Open Writing

After pinning the seam, she stitched it carefully, making sure the material did not pucker. Not satisfied, she decided that it needed reinforcing tape on the shoulders and went to her cupboard for something suitable.

A quick rummage and she unearthed a bag of odds and ends; different coloured ribbon last used 50 years ago to trim her babies first nightgowns, yards of wide double-edged blue satin ribbon to bind the edges of her son’s fluffy cot blanket and some colourful blue and pink tape with rows of baby ducks swimming she’d bought to trim the baby’s bib.

There was a faded card of assorted lace petticoat edgings from her mother’s effects, together with an old-fashioned needle case with paper labels for the different types. ‘Sharps’, ‘Darners’, ’Straw’ and an unnamed selection of needles with tiny holes, probably for millinery or fine embroidery using a single thread.

Wonder how Granny managed to thread these, she mused, turning the flannel pages in the old-fashioned case. There she saw the strong canvas needle she remembered her Mother using to mend the old canvas camping stretcher and next to it, pinned to the flannel page, the diamond pointed needle for leather goods. The correct way for working with leather was to use two separate needles and waxed linen thread to give a straight line of continuous stitches, and she remembered how excited she’d been when she’d started on a school project to make a leather tote bag. That was until she realised how much hard work was involved and her enthusiasm died. The bag ended up, as so many of her passing fancies did, only half-completed in a pile of junk later given to a jumble sale. Finally she found a suitable length of tape and returned to her sewing machine to finish the jacket.

Amazing how things have changed over the years. Today’s woman is too busy to consider sewing for the family, her presence in the office takes precedence over everything. So often the introduction of “Babygros” and disposable nappies, fast-foods and man-made fibres that can be tossed into the washing machine and tumble dried have put paid to all the old crafts and skills passed down the generations by our forebears.

The intricate colours and patterns of Fair Isle pullovers; the interwoven cables, complicated ‘knots’ and swirls of Irish Aran knitting; socks skilfully constructed on four needles [all that ‘turning the heel’ and ‘grafting the toe’]; Matinee jackets, crocheted bonnets and shawls, knitted ‘crawlers’ to keep the toes of active babies warm, how many of these wonderful skills are still actively practiced these days? Hours of a housewife’s life were spent making garments to kit out the family in for every season of the year from textiles of every kind. In earlier days, lengthening seams and widening bodices for young growing bodies was understood by everyone and seldom questioned, although many a young girl wistfully longed for something of her own that was not a ‘hand-me-down’ from an older family member.

Every wife in those days knew how to “turn a collar” or shorten a shirt sleeve, and many a ‘good’ skirt was cut down and remade to fit a younger family member. Dad’s old jackets were re-tailored – sometimes with disastrous results, to fit a growing boy if money was too short to buy something new.

Strips of matching cloth were carefully hoarded against the time when it would be necessary to alter or enlarge garments for a growing daughter, and many an argument ensured when an anguished daughter tried to prevent her determined mother for ‘inserting a panel’ of newer material into a sun-faded dress which the older woman insisted still had ‘plenty of wear in it’. Anything which still had a ‘bit of wear in it’ was unfailingly re-cycled. Sheets were turned “sides to middle” and every good housewife had a basket of mending ready to hand for the moment she could catch up on the never-ending chore of darning socks or mending a tear on one of her husband’s work-shirts.

Young girls were taught to sew with cross-stitch samplers or spent long hours embroidering lazy-daisy tray-cloths; even dish-cloths were hemmed and all girls learnt to invisible hemming in this way. No housekeeper worth her salt would dream of placing a tea-pot on the table without its ugly cosy to keep the infusion hot enough to give everyone that second “cuppa”. Every milk-jug had its doily - a circle of cotton net with a decorative bead edging, and knotting carpets was a winter occupation for the whole family. I still have a half-completed plaited [‘braided’ in American] rug composed of assorted lengths of hand-spun Scottish tweed intended for a bathroom in a home more than 30 years ago.

I have never got over my ingrained habit of thrift and care and always keep anything which might have a use in the future. Despite my rather extravagant habits, I’ve saved a lot of money by re-using what I have in my glory bag rather than going out to buy something new and, my dear, just look at today’s prices!

Years ago, no department store would open its doors without a large and well-stocked dress-making department where much of the beautiful fabric was imported from other lands. Large industries in their home countries fed the insatiable appetite for home dressmaking and McCalls and Simplicity paper patterns held pride of place for every dress-maker when tackling something new. Vogue and Burda patterns were rather more upmarket competitors; each had their adherents, and with the help of the detailed instructions women turned out beautifully made garments often indistinguishable from the best of haute couture.

For the housewife who wished to economise, it was routine to make her own and sheets and towels and new curtains were inevitably made at home in those years. Unlike Europe and Britain where curtains are often insulated with several thicknesses of material including blanketing, in the colonies curtains were usually made from bright cotton or voile as a screen against the sun. Good ‘Manchester’ Departments carried a wide range of many varieties and weights of specially designed and woven fabric, and many of the biggest British factories had large art departments and chemists working hard designing new patterns and blending and concocting special dyes to keep up with world-wide demand. Experienced sales assistants were adept at estimating quantities and lengths for any housewife unsure of how much to order.

During my school days, every yard of a specially printed “Tobralco” cotton fabric with its unique flower motif was imported from Britain especially for my school. A common rejoinder from a shop assistant at the only shop in Johannesburg authorised to sell this special fabric as well as the other items of uniform for my private all-girls school was, ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ if a shipment of material or grey flannel blazers, grey felt hats or badges had not arrived after a six to nine months wait. It usually meant that the merchant ship carrying the consignment had been lost at sea and the order to the suppliers in Britain had to be repeated – amazing that the school felt that even during the worst of the wartime shortages it was sufficiently important for this ridiculous rule to be rigidly adhered to.

Every good housewife knew the purpose of each implement in her kitchen, sewing box or workroom and some husbands could turn even turn their hands to cobbling or butchering. My father had a cobbler’s last which in later years was used as a door-stop, as well as an awl and a leather ‘palm’ - something like a catcher’s mitt in American baseball – to cover the palm of the hand while pushing the leather needle through tough and resistant leather or cutting other hard material.

Economy and efficiency were practiced by everyone, and every suburban garden had an area for fruit and vegetable planting. Keeping a few chickens or ducks or occasionally a cow or goat was often practiced. Rain water was conserved in large tanks and used sparingly in house and garden and everything was re-cycled without comment. Vegetable scraps went to the hens, cream, butter and cheese was made from the cow’s milk. Occasionally a neighbour living on a ‘small-holding’ [‘hobby farm’ in Australia] would kill a pig, and then sausage making and preparing certain cuts for smoking was done as routine. As a young girl I cycled to school each day past an evil smelling pig farm situated inside a large gum-tree plantation, but I never investigated what happened to the smelly animals who lived there and only presume that they were being reared for slaughter which usually took place with the onset of the first frosts and the start of the colder weather. Homemade sausages and hams were highly prized and a gift of either was a mark of high favour.

In those days nothing was wasted, and as much as possible was homemade, including preserving fruit and vegetables and making jams, sauces and confits. Many of the men practiced elementary butchery or made their own salamis and biltong and frequently families from the Mediterranean countries made their own wine from grapes grown on their property, as well as delicious dolmades [vine leaf] parcels stuffed with cooked meat and rice.

Life was more leisurely in those days, there were delicious cheeses made from unpasteurised milk; people consumed far less sugar and a great deal less fat and I’m feel sure everyone was healthier. Then the consumption of the quantities of pills and medications we take today was almost unknown. People did seem to get old quicker and were not nearly as fit and agile as they are today and life expectancy was seldom more than the biblical three-score years and ten. Today’s folk in their mid-70s are what our grandparents are when they were in their late 40s or 50s; for someone to reach 100 was quite rare.

Who knows which was better; a wholesome country lifestyle or a frenzied existence made easier by convenience foods and aids of every kind but threatened by diabetes and obesity?