• 1 small

    Another one done!  These are the Blueberry Waffle socks by Sandy Turner, for my mother-in-law, who chose this yummy color of Shepherd Sock, which is "Purple Club".  I decided on this pattern for a number of reasons — that it was said to be nice and stretchy, and that it is a good pattern for avoiding the dreaded pooling-and-flashing, and because, well, how could I not when the colors actually look like smooshed blueberries and cream?!

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    I used the eye-of-partridge heel flap instead of the usual Sl1, K1 — it seemed more in keeping with the waffle pattern somehow.

    As I was knitting blithely along on the second sock, I looked down at the finished heel turning and realized that because I was actually reading the instructions, I'd done a sort of band heel.  Since I'd turned the first heel months ago, I'd forgotten that I'd done a round heel on the first one.  I will offer as an excuse that I was not following the pattern especially closely since Turner had written it for 4 dpns, including specific instructions as to how many sts per needle, etc. and I was knitting with 5.  It's too bad that I wasn't paying attention the first time around, as I appreciate the use of different heels, and of course it's good to have various types in one's bag of knitting tricks.

    That said, this particular sock can be adapted to any kind of heel and toe the knitter likes, using the basic "waffle" pattern, which is simply,

    Rounds 1 and 2: K to end.
    Rounds 3 and 4: K2, P2 to end,

    over a total number of stitches divisible by 4.

    The stitch pattern doesn't really avoid pooling and flashing so much as disguise it, as you can still see the effects, but they are certainly muted a bit.

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    In addition to the inherent stretchiness, I added a little calf shaping, which wasn't especially difficult to do with this pattern, thank goodness, as I foolishly didn't keep track of what I did on the first sock, and had to re-create it for the second — which on the second attempt proved to be much less complicated than I was making it!

    The moral of the project is, of course, it's just not a good idea to leave things half-finished for years!

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  • Dsc06122 (2)

    (Welsh Quilts)

    Photographs of Welsh women in national dress were wildly popular in the late 19th century, partly as tourist souvenirs, and partly I think as a record of rapidly-disappearing country life.  One of the three most common occupations for the subject — the other two being going to market and having tea — was knitting.  I happened across one of these images this morning as I was searching for my ancestors in Breconshire, and quickly found myself utterly absorbed in the genre.

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    "Mrs Edwards knitting in Welsh national dress, c. 1875" (Gathering the Jewels/Casglu'r Tlysau).  Mrs. Edwards, bless her, appears to have cataracts.

    Tumblr_llgnacidWJ1qzt5uoo1_400

    (feitoamao)

    It was not unusual for Welsh countrywomen to have bare forearms, so as not to get their sleeves dirty as they went about their daily work.  They would then wear separate half-sleeves for Sunday and best.

    Woman

    Photographed by John Thomas. (WalesOnline)  This woman, and some others I've seen, has attached the ball of yarn to her apron with a spare needle.  I can't quite tell if she has ringlets or if her goffered bonnet is dyed black for mourning.

    Tumblr_lp5v9nuXGJ1qlts9lo1_500

    (Victoria's Rusty Knickers [sic])  The source identifies this as a "Welsh Lady knitting a Scarf," but I think it's more likely a sock.  Curiously, I've seen a number of sources say that Welsh countrywomen knitted "socks and scarves" for sale, but all of the images I've seen are pretty obviously socks or stockings.
     
    Welsh knitter #2

     
    These last three photographs also appear in a Flickr group entitled "Welsh Fashions" consisting almost entirely of late 19th-century photographs of Welsh women, a very great many of whom are knitting. Notice how many of them are wearing exactly the same betgwn, petticoat, and apron?!  Yes, apparently the clothes were provided by the photographer.  There is some debate about how widespread, even how "traditional" the so-called traditional Welsh dress really was, though most people now seem to agree that it was usually worn for Sundays and best, not everyday.

    There was a resurgence of interest all over Europe, it seems, in the 19th century, in national dress, and in some places (Norway, for one) the lack of local interest in it — because the country women would rather wear more fashionable clothing like their city cousins' — led to varying degrees of outright invention.  That said, some of the photographs here don't look staged, and even though I know it is at least in part, I really love this one —

    43420_2
     
    "A woman knitting in Welsh national dress, c. 1875," photographed by John Thomas (Gathering the Jewels/Casglu'r Tlysau).
  • 3650

    Since finishing the yoga socks, I've been plugging away at the Blueberry Waffles and am now a ways into the foot on the first sock, but paused a few hours to whip out a house-warming gift, a set of bright dishcloths.

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    The pattern is the Reversible Pips Dishcloth by Hannah Maier, available free from KnitPicks, part of their "52 Weeks of Dishcloth Patterns" series. I found this new (to me?) color of Sugar 'n Cream at Michael's the other day — "Psychedelic"!  You can always use a bit of cheerfulness when washing dishes.  Two balls of the yarn made three full-sized cloths quite easily, with a small ball left over.

    The pattern works up very quickly — the only quibble I have is that the finished cloth doesn't lie quite flat.  I actually had to block it for the photos.  I liked the designer's note that the pips give the cloth "plenty of scrubbing power" — the psychedelic part was a bonus.

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    I washed them thoroughly before sending them off, since the yarn did this to my needles and fingers! — the first time I've ever experienced this with Sugar 'n Cream.

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  • Picture5

    I finished these yoga socks at the beginning of the month, but to tell you the truth, I'm so tired of them that I couldn't be bothered posting about them until now.  I played around with the "toy camera" setting when I was taking the picture, just to make it a little less boring.

    One skein of Berocco Comfort Sock, in color 1810 "Invercargill", on I think 2.5 mm needles.  I can't remember which pattern I used — probably this one, just with a continuous 3×1 rib.

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    On the bright side, the yarn in 3×1 rib is very stretchy, so I could make knee socks without any shaping at all.

    I actually meant these as more of a sock dickey than for yoga — because I'd heard that acrylic yarns make your feet sweatier than cotton or wool does, I thought, "oh, yoga socks over cotton ones!".  This is I think a good idea, but these have rather large heel openings, which means that the white sock underneath shows above the top of my shoes — if I do this again, I'll make the opening a little smaller.

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    Sorry for the crummy lighting, indoors and out — it's actually raining at the moment!  "Ten percent chance," the weather man said!  In the middle of a drought!  It looks like it won't do much more than get the pavement damp, but gosh, you take what you can get!

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    And just because I'm pleased with these, here are some gratuitous roses shots, an oldish one and a new one —

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    These are "Duchesse de Brabant" — in January! — and the one below is "Sharifa Asma".

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  • 13768022134_6c6080922e_b

    I found out only yesterday that there is a new movie of Vera Brittain's Testament of Youth, her memoir of her experiences as a VAD in the Great War, and the devastating repercussions of that war on women's lives.  I was one of those who was deeply moved by the 1979 television serial with Cheryl Campbell as Brittain, so that I was interested to learn more about the new film. 

    It was a pleasant surprise, and rather a relief after writing so recently about the "Outlander" knitwear, to see immediately — since the above still was the very first thing I saw when I Googled the film — that there are a number of historically-accurate knitted garments worn by Brittain (played by Alicia Vikander) in the film.  Perhaps the designer's task was made a bit easier, since there is much more available in the way of fashion plates, photographs, and actual patterns, but there it is.  Brittain herself was very interested in clothing, despite her bluestocking air, so it is good to see that the costumes for the film reflect this — in fact, the blue outfit below is apparently intentionally rather like her description of what she wore when arriving at Oxford, “a flimsy lace frock under a pale blue and grey reversible satin cloak, and an unsubstantial little pair of high-heeled white suede shoes.”

    Oxford-pastel-blue

    A lovely ensemble, with the high-waisted skirt and the Edwardian-but-not-too-much-so details.  This cardigan would hardly be out-of-place in any period in the subsequent century.

    Buxton-jumper

    I think that Vera should perhaps be wearing some, er, undergarments here, but this silky jumper is lovely.  (Curious, that Roland's trousers have buttons for his braces, and yet he has none … but he is apparently going for the louche Rupert-Brooke effect.)

    Two more images of the garter-stitch beret, though rather less of that fancifully-embroidered slipover:

    Testament of youth 1

    Vera-Brittain

    Harper's Bazaar has an interesting article about the film's costumes, including many photos.  I must admit that I rather lust after that black velvet hat …

  • Outlander 8

    There is a thread currently running in the Historic-Knitting Yahoo group, prompted when someone asked, "So, the 'Outlander' series — is the knitting accurate?" and the numerous replies came back with a resounding "No!" 

    The first photo (above) is a lovely look, with all of the soft greys, and the gown is pretty accurate, historically speaking, except that it probably should have a separate stomacher (instead of what is apparently all one piece), as well as at least a lace or linen "tuck" peeking out from the neckline. But knitted shawls didn't appear until the early 1800s (Shetland shawls in the 1830s) — even though it seems not a far leap to us now, knitted garments remained pretty firmly in the region of caps, stockings, undershirts, and gloves until some decades into the 19th century.

    Part of the problem here seems to be that the designer of the "Outlander" costumes, Terry Dresbach, quickly became self-defensive (and sarcastic) when others started questioning the historical accuracy of the knitted garments, and seemed to want to have it both ways when she said that her work is extensively researched and plausible if not authentic (e.g. the gowns are not hand-sewn, certain French fashions are apparently not documented in Scotland at the time but could have been there because of the close Franco-Scottish relationship, etc.), and that leeway was taken due to budget and time constrictions.  Those who are sticklers for historical accuracy — which admittedly isn't always possible with costumes for either theatre or movies, for different reasons — feel that Dresbach can't have it both ways.  It seems to me that with the sewn garments Dresbach has done a wonderful job in synthesizing the requirements of film and the historical record, but, surprisingly, then dropped the ball as to the knitwear.

    The gist of the rebuttals on the Historic-Knitting list seems to be that the knitted garments are in styles that are not appropriate to the period, and far too coarse, when most knitting of the period was done on fine needles with fine wool, or by machine, except for a few items such as sailors' caps and seaboot stockings.

    Outlander 2

    This garment, for example, is a fairly logical jump from "worn-out cloak cut down to a shoulder-warmer" to "knitted version of that", but I don't think there is any documentation that anything like this was ever knitted, in Scotland or anywhere, in the 18th century.  Claire is, however, obviously wearing appropriate stays, so kudos for that.

    Outlander 3

    This looks very good on the face of it, especially because she is wearing a kerchief over her neck and bosom, and there is a lot of evidence for fingerless mitts of this kind — just none of them knitted.  Again, it seems a short jump to us, especially when you know that knitted stockings were common, but at this period fingerless gloves were sewn out of fabric.

    Outlander 4

    No, no, no.  The gown is very good, and is an excellent choice of colors, fabrics, and patterns (though I think the stomacher is too long), but the chunky knitted cowl practically shouts "late 20th-century!"

    Outlander 5

    This cowl puzzles me, as I suspect that it is knitted, since fur wouldn't drape quite so beautifully (but then, I don't wear much fur, perhaps someone else could offer an opinion?).  This simplest kind of tubular knitted wrist-warmer did not make its first appearance until the beginning of the 19th century, and then was knitted with fine wool on small needles, not chunky stuff like this.  (We tend to think that Aran knitting, for example, has been around for centuries, but Aran jumpers were in fact invented around 1900.)  Again, the gown is very good — and closes with pins, or perhaps hooks-and-eyes — but not the knitting.

    Outlander 15

    This is so obviously a modern shrug that I don't need to say anything.  Again, this gown is good, but she needs a kerchief over her bosom.

    Outlander 9

    I'm a little perplexed by the fichu — which to my eye looks exactly like a worn-out high-necked smock cut off and used as a fichu, an excellent and frugal use of worn-out garments.  Did it happen?  Maybe — probably.  Is it accurate?  I don't know.  But the muffatees — no.  The earliest known reference to knitted muffatees that I can find is 1813, when an officer in Wellington's Foot Guard wrote home asking for some; they were obviously being home-knitted by then, but again, that's at least fifty years after the "Outlander" series is set, and they would have been worked with finer wool on smaller needles than these, comfy and warm though these doubtless are.

    Outlander 13

    Too chunky, and it's apparently not a flat piece of knitting, but shaped?

    Outlander 14

    Outlander 17

    Outlander 18

    This looks so much like the shawl worn by Mrs. Forrester in "Cranford" that it's hard to believe it isn't the same one reused, but either way, "Cranford" was set in the 1840s when knitted shawls were starting to become more widely made at home.  The mitts almost work for this period.

    Outlander 20

    Now if I were a cook wearing thick knitted wristwarmers, I would certainly do what Mrs. Fitz has done here, and turn them up out of the way, or they would look like the dog's breakfast after only a few minutes' of work, but if I really was a cook in the 1740s I would far more likely be wearing sewn woollen wristwarmers.

    Outlander 19

    This is the only knitted garment I've seen that works in its historical period — Claire in the 1940s wears a knitted slipover.  Lots of documentation for this, and any number of patterns still available.

    I think, actually, that the problem resides not in Dresbach's choices as a costume designer, but in her insistence that the costumes — that is, the costumes as a whole — are historically accurate.  If she had said, which as far as I can tell she has not, that the "leeway" is specifically with the knitwear, then it would not be so jarring to those who never saw a Moebius cowl before Elizabeth Zimmermann's in 1983.

  • NMA.0041484

    This is sad and fascinating at the same time — sad obviously because it's in such a decrepit state, but fascinating because it must have been quite charming in its day, and of course because its day was in the 1700s.  That's a long time for a piece of knitting to survive!  I find it very poignant that the museum titles it, "Worn and patched sweater" as though those adjectives are now more significant than any other — and indeed, they give no information about colors, fibers, size, which on other pieces they can be very meticulous about.  The only other information is that it is from the Årstad district in Halland, which is one of the traditional provinces of Sweden, on the western coast in the southern part of the country.

    NMA.0041484 detail

    The "carnation" pattern will be familiar to those with a penchant for Scandinavian knitting — a chart in Sheila McGregor's Complete Book of Traditional Scandinavian Knitting is I think almost exactly the same, and similar carnations appear in Britt-Marie Christoffersson's Swedish Sweaters.

    This jacket is in the Nordiska Museet in Stockholm (inventory no. 134916, and apparently also NMA.0041484), by way of DigitaltMuseum.

  • 3454

    Well, the friend I was knitting the Klaralund for has decided, with much regret, that she would no longer be able to wear it, due to some physical issues, so — I feel bad that I didn't get it done when she wanted it, years ago but — that's that.  I've pulled it all out and wound it back up, and it's back in the drawer for a future project.  I took the photo beforehand, to remember how the colors look knitted up.

    Sg 39

    3453

    I don't much like this Berrocco Comfort Sock, but I love the way it looks against these rosewood beauties.  The color is a bit richer in real life.

  • Picture1

    Ta-da!  I've finished the first of my projets anciens — gosh, it sounds so much better in French! — the Garter Heel Socks by Susan Lawrence, from the Vogue Ultimate Sock Book, which I started in May 2009.  The yarn is Chameleon Colorworks Bambino superwash merino/bamboo/nylon blend, in Viridian, a lovely yarn in a lovely color, soft and pleasant to knit with.

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    When I slipped the growing first sock on my foot, I remembered why I'd left off some five years ago — I'd had to add in 8 more stitches to make it big enough, and it was still a little snug.  The stitches looked visibly pulled, but I wasn't sure if that was the effect of the bias stitches themselves, or this yarn on the bias, as it has a rather lovely shimmer to it and so the light catches it differently, or if it really was too snug.  I suspected now, though, that adding still more stitches would make it too big, so I carried on after all.  It feels perfect, so I guess I'll go for that!

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    Besides adding in those 8 stitches — one in each K section of the lace repeat — I made a few other modifications, most obviously in the welt at the top, which I did in 3×1 rib instead of garter stitch, as I like that better.  I also did my usual pick-up-extra-stitches on the heel flap, which for me solves that problem of a little hole just there — so my gusset is a bit longer than the original, but not by much, as it happens.

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    The garter-stitch short-row heel is quite comfortable, but I have the feeling that other than not having to fuss with the wrapped stitches when knitting the heel together, there isn't much point to having it be in garter stitch except the visual element — though that is certainly interesting!

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  • 3420

    I finished the Garter Heel socks last night, and blocked them — they are still too damp to model, so I picked up my Setesdal-style scarf this morning.  It was not at all difficult to figure out where I'd stopped, even so many years ago, so I'm off and running.  Well, not running, really — I timed myself, and it took me about eight minutes for a two-color row, and about six for a plain one. As Bertie Wooster might say, I hardly know whether to laugh or weep.  These O circular needles have rather sharp points, hard on the fingertips, and a wonky join too, so that every time I adjust the stitches I have to tug to get them past it, and it sounds like ripping.

    Oh well — I still really like the way it's turning out.  Something about Scandinavian knitting really speaks to me, especially the Setesdal lusekofte.  I think it's the miles of quiet with the bit of razzmatazz at each end. 

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    I also love the neatness of the underside, the way that the strands weave themselves in and out so tidily.

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    I had decided upon Elizabeth Zimmermann's advice to use her "sock toe" scarf end, but I was still so wet behind the ears, knitting-wise, that I used a bit of dark green wool for the waste stitches, which of course left little green fibers in the white — I think I've picked out most of them, but you can still see the shadow of a line there!

    I got a big kick out of this wonderful photo from the Norwegian Wikipedia article on luskekofter —

    Trondheim_Framhaldsskole,_Klasse_E_1959-60_(4525531454)

    The photo was donated to the Municipal Archives of Trondheim by the teacher, whose name was Kristian Flønes — it's the boys of the Trondheim Framhaldsskole in 1959.  A framhaldsskole, from what I understand, was where those students went who hadn't qualified for gymnasium (what we might call prep school), and was the "more practical and less theoretical" track.  Although only one of these boys looks like trouble, yeah, you can see that they aren't really prep-school material — but what a wonderful collection of faces and personalities and sweaters!  This would have been just on the brink of the teddy-boy haircut for schoolboys — you can see one certainly, and some others just about there.  Only one of the sweaters is a really traditional luskekofte (though with a turtleneck), on the boy to Mr. Flønes's right; there are a couple more modern versions on two boys in the front row, and a typical Fana cardigan also in the front row.

    Well, I must admit that I wasted a bit of time just now — as one does, upon hearing that something is going to take you hours and hours of slogging — on some of those silly internet quizzes —

    German citizenship

    The funny (scary?!) thing is that I guessed at probably 75% of the questions — I knew the answers to the history questions (Hitler, the Stasi, etc.) but guessed at most of the others.  Would you pass the German citizenship test? Take this quiz and find out!

    I also should live in Hobart of all Australian cities, I'm actually from the US (or France, depending on whether I answered "nachos" or "crème brûlée"), I am between 173cm and 178cm tall (which is about right), with my time machine I should go to either ancient Egypt or ancient Rome (depending, strangely, on whether I answered "dog" or "horse" respectively, as my favorite animal!), I "am" Ingrid Bergman ("The discreet beauty of this actress was perfectly complemented by her low-key character. With her unostentatious refinement she often needed a second chance to cause an impression, but once she did it was overwhelming"!), I'm very good at the plural forms of words, and in a past life I had an affair with — wait for it! — Leonardo da Vinci! ("But when you stood to model for him, he was so impressed with your education and your intelligence that he briefly forgot everything else around him. How fortunate that you were already married, otherwise the world would have missed out on many ideas and innovations"! no, that rates two exclamation points … !!)

    I did manage to find, without any trouble at all, a Super Yarn Mart ruler in my sewing drawer —

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    not so long ago as to be "before" metric, but old enough not to bother with area codes. 

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    Here is some of the yarn I squirreled away, lots of red, two greys, and black, with unfortunately only a few balls of white.  It is a sturdy, serviceable wool, not spectacular but surprisingly fine-gauge for a workhorse wool, which is why I was so amazed to find it among all of the acrylics and novelty yarns. Plus ça change.

    And how long have I had this?

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    1988.  My goodness.