Day out

First, some more vintage images for the pattern lovers among you.  Can you imagine a girl in her twenties wearing the tea-cosy hat?

Women's magazines of the time promoted a fantasy lifestyle - as did knitting patterns.  All older men played golf and smoked pipes.  Horse-riding and skiing were, supposedly, very popular with the young crowd.  This Aran Coat pattern offers two "looks", for country walks or for shopping in town.  Compare this to the "Technical" walking gear in favour now.

Today we took a short drive to Audley End, a mansion in the care of English Heritage.  It is a place with a past, built originally by Thomas, Lord Audley who was Henry V111th's Lord Chancellor.  It was remodelled and reduced over the centuries and became Station 43 in World War Two to house Polish airmen in training.  Now, the interior of the house is curiously dislocated, with spendid rooms and spectacular ceilings presented in a way which does not suggest that anyone ever lived there.

The gardens, however, are wonderful - peaches in hothouses and a full-scale orchard house and vinery.  Miles of old brick walls lined with every kind of fan-trained pear and apple.

 And this extraordinary building from 1610.  Notice how the bottom row of leaded lights is blacked out.  This is because soon after it was built it was refitted as a stable block, and three lovely animals were patiently receiving visitors today.

 

Loft clearance

My husband and I are hoarders.  What's more, we both come from generations of hoarders.  Saving every paper bag and piece of string that enters the house?  Entire larders full of empty jam jars?  Cutting buttons off worn-out shirts?  Storing ancient woollen clothes with the idea that you could make a mat?  We have both been there.

So when we decided that this was the time to tackle the loft, on the grounds that advancing age and back trouble may soon overtake our ability to manhandle boxes down a ladder, it was always going to be hard.

When we moved here over twenty years ago we were merging two houses, so some boxes went straight into store and have bided their time undisturbed. Tidying rooms in the main house had often led to an additional box going up into store.  Teaching,  in the days before computers, generated huge quantities of worksheets.  Similarly, at one time people wrote letters, often over periods of years.  And there were boxes from both my mother's and my aunt's house clearances.

Our previous system had been to rely on the cardboard box and the black bin-liner.  Over these went a sheet of heavy duty plastic and on to this sifted down the dust of ages from the rafters.  All this made the job an endurance test physically, as we tried to sift out what, if anything, was to be kept.
All the worksheets could go; likewise the documentation from the 80s on innovative training schemes, no question.  But the correspondence?  Just to open any of those letters was to be taken back to an earlier time, more pungently than those curious photographs where the men all have hair and lots of it.  Thirty years, forty, fell away.  So they remain in store.

One of my mother's collections was of knitting patterns.  The earliest, this example from "Farm, Field and Fireside", dated 1914.  My goodness, eyesight must have been better in those days: the print is tiny.  The format is a curious one; queries posted one issue are picked up and answered in the next,  So, we have Stockings for soldiers.

 

 

 

Recently a colleague brought in her five-week old baby to visit, dressed in denim jeans and a brown smock top, virtually identical to the outfit that she was wearing herself.  Once, toddlers wore special outfits.

 

 

Teenagers were well catered for with "gay" accessories and sporting outfits.

 

 

 

 

Age appropriate clothing went on throughout life; people knew who they were in those days, although the model probably isn't much over forty.

 

Heat waves

It certainly is hot here today.  The weathermen keep referencing 2006, of which I have no recollection at all.  1976, however, was memorable for a number of reasons.  We visited Blenheim Palace and the water in the lakes was so low that fish were dying.  Everywhere was parched and yellow.

In 2003, the weather was scorching just at this time.  Sadly, a colleague with a long-term health issue went home for the holidays and died overnight - on the first night of the school holidays. She was someone who really enjoyed life and it seemed a terrible irony that she worked to the last day, but did not get even oneday of holiday.

 We all gathered for her funeral on a very hot day, so hot that someone wore a strapless black dress to the ceremony.  I had already gone north and made a special trip back south for the funeral.  We had booked a cottage in the Duddon valley and we spent the day after my return sitting on the banks of the Duddon with our feet in the water, reading the Sunday papers.  The number of days in a lifetime when it would be possible to do that is very small, so we will always remember it.

It was also in 2003 that I bought two whole packs of Rowan yarn in Oxfam, with the Rowan magazine: Kidsilk Haze in burnt orange and Cork in a pale grey.  Someone must have made an expensive mistake.  I have been waiting for the right project for the Cork these ten years.

In this hot weather, I have been knitting a cabled strip for a new throw.  The narrow width means that it is easily portable and does not add to the heat of the knitter.  With one strip complete I have begun this spindle shape, using the grey Cork.  I am trying for a more random effect, using neutral tones, but not trying to balance all the patterns.  This goes against the grain, but I am trying to convince myself that random is good.

 

Fields of Gold 2

While away, I had plenty of time to knit on my Star Leaves shawl.  Non-lace-knitters were impressed by my ability to chat while knitting row after row of apparently complex lace.  Of course, most of the pattern rows consisted of two or three simple elements repeated many times, with the stitches already on the needle making it clear what was to happen next, with no need for the chart.  It was a different story when I started the first rows of this shawl, but the final rows were simply long.

 

Once off the needles, the shawl still looked less than impressive.

However, a little bath and some gentle blocking produced this.

Here it is being worn by the sofa in our livingroom.

And a truer representation of the lovely colours.

I bought this at Easter from the Wool Clip at Caldbeck.  It is a blend of silk and Bluefaced Leicester.  When I saw the skein, I just had to have it, although I usually choose blues and purples.   For under twenty pounds, this was a very satisfying knit and produced a lovely shawl.

In Cumbria, we tackled a walk we have been looking at for some time: up the ridge including Ladyside Pike and along the top of Hopegill Head.  A long steady climb brought the summit into view.  We sat and ate our sandwiches.  There did appear to be a path at the base of the cliff that gave access to Hopegill Head, but how did it cross the face?  Wainwright described it as "excellent", so we gave it a go.  As we scrambled up near-vertical slabs of rock, we wondered what his version of "terrifying" would be.  However, hearts pounding, we managed it.  We did notice that most of the other walkers were using different routes along the top.

 

Views of Ladyside Pike with Hopegill Head behind.  Note the steep cliffs to the left of Hopegill.

 

 

 

View back down from Ladyside Pike.

 

View from the ridge path just below Whiteside.
 

Fields of Gold

We have been away.  First a week in my ancestral valley: Kentmere, which was once in Westmorland and is now Cumbria.  My great great grandparents farmed at Kentmere Hall, presumably as tenants, and are buried in the churchyard in the valley.  Our walks took us past the farmstead with its distinctive peel tower, now a ruin.

All through the valley, buttercups sprinkled the hay-meadows with gold.  Our romantic theories on the reasons for this were scotched by my older sister, a farmer herself, who confirmed that it was the year of the buttercup, which prefers land without nitrates.   Heavy rains last year will have washed these out of the soil.

 

We were with a walking party, several of them much fitter than we are.  We stayed at this wonderful property, Pout Howe, from which the views of the high tops which make up the Kentmere Round were astounding. 

 

This quaint set of outbuildings was once the earth closet and wash house for the property. 

We chose to walk only half of the famous round, since we had covered the Ill Bell section last summer, from Troutbeck.  So we ascended to Kentmere Pike and then came down the Nan Bield Pass.  This was a walk involving some rock scrambling and certainly offered dramatic views of Haweswater and Small Water, the tarn.  We were surprised to see a woman walking the top section wearing open-toed sandals, and another carrying a lapdog in a papoose.

 

 

Bibelots

This week I learnt a new skill: weaving on a wire warp.  Melinda Berkowitz was running a workshop as part of the textile festival at the Warner Textile Archive.  First we hammered in tacks to make a simple loom.  Then we wound the warp around the tacks.  After that it was child's play to weave yarn of different textures, using a tapestry needle.

 Here, I'm aiming at a beach landscape, and have incorporated a piece of beach glass to add authenticity.  It's not finished yet of course, but I am quite pleased with it.  I say "Quite pleased" because I am struck by my lack of visual memory when I start something like this.  Does the sand get darker or lighter to give an illusion of distance?  I should have used a photograph as a guide.

Saturday to Cambridge, which is an hour's drive away.  When I was eighteen I had an interview for admission to Newnham.  I clearly remember wandering around the open market in the centre and seeing a stall selling sheepskins.  I remember buying a pair of blue tights, which I was very fond of.
Cambridge is still a delight for a little light browsing, as the presence of so many students  - and tourists - fosters all knds of arty shops which you don't see elsewhere.

Everywhere you look are little architectural details from older times.

And, of course, there are lots of lovely places to eat - my favourite being Michaeljohn, a converted church.  This is a theme we've been seeing a lot recently.

Norwich 2

When we visited Norwich late last year, we promised ourselves that we would repeat the trip.  This Wednesday we took the train again, starting out with a visit to Strangers' Hall.  The "strangers" in question were Flemish weavers, arriving in medieval times.  The museum now includes a veritable warren of rooms, beginning with a hall in the ancient sense of a large room open to the roof.

Through the building, rooms are furnished to match different periods of the house's occupation, from the 14th century vaulted undercroft onwards.  This fine walnut cabinet was in a room of 17th century inlaid furniture.  There was a Georgian drawing room and a Victorian nursery.  We found it fascinating.

By then it was lunch-time and we had booked at Jamie's Italian, which is in the Art Nouveau Royal Arcade.  Apart from the service, which was very slow for lunch-time, we enjoyed it very much.  Even simple bruschetta had lovely fresh ingredients and a lemony dressing.  Nor was it over-priced.

Everywhere you look in Norwich there is something interesting to see.  What about this little survivor, standing alone?

A cinema converted from some ancient buildings.

The wall of the house next to the Bridewell Museum, faced with shaped flints.

Knitting on the Star Leaves Shawl continues apace now that I am beyond the chevron of nupps.  These are clearly a key feature of Estonian lace, and lovely when they work out.  However, it is all to easy to miss a thread or two when purling them all together, and jolly difficult to put right.  My plan is to secure any messy ones at the finishing stage, which has worked for me before.

I am moving through the lace leaf section, and here the logic of lace, where the stitches sitting on the needle dictate what must be to happen in that row, makes for a very satisfying time.  I have discovered that it is possible to listen to the archive of "Desert Island Discs" on i-player - U.A.Fanthorpe - classic English songs, Vikram Seth - his own translation of an 8th century Chinese poet set to music, Alice Walker - highly emotional contemporary pieces ... absolutely fascinating.

 

First Fruits

 

This week we ate the first of the lettuces grown on from seedlings.  Odd how lettuce seems to be frost-resistant.  I had thought this might have the bitter taste red lettuces sometimes have, but in fact it was tender and sweet.

 

Yesterday I made the first batch of jam this year: rhubarb and ginger.  I remember eating this at my grandmother's house, but I have never made it before.  One kilo of rhubarb with a kilo of jam sugar and some preserved ginger.  It was very easy to make and tastes absolutely delicious.

This is the Spectra scarf by Stephen West.  I used Noro Silk Garden Lite in an odd colourway where the second skein suddenly included a bright orange - I left it out.  Now the puzzle is to work out how to wear this, as, of course, it twirls around.  Looks spectacular though, and would be an ideal way to use up two skeins  of lovely yarn bought on impulse.

 

My new project is just up and running, speaking of lovely skeins.  I bought this at The Woolclip at Caldbeck at Easter. It has a large element of silk in the mix so that the colours really glow.   Something with leaves, I thought, and downloaded the pattern for the Star Leaves shawl by Jennifer Johnson Johnen.

This is Estonian lace, and even the explanations for the abbreviations had me foxed.  But the wonders of the Internet are boundless.  On the Ravelry KAL for the shawl, some kind soul has uploaded a little video tutorial on the unfamiliar stitches - taking the picture herself by holding the camera under her chin while filming.  Truly amazing and very helpful. 

Box of Delights

And who might this grim-looking crew be?  In fact, this is a picture taken to mark the Golden Wedding of my great-grandfather in 1926, pictured seated with his wife and surrounded by his seven children.  The mood certainly looks like a celebration, doesn't it?  The photo appeared in the local newspaper.

Family legend has it that the old man refused to change out of his clogs for the event, or the photo.  What his wife felt is not recorded, though doubtless after fifty years she was used to him. 

My great-grandfather was a farmer in Cumbria, but he was also a self-educated man, well-versed in the law.  In the attic of the farm where I was born remained part of his extensive library of second-hand books, history and non-fiction in the main, but with some collections of poetry.  I remember reading "Hiawatha" from a miniature Selected Longfellow.

 The story goes that as a youth he severed the ligaments in his ankle in an accident with a scythe.  They were on a remote farm, so his mother sewed him up with a sewing needle and in later life he walked with two sticks.    This did not stop him walking distances we would find unbelievable now, not as a sport but in order to visit the various cattle auctions.

The chap on the far right is my paternal grandfather, who was about thirty-nine at the time of the picture.  He looked very much like this when I knew him in his seventies.  On his feet he has a pair of stout boots, although he woould have worn clogs for every day, like his father.

I had never expected to see a photograph of my great-grandparents, but this one surfaced quite recently.  Perhaps someone also has an image of my maternal grandfather, a man I never met.


I thought I would share with you some images of the box I described in my last post.  This is a sycamore box, about a foot in each dimension.  Inset on each side are panels of silk, painted and embroidered, showing different natural scenes, possibly the four seasons.  This first one is definitely spring-like.

Or perhaps this increasingly green panel is Spring and the blue one Summer?

Here, the mood has changed to stormy.  The painting of the heron in flight is particularly dramatic.

 

 

And now all the colours are bleached and the bird has become a kestrel hovering.

I think these panels were embroidered by Meg Falconer, but I am not absolutely certain of that.

Inside the box are other containers, nestling one inside the other, like Russian dolls.  I won all this as a prize in 1983, and unpacking it was a revelation.