when I was about twenty-two. I was living alone and trying to make my flat a home. No television, but there was some great radio drama in the evenings. I had a crochet pattern and lots of determination. It took ages. I still have it, after many years of thinking it was lost, and I’m sure my grandmother would be proud. Both my grandmothers and my mother left me a legacy of life skills.

My husband and I have been staying at our favourite getaway in Dumfries and Galloway recently.  On the way, we usually stop at Castle Douglas for a bite to eat and to stock up with groceries. I take advantage of a gander round one of my favourite shops, Outback Yarns craft shop and always come out with something.  I have a massive collection of various wools and yarns at home, but there’s always room for more. I still have a stash I brought home from the Hebrides last year.

 

I found this poem. I remembered holding out my arms for my mum to wind wool, and it made me smile.

 

She'd bring to me a skein of wool
And beg me to hold out my hands;
so on my pipe I cease to pull
And watch her twine the shining strands
Into a ball so snug and neat,
Perchance a pair of socks to knit
To comfort my unworthy feet,
Or pullover my girth to fit.

As to the winding I would sway,
A poem in my head would sing,
And I would watch in dreamy way
The bright yarn swiftly slendering.
The best I liked were coloured strands
I let my pensive pipe grow cool . . .
Two active and two passive hands,
So busy wining shining wool.

Alas! Two of those hands are cold,
And in these days of wrath and wrong,
I am so wearyful and old,
I wonder if I've lived too long.
So in my loneliness I sit
And dream of sweet domestic rule . . .
When gentle women used to knit,
And men were happy winding wool.

Robert William Service (1874-1958)

 

The bedspread, when I found it again last year.

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

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