A Grimsby Fisherman's Wife Mrs Ethel Richardson

                                                                 

                                                                Fishermen wearing the Guernsey sweater
 

 

Dear Reader,

The dependable cable knit jumper is ever present with us unlike style trends which are ever-changing. 

Boasting a rich, albeit elusive history in the 19th century Celtic and Gaelic fishing communities, the cable design has featured in the varying forms and in multiple materials yet has remained timeless nonetheless.

Legend has it that the design dates back to the 'Aran Sweater' of the 1800s with different Celtic clans having a unique cable pattern.  This, in turn, was said to provide a way of identifying the bodies of fishermen who drowned at sea.  And although this is romantic, it is now recognised as a mere tale.

The sweater was most likely crafted by a group of Aran women predominately for export purposes in the early 1900s, and has since become associated with Irish culture.  In fact the cable design appears just as much in the Gansey jumper worn by fishermen on the east coast of England in the Victorian era.

                                                                                   

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From Samuel Pepys   1667  January 1st in London

'Lay long, being a bitter, cold, frosty day, the frost being now grown old, and the Thames covered with ice'.

From Thomas Hardy 1886  January 2nd in Dorset

'Cold weather brings out upon the faces of people the written marks of their habits, vices, passions, and memories, as warmth brings out on paper a writing in sympathetic ink.'

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A Grimsby Fisherman’s Wife

Mrs. Ethel Richardson

 

 

 

During the day she knitted

her life into rough wool sweaters.

Fear of north east gales,

- more forecast -

fear of no return,

and Friday night beatings,

were turned with a collar,

stitched with sober wools.

Knit one, purl one.

 

Men known to her, sea-taken;

the grief of loss for

a babe or two; and

winter storms and

treacherous rocks that

albatrossed a fisherman’s life,

were knitted into sleeves,

into polo necks.

Knit one, purl one.

 

At night from her narrow bed,

she knitted dreams of exotic places

warm from the southern sun.

She danced on beaches, cockle-free

and knitted love

into her dream sweaters,

with wools, brightly coloured;

corals, blues, pinks, and red.

By night she knitted pumpkins.

Knit one, pearl one.

 

 

 

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A very happy New Year to you all,

With very best wishes, Patricia

Love Unlocked

 

Dear Reader,

The Christian story is, I suppose, about love.  Loving our family, loving our friends, loving ourselves. Jesus Christ taught us that the two greatest commandments were to: 

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind" 

and He said :

"Love your neighbour as yourself"

Love for all people was at the centre of Jesus' message:  "Love one another as I have loved you".

                                                                               *

I think the Beatles got it right with their wonderful song:  "Love is all you need".  And thinking today at Christmas time, if you know someone who could do with a loving word or gesture, someone lonely perhaps, go out and smile at them, knock on their door, telephone or email to make them feel loved.  Being loved is happiness and love is what we all need in our lives.  

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From James Woodforde  1790   25th December in Norfolk

"I lighted my large wax-candle being Xmas Day during teatime this afternoon for about an hour.  It was very mild, thank God, to-day for this time of year, tho' wet and very dirty walking."

From Dorothy Wordsworth  1802    25th December in Westmorland

"It is today Christmas Day, Saturday 25th December 1802.  I am thirty one years of age.   It is a dull, frosty day."

From Francis Kilvert  1873     27th December in Wiltshire

"Heavy rain in the night, but a lovely sunny warm morning.   As I write a dew diamond is sparkling and flashing rainbows on a rose leaf outside the dining room window, a more superb diamond than any among the Crown jewels of England."   

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Love Unlocked

 

What can I say about love
that has not been said?

I have little to add except
my sweetheart proffered
a unique key

to the door of possibilities
through loving me.

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 A very happy Christmas to you,

With very best wishes,   Patricia

 

Equality

                                                                   

 

                                                                     

                                                                             Happy Christmas

 

 Dear Reader,

I don't think I am the only one who dreads Christmas.   I have always been a hopeless packer of presents and have no notion of what my family would like to find wrapped. Nowadays, in fact, the grandchildren like to choose something themselves or welcome a little something from the Bank of Granny

I believe and love the Christian story, of Jesus Christ being born in a manager, so my perfect Christmas Day would be a church service with lots of favourite carols to sing, then a turkey lunch with Christmas pudding and brandy butter followed by, what ever the weather, a bracing walk. And to watch in the evening anywhere in the series of Downtown Abbey.

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From Francis Kilvert  1870 December 28th 1870

An inch of snow fell last night and as we walked to Draycot to skate the snow storm began again.  As we passed Langley Burrell Church we heard the strains of the quadrille band on the ice at Draycot....The Lancers was beautifully skated.  When it grew dark the ice was lighted with Chinese lanterns, and the intense glare of blue, green, and crimson lights and magnesium riband make the whole place as light as day.  Then people skated with torches. 

From John Ruskin  1874    December 28th  in Coniston, Lancashire

Yellowish haze polluting sunshine.   Intense white fresh snow everywhere and sharp frost.

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Equality

Christmas Day.
The house fills with laughter, music
the tree sparkles, aglow with stars,
angels and white roses.
Under ribboned branches, a present pile,
exciting, enticing, the children
jump, squeal, and dance, eyes bright.
The turkey is succulent, the pudding sweet,
there are chocolates, crackers, jokes.
But a thought buzzes, wasp-like in my head:
while families reunite, reaffirm, love, smile, chat,
I think of those who have none of that.

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With very best wishes, Patricia

 

Invocation to Iona

 Dear reader,  

The Atlantic puffin species that ranks among everyone's favourite seabirds includes an endearing story.  How parents birds starve their single nearly grown chicks until hunger motivates the youngsters to leave the security of the clifftop burrows, and and in the dark of the night, leap to the pounding sea. 

The puffin in folklore was able to predict stormy weather.  The would fly to landwards two or three days in advance of a storm and fishermen observing them gather on the clifftops would pull their boats in until the tempest passed.  They were regarded as a reliable guide to the location of fish shoals.

Puffins are one of the few birds that have the ability to hold several small fish in their bills at a time. Their raspy tongues and spiny palates allow them to firmly grasp 10 to 12 fish during one foraging trip.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth  1802 December 19th in Westmorland

......as mild a day as ever I remember.  We all set out to walk ......There were flowers of various kinds - the top most bell of a foxglove, geraniums, daisies, a buttercup in the water....small yellow flowers (I do not know their name) in the turf, a large bunch of strawberry blossoms.

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Invocation to Iona

 

“Iona, sacred island, mother,

I honour you,

who cradle the bones

of Scottish kings,

Who birthed coloured gemstones

to enchant bleached beaches,

who shelter puffins on your rocks.

 

I wrap myself in your history,

and knot the garment with

machair rope-grass.

In the Port of Coracle

your southern bay,

I hear the wind-blown cormorants cry

and draw a breath.

I see Columba’s footsteps

in the sand, and weep.

Tears overflow,

I am spirit-engulfed.

 

“I ask you, Iona,

is this then, or now,

what is, or what has been?

Does the rolling salt sea-mist

cover the uncounted time between?”

 

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With best wishes, Patricia