My history map

A long time ago, in that other country, The Past, a small girl lived with her mummy and daddy in a compact sixties semi in a quiet close of similar modest homes. 

Their home was just one corner of a busy market town, tucked beside the Downs in Hampshire, with Butser Hill an ever present, but distant marker in the background of their lives. The house sat beside a plentiful thicket of brambles and wild ground, perfect for playing with The Gang and gathering blackberries. A very small stream ran along the bottom of all the back gardens, and the main road was far enough away to be no danger.

At the front of their collected houses was a wide green, bordered by two rows of "houses for elderly folk". Sometimes the little girl scavenged blackberries, or scrambled in the undergrowth with The Gang; playing hide and seek, surprising a slow worm, or trying to climb the scrubby trees growing on the land; sometimes she dressed as a fairy princess and floated about on the green outside, chaperoned by her trusted feline assistant, Kandy, watched by mummy from the window of her sun filled kitchen.

Sadly, the little girl's daddy and her grandad died within a year of each other, the year she became eight, and their life together there was over. She and her mummy had to travel all the way along the A272, she doing the map reading while Mummy drove, to live with her granny, known and loved as "Ganna". Mummy had to go back out to work full time, while Ganna, at the age of 70, became the mother of the house in all ways. 

with Ganna and Grandad in happier times

That little girl was, of course, me. I look back on that time, not as something remembered, but as part of the myth of the past by which, to some extent, we all live; those things we understand happened to us, but which evoke no sense of lived reality. As an adult, I think of my poor Mum, coping with the loss of so very much, relinquishing her parenthood and going back to being a daughter in the house. I think of eight year old me, trying to adjust to such a huge change of living. I was lucky, in that Ganna was the most wonderful second parent, and my life was enriched by her presence, but still it was a big disruption.

In Sussex Stitchers this year, we have a project where we are each encouraged to create an embroidery centered around a map of some sort. I have chosen this, my most momentous journey, as the story behind my map. Transferring various images onto printable organza, I layered them over another, printed onto silk: this layer is backed by white cotton sateen to give substance to stitch into. The imagery I have used includes some photos from above, but also clips from my mother's diary of the time; entries from February, when he died, and November when we left all we knew to move back to Ganna's house. I used MistyFuse to attach those organza layers, and have quietly stitched into the fabric with simple couching, running and seed stitch, using some metallics, silk and stranded cotton. I am toying, now, with bordering the piece with some vintage lace edging. This reflects that remembered sense of having stepped back into an earlier time, that of my grandmother's world, rather than the sixties in which, in theory, I grew up.

Behind all this past detail is a faded out version of an oil pastel sketch I created on a return visit to the area around 30 plus years ago. I was exploring the top of Butser Hill as evening approached; sketching a hawthorn tree, the layers of the downs and the curve of the A3 winding through them on its way to Portsmouth. As evening approached there were wonderful layers of clouds to catch the dying light, it was a magical experience. 

I am hoping these fleeting glimpses once finished, will create some sense of that lost life which sits, in its own little flickering, glowing space, inside my inner mind. There is more to do, but I am content with the outcome so far. I hope you like it.

more serendipity

Because it was in my mind, and because I have been working with the design, I was putting strings of likely keywords into the Ubiquitous Search Engine. I found this on Etsy, with closeups of the stitching. It could be her cushion cover, the fabric looks the same. I wonder if it came as a kit. Not sure I'll use their method of six strands of embroidery floss though, which looks rather bulky. I'll have to have a think about what will work better. Even three strands of floss would give more delicacy to the image.

How strange it is that this object from my long ago past has been strewn in my path by the universe! 

I have the design sized up on baking parchment

and quite a nice piece of oatmeal coloured Irish linen, which would acknowledge her Irish heritage. 

I also remembered the "this will come in useful one day" purchase from long ago which still seems to work - a pink transfer pencil. Now to see if the current measurements come anywhere near standard cushion pads! 

And, of course, to delve into my stashes of thread!

Such treasure

This is Ganna's chair.  

It was always called "The Bergere Chair", and she sat and pondered in it every day. It lived in her ground floor bedroom, just beside the window which looked out over Alexandra Park. It proved a difficult object to negotiate in the middle of the night when, creeping back in, having forgotten my key, I was glad to find her window unlocked, but dismayed to find that the back of the chair was hooked over the brass handle, with which one pulled up old fashioned Victorian sash windows. It added somewhat to the weight I had to lift, and made waking my grandmother, at 1am, far more likely. 

When she sat in her chair, she always had a cushion at her back, stitched by her. It was one of the things which drew me to embroidery. To my dismay, it disappeared from our trove of "household objects" at some stage, and I have, over the years, trawled the web to try and find the pattern, to no avail.

I sit in her chair most days, tucked into another bay window, in another Victorian house. I ponder in it sometimes, but stitch more often. I too use a cushion at my back. I have a great deal more muddle around it than my orderly grandmother would ever have tolerated!

As you know I am part of Christine's Studio 11 community. Yesterday, on Facebook, she posted about a piece of fabric, part of a trove of vintage linens that have come to her. She has plans to "stitch it to show deterioration due to age and dementia", part of her long running series of textile works which reference her experience of losing her father to the disease. But first, she has kindly photographed it for me. It is, of course, Ganna's cushion, unmistakable. I can trace it out for myself, and use to recreate this early treasure, and lean against it in the chair that held its original. 

Given my track record this may, of course, take a while! I hope I can do it justice

updated yarn

A yarn can be something that you knit or weave or even stitch with, or it can be a tangled tale with twists and turns and little diversions along the way.

The first meaning is obviously what the image below is all about. Yes, a little while ago I treated myself to some lovely Noro yarn, on sale in a very fine wool shop near where I live, which was closing down. Both my loss and my gain. Then a couple of weeks ago I went out with beloved daughter to buy a dress for her for our wedding, and was lured into buying yet more yarn, as one is from time to time. 

I felt it only right that the less recent purchase should be knitted up first, so here is the knitting in progress, along with the pattern.

I have to say, I don't think I'll look anything like as fey and girlish in my version, but (and this is very important to me) the cardigan will be symmetrical across the front, not all skew whiff like the illustration in their pattern book. I have puzzled over this for some time; why oh why are all Noro patterns knitted up all any old how in relation to the (absolutely beautiful) colour changes in the yarns? A brief bit of research online found me this little gem of a phrase from the "blurb" on their website.

"Harmonize natural unevenness, asymmetric pattern and complex color to portray the beauty of the nature. Taking sufficient time to dye and yarn natural flavors and tenderness of materials to preserve their original characters"

Well - apart from the delighfully idiosyncratic translation from the Japanese, I guess the "asymmetric pattern and complex colour" explains the lack of symmetry. But when did you last see an asymmetric butterfly, or flower, or bird's wing pattern, or tabby cat's stripes? 

Nope, just can't be doing with all of that. My cardigan will have, I hope, perfectly matched colour changes across the front and the sleeves, which will give me great satsifaction. Yes that does require hunting through the remaining balls to find the one which starts as near as possible to the end of the previous one, and cutting out the excess but I can use that up in the collar, so no waste there! And what satisfaction when I finally sew it all together and the colour bands flow across my imperfect body in perfect symmetry!!

So, to my second yarn, the tale of the Damn Bloody Mouse - known as DBM hereafter. Yes, there is a link with the following pictures I promise.

We have two lovely cats, Rum and Raisin, who have shared our lives for the past ten or so years. We love them dearly, and feed them far too many biscuits but they are cats, and they do what cats do; catch things. Rum's catches ususally get crunched up on the lawn, though occasionally they are brought in for consumption overnight, with little bits left by the Man's chair in case he's peckish in the morning. Raisin, however, is a bit more squeamish. Once the excitement of the chase and catch is over, he's not quite sure what he should do with this poor wriggling furry thing. So in he comes clattering through the cat flap, a scurry, a yowl or two, and I rush into the kitchen to find a mouse (DBM) cowering under the dresser (where all good mice should hide) and a grumpy fat cat doing his best to get under the dresser. A cat and mouse impasse. I removed the cat, and found things to block up the ends of the dresser so that DBM couldn't escape. However, DBM had escaped already, to hide beneath the bookshelf in the sitting room. Aha, I thought, I can block up the wavy front esdge of the bookshelf with "more things", heavy enough and malleable enough to fit under the wavy bits and leave one small space for DBM to come out. The one small space was, of course, cleverly adapted with a humane mouse trap, baited with rather nice nuts and chocolate biscuits. No problem I thought.

Two days later, having sat each morning listening to little mouse scrabbles, and thinking, "oh, he'll be out soon, tidily captured in the mouse trap" I came down to find that two of the "things" used to block all exits had been wriggeld through and there was no DBM any more. And, to add insult to injury, DBM had been very grateful for the nice feast I'd supplied him, easily accessed by nibbling through the soft corduroy cover that ennables wheat packs to be heated up in microwaves before being applied to sore necks. Perhaps not my best choice for a mouse barrier!

So what does this have to do with the pictures below?

Well, for the next two nights I was awoken several times by little scrabbles and scuttlings in my bedroom. Ye Gods, I thought, DBM has found it's way upstairs and is negotiating the maze of boxes and whotnot under my bed. This is definitely Not Good. The first task, obviously, was to buy more humane mouse traps; the second to move all the boxes out from under the bed, then crawl about, with no thought of dignity, with torch and long poky thing to find the whereabouts of the DBM.

What did I find? A great deal of dust; a pen I'd lost; a single sock; a bookmark; an empy pack of aspirin. I also reacquainted myself with the precious contents of these many and various boxes: old writing cases belonging to Ganna and Mum, stuffed with letters, diaries, account books and the like; a complete handwritten draft of one of Gannas novels, along with the typewritten version that Mum did for her to send to the publishers; a small suitcase with a set of old reel to reel tapes which I know have all of us (me, Mum, Dad, Ganna and Grandad) talking many many years ago in Petersfield when Dad was still alive and playing with his new Grundig tape recorder. And this very fine collection of rug yarns, complete with the canvas (3' x 6') and a handwritten list of the amounts of every yarn there. 

Some were easy - just count the drums and you know how many pieces you've got, but I had a vision of Mum sitting and patiently counting out 929 pieces of green, 482 pale pink, 33 dark blue, 2 khaki ...... as all those below were just small remainders, carefully packed into plastic bags to keep them safe.

They have sat there I'd guess, for the best part of the last 40 odd years, kept for "one day" when she would have time to make the next rug. One day never came - it often doesn't, so here they still are, awaiting a hand and a design to make the best use of them, along with the list of amounts, and calculations of how many pieces would be needed to fill that canvas.

But what of the DBM? Not a sign, not the merest twitch of a whisker, nothing. But still, occasionally, I hear a little scratch and scrabble in the middle of the night. Not in my room, no no, in the walls of my room. I assume the wretched creature has found its way in somehow, and is now searching the fabric of the house for more tasty morsels. All we can hope is that a) it doesn't start trying to eat the wires, b) it finds its way outside somehow, without encountering an enthusaustic feline on its journeys and c) it does so very soon, as I'm rather tired of sleeping with one ear cocked just in case it finds its way onto the bed!!

Couching.

Which is a word rather like couchant, which comes from the French word for lying down, which has a particular meaning for me as it appears in one of Ganna's novels, spoken about the sight of a headland, rather like. Beachy Head. This headland is in Swanage, know there as Ballard Down, I have a tinted photograph just outside my bedroom door.

The novel is called Glory Down. I have read it several times, but so long ago now I can't remember the detail. I'm off for a couple of weeks over Christmas, and might read it then.

Working notes in Ganna's handwriting

But I digress. Couching. Using stitch to apply thread, or other, to a ground material, in this case the piece I've already used for the laid work.

I had been over in Eastbourne, and wandered into the little mall beside the station, looking for things to couch down. There's a little embroidery shop there, which always has something a bit out of the ordinary. I brought my treasures home, and, unpacking them, thought to look for what else I might have tucked in a drawer or two! I came up with these.

Then I thought to look further, what else might I couch down? A piece of fabric from a dyeing experiment, some fragments of Mum's dresses from. My scrap box, a vivid bit of turquoise, all repurposed fabrics, stitched to a charity shop find damask napkin which served as ground for the laid work.



Then I started stitching down the dyed fabric and did a little what if, which I am just starting to understand after following Jude's Blog for some years now? What if I bring the needle up and put it down within the profile of the strip of fabric?


A slight ripple in the fabric, which could be exaggerated but here is just held in with some turquoise fly stitches, their tails lengthened to accommodate the narrowness of the fabric.


I also discovered one has to have a full stop, or the fabric will flip up in an ungainly way!

Here some French knots and a little nine patch to echo the one in the centre hold everything in place, and stop the fabric from fraying any further. A little bit of fray brings out that lovely contrast between warp and weft.

Here, the same technique with the same thread gives me a flower garden, and allows a bit more of mum's dress to show behind the flower fabric.

I did my best to continue the colour theme from the central piece of stitching, it must have some common theme to pull it all together, colour seems a good start.

I also try to use an elbows length of thread, as advised by Barbara, more or less, depending on the thing I'm stitching, the change colour - so what follows can contrast entirely, so long as it works with the colour theme and with what's being stitched down.n

something for Her Majesty

Our regional challenge - note how I just casually drop in the "our", when in reality I'm such a new girl! Anyway, the regional challenge for the local Guild is to produce a piece of wearable art for the Queen's Jubilee. We, that is the members, are creating a series of  sort of "slips"; separate bits of embroidery, on a street party theme, to be carefully stitched to a dress that is being loaned to us for the project. In the past slips were on canvas, usually on a horticultural theme and made to be applied to hangings. We'll display our contribution, along with those of the other groups in the south east, and will be judged on the grand regional jamboree day out.You'll remember last year's was my somewhat whimsical Beezeyeview which does at least mean I've been a member for nearly a year, since that was for last year's challenge. I have been tasked with producing an ice cream dish with three scoops, some wafers and a cherry on top! The design has been provided along with clear instructions on how to proceed.

I've hunted down some fabrics in the right colours, and made a start with the dish. I did a couple of trials on some spare fabric - very useful as they helped me understand how the stitching would react with the fabric and allowed me to adapt the way I was going to work..

Talking of being helped to understand - my advice - please take it - don't include your finger in the piece you're stitching on the sewing machine, it's very unhelpful!

Anyway, inspired by the glitzy piece I did for Brodie, I thought a little celebratory sparkle might be in order since this is for a Jubilee celebration, so I've very carefully done a bit of reverse applique. First I got the fabric all pinned down, marked and tacked so I knew where I was going.

Then I stitched round the lines, first with straight stitch to stabilise the fabric, then with zig zag satin stitch to create an edge to cut against. Then I cut away the green fabric from the front, inside the diamond stitching.

Then I needed something to back the organza and bring our its glamour, a bit of a scrap I found while rummaging in Hastings Old Town recently - the best place to rummage I have to say. I stumbled upon a delightful shop, run by a delightful lady, with all sorts of scraps and bits of lovely fabric. She asked me what I was going to do, when I got home, with the little hoard I was clutching to my chest. "Probably take it out and stroke it" was my reply! I'll have to go back and tell her that a little bit became part of a Jubilee embroidery.

Anyway, where was I? Yes, I tacked this to the back of the piece, turned it over and stitched round the diamonds again and voila! A diamond cut green glass sundae dish ..... if you squint carefully!

I think I'll go round the outline with buttonhole stitch - I can almost recall Ganna teaching me how to do it - very useful for cutwork table runners, tray cloths, napkins and "dressing table doilies" ! It will allow me to cut the pieces out, so they can be assembled and fixed in pace with vilene on the back.

I'm also going to add some more embroidery to the stem and base, with perhaps a bit more of that exciting turquoise that reminds me of peacocks feathers.

Then there's the blobs of ice cream to do! Oh, and the wafers, and the cherries which I am going to try and do with free machine embroidery over soluble film to see if I can achieve something like a stitched badge, with perhaps a couple of silver beads of dew on the surface, and scattered across the ice cream. I'll use a scrap of salvaged silk to fill the in betweens. Hope I get it finished in time - it is jolly good fun doing something to a brief.

As I work, I sit at Mum's little kneehole desk, which she bought in her just post war youth. It used to house her typewriter, the source of countless letters to friends and loved ones; letters full of good humour, little rhymes, concern for and interest in all the various people around her. The ratatat tat of her fingers as they flew over the keys were the backdrop to my childhood. She bought it with wages earned shorthand typing in a dingy London Office, all the while longing to study music and play her beloved piano.