My mother loved to knit.
Just about every memory I have of her as a child revolves around her knitting something or working in the kitchen. Which really, when you think about it, is a perfectly wonderful place to be. Obviously my lack of culinary prowess is due to the generation-skipping effect and I expect Miss Moo to end up a chef.
When I was a teenager, she discovered Jean Greenhowe's designs and for several years she was heavily into knitting toys. But she couldn't sew them up to save herself, so that job fell to me. We spent many a long Saturday watching Pride & Prejudice (the 'proper' BBC version, not the pale imitations!) or the Anne of Green Gables movies. We'd seen them millions of times before, but it was a standard pairing - knitting and girly movies. We'd half watch and half listen as we both went about our work with the needle.
Me, I could never figure out how to make string into a scarecrow like she could. But I loved the toys. We made just about every Jean Greenhowe design there was at some point. We prided ourselves on our work - we often saw Jean's designs at fetes and fairs, or on craft stalls at the local market, and knew our workmanship was better. We started getting requests for the knitted toys for presents. We made about six or seven of the Sidney Slapstick clown doll. The detail was extraordinary and one of these larger dolls would take us three or four weeks to complete (Mum worked, I had school). If we ever charged for our work, it was never enough to cover our labour - it just kept us in wool.
On and off over the ten years since I'd left home, Mum had often suggested we pick up the knitting toys 'business' again - she'd knit the pieces, include enough of the co-ordinating colour wool to do the sewing up on my end, and post it all to where I was living 5 hours away. She told me if I could get them put together and sold, I was free to keep the profits. She wanted no money for posting or for materials. Looking back, I can now see this for what it was - she just wanted to keep the connection going. But I was busy, you know? I had my study, then (eventually) small children to care for and the idea kind of evaporated. Mum kept all her Jean Greenhowe books though, neatly separated and inserted into clear display books to protect the pages.
Mum died last May, just after Mother's Day and her 55th birthday. As the first anniversary draws near I find myself thinking more and more about the kind of woman she was. She was dead-set salt of the earth - rough round the edges, wrinkled, weary, experienced. I know now the sacrifices she made for her family - they are the same struggles I deal with today. She wasn't here (in spirit - geographically she lived clear across the country anyway) for Miss Moo's first day of school or for our discovery of Boofah's giftedness. She didn't see Master J transition to his new school. She won't see first days of high school, first boyfriends (or girlfriends!). She won't have the grandkids over to stay the night like the other Nana does. She won't be at weddings. She won't usher in the new life that would come via her great-grandchildren.
I was passing through the manchester section of a large department store yesterday and found myself paused in front of the pattern books. Learn to Knit just about jumped out and smacked me in the face. I almost bought it.
I think I'll ring my sister tonight and ask for her to begin sending Mum's Jean Greenhowe folders down. And when Miss Moo is old enough I'll shoo the boys off to play footy or cricket or something, slip Anne into the DVD player, and teach my daughter to knit. Of course, I'll probably have to do a crash course with her :) When she (and I) have progressed past scarves and squares, we'll make another Sidney.
Cheers,
Lizzie
Lizzie
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