Family Of Four: 48 - The Mitten Ordeal
...One event I found quite shattering! Doreen and I rather laboriously knitted big mittens in coarse khaki wool for the soldiers, and Mummy great, long scarves and Balaclava helmets. I still feel proud that I managed to complete seven pairs, fourteen mittens, a real effort on my part...
Mrs Vivien Hirst recalls efforts on the home front to aid the troops during the First World War.
Mrs Hirst's memories were gathered into a book, Family Of Four, by her nephew, Raymond Prior.
Daddy persuaded Mummy to organise the saving of tinfoil in the town, and we children collected it from the shops and public houses. We were not allowed to enter the latter and so we stood outside, patiently waiting for it to be handed over to us.
A big meeting took place in the main hall of the Town Hall, where Mummy gave her report, she who had done no public work and who had never before spoken from a platform. It must have been an ordeal and she was reluctant, but upheld by Daddy's experience she sailed through with flying colours being warmly congratulated by many, and told how clearly her voice had carried to the back of the hall.
One event I found quite shattering! Doreen and I rather laboriously knitted big mittens in coarse khaki wool for the soldiers, and Mummy great, long scarves and Balaclava helmets. I still feel proud that I managed to complete seven pairs, fourteen mittens, a real effort on my part.
Daddy's enthusiasm knew no bounds. Working himself, night and day, he suddenly had an inspiration! He thought of all the hours throughout the year when hands were lying idle as people sat in churches and chapels listening to the sermons, somewhat long-winded at that time. He resolved to set an example and hoped to begin a fashion, and here I became involved!
"Bibs," he said to me one day, "next Sunday you must take your mitten to Chapel and during the sermon you must knit for the whole length of time," explaining what he had in mind.
I protested vigorously. "I can't do that, Daddy, everyone will look at me and people won't like it."
"Never mind what people like. Think of all the garments that could be knitted, Sunday by Sunday, whilst they are sitting idly listening. They might just as well be doing something useful and greatly needed, and they can listen perfectly well at the same time."
I was in a flurry. I knew no further protest would have the slightest effect upon Daddy; when he had made up his mind upon a matter he seldom swerved. Mummy knew this equally well and made no attempt to dissuade him.
I cast about in my mind, planning to be ill, anything to save me from this ordeal, but by the time Sunday dawned I was the picture of health, and I never could tell a lie without a blush. There was nothing for it but to gather up the offending mitten and carry it with me to Chapel.
I waited, restless and uneasy, for the dreaded sermon to commence. Daddy, smiling encouragingly but determinedly, nodded his head as a signal I was to begin. Clumsily I gathered the strand of wool into my fingers, tucked the needles under my arms, and set myself to endure, my cheeks burning, and breathing uneasily.
Click! click! click! went the needles. Did the Minister's eye light upon my guilty fingers? Yes, he even leaned forward to see more clearly, and my cheeks burned the more fiercely. He paused frequently, quite put off by this unusual event, so that the persistent clicking sounded loud in my ears.
This delighted Daddy, and glancing discreetly about him he saw one figure craning forward, then another, a slight twisting of necks in my direction, a stare from the lady in the toque sitting in front, and he felt satisfied that I had both been seen and heard and he fervently hoped the idea would catch on.
What relief I felt when the sermon ended and I could drop the mitten and push it away into its bag!
Comment there certainly was but quite the opposite to Daddy's expectations!
