Sep 01

Goodbye cucumbers, hello cabbages

I’m mightily relieved that we’ve finally hauled ourselves out of those slack summer doldrums into refreshing, pencil-sharpening September.

August is often referred to in the UK as “the silly season” when the everyone who matters is on holiday, the papers have nothing sensible to report, and thus their pages get filled with… er … filler, often of a rather mischievous kind. Much to my delight, the esteemed lexicographer Michael Quinion of World Wide Words had a brilliant entry referencing this time of year and other unusual terms used to describe it.

“Cucumber-time” is one that was widely used across Europe. It seems to derive from the tailor’s trade, being a term for the flat late-summer season when work was thin on the ground. Then a tailor would have to subsist on the cucumbers developing plentifully and  tumescently in his garden. The first citation in the Oxford English Dictionary comes from A New Dictionary of the Terms Ancient and Modern of the Canting Crew, dated 1700: “Cucumbers, Taylers. Cucumber-time, Taylers Holiday, when they have to leave Play, and Cucumbers are in season.” As the Pall Mall Gazette explained in 1867: “Tailors could not be expected to earn much money ‘in cucumber season.’ Because when cucumbers are in, the gentry are out of town.”

In the wonderful sideways shift of word-development, tailors began thereafter to be known slangily as “cucumbers”, but I’d recommend you not try it out in Saville Row until your bespoke suit is already hanging safely in your closet.

Another revelation to me was the term “cabbages”: a word used to describe the waste scraps left over from cutting out clothes. The tailor could claim these as his own. As a correspondent to Notes & Queries helpfully explained on 5th November 1853: “Tailors are vegetarians, who ‘live on cucumber’ while at play, and on ‘cabbage’ while at work.” By all accounts, the term is still current in the clothing trade.

I’ve had a lovely summer, with not a few cucumbers (more of that later), but am still mightily relieved to be getting back to my cabbages. Hope you’re enjoying getting back into the swing of things too.

Cabbage-coloured knitted garment

Not proper "cabbage" but a thrifted cabbage-coloured knitted garment, awaiting felting and upscaling

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Jul 30

Just hangin’ with the fruits

There’s something about this time of year when life seems to grind to a halt and we enter the summer doldrums. The kids are off school. Family & friends decide it’s time to descend on beautiful Bath. My husband and I work from home, so whaddya do? Gotta slow down and hang a little, like these blackberries.

Draping blackberries

Blackberries ripening on Bath stone wall

Aren’t they beautiful? When these brambles have surfaced in previous years I’ve hacked them back, taking them for uninvited guests. But then somebody pointed out that they’re actually a garden cultivar, so I cut them some slack. And they’ve repaid my new-found tolerance with this gorgeous display which is helping to fill the large gap in my garden between the early summer strawberries and the autumn raspberries.  I’ve had a couple of small supermarket-sized punnets of them so far. They taste wonderfully perfumey – midway to a raspberry, I’d say – but until some Silicon Valley genius invites the scratch-and-sniff blog, you’ll just have to take my word for it. ;)

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Jul 19

Scrap of the Week #5

What am I making from scraps?

Curried magnolia petals?

I bought this turmeric-golden canvas remnant in a charity shop a while back. Somebody had marked it into quite small patchwork pieces and even cut a few out. It must have made for some heavy-weather patchwork-piecing, I’d have thought. No wonder it was dumped. But I liked the weave and knew the right project would come along. Can you see what I singled it out for?

See what it is yet?

Satisfyingly dense interfaced canvas

Having lined it with iron-on interfacing (it was just a tad unstable), I cut 6 symmetrical, magnolia petal-shaped pieces, sewed them together and…

A lovely pear!

…found a piece of scrap grosgrain ribbon for the top (more texture) and…

Giant pear doorstop

…stuffed it with lavender and grain. The result is heavy and yet sweetly scented enough to hold open the best of doors, allowing any fortunate guests crossing the threshold ample opportunity to utter: “What a lovely pear!”

Job done.

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Jul 12

Scrap of the Week #4

This floral spray comes from a 1950s eiderdown.

1950s eiderdown close-up

Floral spray from 1950s eiderdown

At least, it looks solidly 1950s to me, though I guess it could be 1940s, at a pinch. Unfortunately, there’s no label on it to give further clues.

Ruffled corner

Corner showing frilled edge

The fabric isn’t the usual eiderdown cotton; it has a canvas-type weave which has taken the print in an interesting way making it look almost as though it’s been painted on. The filling definitely isn’t synthetic, though what proportion of feather/down is in it I don’t know.

It’s a pretty piece, and one of the many things I’m hauling off to the It’s Darling! vintage & handmade fair on Saturday (have I mentioned that already…?).

Pink vintage eiderdown

Scalloped quilting

If I can get past the attention-seeking cat, that is.

Mittens & eiderdown

Mittens knows she sets off the dusty pink background perfectly.

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Jul 10

Minding my own beeswax

I’ve been minding a lot of beeswax lately, mostly my own. It began with some gorgeous beeswax candles which were a gift from my sister; they were green sheets of hexagonally imprinted beeswax (presumably made by green bees) rolled around a wick. When burned they left these honey-smelling trails of silky wax.  Of course, I couldn’t throw them away (nor the candle ends) before thinking hard about a potential re-use. After all, if bees are in short supply, we should be careful to conserve all their precious beeswax too, right?

Several experiments later and I came up with this: stitcher’s beeswax in various cupcakey shapes. Well, more petit-fours shapes, really. Aren’t they pretty? They look good enough to eat – though please don’t! Instead, run your thread along the edge of one before hand-sewing and your thread will be more robust, last longer and not twist.

Well, I’m giving away one of these little beauties with every purchase over £10 on my stall at the It’s Darling! fair on 17th July. I’ll also be selling them in my forthcoming Etsy shop.

Beeswax cupcakes

Little cupcakes of repurposed beeswax stitcherly goodness

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Jul 08

Tomato pincushions wip

I’m doing a fine impersonation of a headless chicken this week and had hoped to have blogged by now about my lovely day in London last Thursday (V&A quilt exhibition, Liberty’s and Margo Selby’s for a “textile taxidermy” private view) but that will have to wait: a series of unfortunate events has seen to that. Let’s just say that I’m double-booked for funerals on Monday.

Meanwhile, preparations are afoot for the It’s Darling! fair here in Bath on 17th July. Here are some of my scrap tomato pincushions in progress; outers are oddments that my mother-in-law had, and she passed over to the Great Beyond more than two decades back! I never, but never, throw anything away…  Some pincushions are filled with wool combings from felted sweaters, some with upholstery waste, some with vintage toy stuffing. The finished ones are embellished with old embroidery thread and topped off with a felt crown. Yes, that’s mostly old felt too. I’ll post a picture of the finished items asap.

Tomato pincushions wip

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Jun 28

Scrap of the Week #3

Here’s a sneaky peek at a little line of needle books I’m making for the It’s Darling fair on 17th July. The fabric on the front is from Liberty’s Tana Lawn range, one of my favourite fabrics of all time. I don’t know the name of this particular design (oh, how informative I’ve been lately!) though it is typical of the cherishable fine cotton florals created by Liberty over the years. My needle books will vary, depending on the scraps available in my supply.

Needle book

Liberty lawn-fronted felt needle book

As an aside, I gave this very needle book to an American Twitter buddy I met in Bath last month. She happened to be passing through so we hooked up – such is the curious power of social media – and I’m so glad we did!

Needle book - open

Open needle-book

I wasn’t happy with my choice of white stitching on the front here but didn’t have time to change it; how we sewists stitch in haste and repent at leisure. The ones at the fair will, of course, be delectably perfect.

Making a felt needle book

My trusty Singer 221k and needle book

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Jun 23

It’s Darling!

I’m slowly but surely working myself up to becoming a vintage haberdashery trader, and will be plying my wares at a new vintage and handmade fair in Bath next month. It’s Darling! will be held in the Guildhall (not far from the Abbey, just opposite Cafe Nero) on Saturday 17th July from 9am-5.30pm, so do come along and say “Hi!” if you can manage it. I’ll be there all day with loads of lovely old cotton reels, buttons and other sewing paraphernalia. Plus several vintage eiderdowns. Oh, and an old wooden sewing box. You get the idea.

Catherine Stokes, one of the organisers and she of Mrs Stokes’ China, interviewed me for the show’s website.  I’m quite chuffed with my new coinage, “button glutton”.  Are you one too?

In this and last week’s fog of events, I forgot to post two Scraps of the Week, so here’s a picture taken to accompany the above interview. In it you get a whole yearful of scraps at one go! The picture is supposed to illustrate something in my life which answers the description “It’s Darling!”, so I chose my grandmother’s feedsack patchwork pieces, many dating from the 1930s. They mostly measure  just 4.5cms across.  She was a fairly utilitarian patchworker, not spending a whole lot of time arranging pattern placement, just putting pieces together more or less as they happened to fall. After all, she was a busy lady with five daughters to make clothes and keep house for, and there was a Depression on at the time. Though she finished a fair few quilts and quilt-tops, she never got round to these. They were all ready and waiting to be fed through the sewing machine for 9-patch blocks and are as fresh as the day they were cut. I’ll feature them individually at some point so that you can get a better look.

Feedsack darlings

1930s American feedsack fabrics

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Jun 16

Rooke Books

Last week I visited Rooke Books which is probably Bath’s best-kept bookaholic secret. Some sensible people would just quietly keep this biblio-paradise to themselves. I was tempted, but now feel compelled to share the experience with you; the bubble chairs alone are too good (and numerous) to enjoy all by myself.

I stumbled across Rooke’s on my way through pedestrian thoroughfare Northumberland Place, blearily seeking caffeine at one of several coffee-serving establishments nearby. It’s just a stone’s throw from the Guildhall and couldn’t be more central: head for Neal’s Yard up the alley past Cafe Nero and you’ll be pretty much opposite. The then window arrangement of mid-twentieth century crime and science fiction was what first caught my eye; I used to work in the publicity department for Victor Gollancz, and was the press officer in charge of the crime output, as well as opening the twiglets for many a science fiction launch (no expense spared).

But I finally stepped through the door of this bookshop just a couple of weeks ago. I’m so glad I did, because Isha, the manageress, greeted me with a lovely smile, and what looked from the outside like a cosy little second-hand/antiquarian bookshop suddenly opened up like an 18th century tardis: four floors, at last count. If you climb up one floor, you get to sit in this bubble-chair and ogle the glorious eighteenth-century-style wallpaper.

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The first floor bubble chair

If you climb up two floors you get to browse the textile and fashion sections and sit in one of two bubble chairs.  [This could be the plot of an Eric Carle book, right? The Very Erudite Caterpillar, perhaps.] Then there’s the glam black-and-white flocked wallpaper. Wow!

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Top floor bubble chair

Here’s a page from an embroidery book which I dutifully browsed (I had to test the chairs, you see). Isn’t it exuberant?

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From Swedish Embroidery by Eivor Fisher

The shop’s only stated speciality is first editions so you can find just about everything from needlework to Noddy to Nabokov (Isha once had a first edition of Lolita in the shop). Rooke ’s online sister establishment handles the rarer titles, so everything you’ll see in Rooke’s is under the £50 benchmark.

The bricks-and-mortar shop is looking to host several book groups, so if you think you’d be interested in, say, in a specialist crime reading group, or a Jane Austen group, or any other area, do get in touch with them.  Tell them what you’d be interested in, and whether a day or evening meet-up would suit you best. I can’t promise they’ll give you exactly what you want, but I’m sure they’ll attempt to be accommodating. They will also be hosting a group for aspiring writers; Isha has an MA in Creative Writing.

I think the only thing that could improve the place would be a coffee machine. Then I might not need to stop elsewhere nearby. And (as Topping Books‘ example amply proves) the free coffee trick invariably results in a reciprocal grateful purchase or several, especially when a few moments’ relaxation in a bubble chair is involved.

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Embroidery booklet on wide attic windowsill

Rook Books, 16 Northumberland Place, Bath, BA1 6QD

Telephone: +44 (0)1225 448831     Email: sales@rookbooks.com

PS You’ll find a few more pictures here on my Flickr photostream. I didn’t buy any of those embroidery books so if you hurry you may still find them there on the top floor!

PPS Northumberland Place is a bit of a gem in itself, completed by 1749 and housing Bath’s smallest pub, the Coeur de Lion. I’m wondering what was here in Jane Austen’s day but haven’t researched it, so if you can cast any light on that, please do get in touch.


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Jun 15

Reasons to be Cheerful

Before I leave the kitchen garden and head back towards fabric inspiration for a while, I hope you don’t mind if I briefly sing the praises of lemon balm.

The restorative, life-extending powers of Melissa officinalis are legendary. The Greeks revered it, used it to treat wounds, and crushed it near their hives to attract the bees home again (it’s attractiveness to our buzzing friends gives it another of its names: “bee balm”). The Romans rated it enough to bring it with them when they colonised Britain. Llewellyn, the thirteenth century Prince of Glamorgan, regularly took lemon balm tea and lived to be 108. It’s known as “heart’s delight” in its native southern Europe, and was called the “elixir of life” by Renaissance physician Paracelsus. The Pilgrims took it to America, and it now grows all over the world.

The London Dispensary in 1696 claimed: “Balm, given every morning, will renew youth, strengthen the brain and relieve languishing nature.” It was even considered a cure for baldness. Sixteenth century herbalist John Gerard gave it to his students to “quicken the senses”, and research seems to bear out that it aids memory function. It sedates the central nervous system which may explain why it appears to be effective to some degree against anxiety and depression.

I rather like its flavour, but love it for the way it grows because it’s another of those plants which romps away without needing to be babied. Just give it a little sun and it’ll even grow quite happily even in a pot. And it self-seeds (though not the golden variety shown here – that’s a little more restrained). In fact, it’s really a glorified weed. Back to my thrift theme, in the summer months, I reckon it could save me all of 5p on my usual nightly herbal teabag. Every little helps.

To make a cup of lemon balm tea, just pick about 5 decent-sized leaves and put them in a cup. Pour freshly boiled water on top and leave to steep for 5-10 minutes. That’s it. You can leave the leaves in the cup as you drink. As the name indicates, it has a fresh, lemony flavour.

Variegated lemon balm leaf

Melissa officinalis 'Aurea'

The first time my husband tried a bedtime brew of fresh lemon balm tea, about 15 years ago, he had the most euphoric dream he’s ever had: a particularly vivid one in which he personally scored the winning goal for England in the World Cup. How can you top that? I wonder if it grows in South Africa

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