Some of you, at least those who are of my approximate vintage (mid fifties), will remember the fascination of being allowed to rummage in our mother's sewing box. It was akin to rummaging in the recesses of her jewellery box to a child, and in some ways held so much more fascination. In those days, I am talking about the 1960's and 1970's before the mass import of cheap foreign made garments, it was much more economical to make clothing and to repair and alter what we had, so most women knitted and crocheted, socks were darned and the sewing box or workbox, was an essential piece of equipment for most households.
I particularly remember my mother's button box, actually an old sweetie tin, as being a magical thing, full of bright shiny buttons, many gleaned from old garments or spares from knitted jumpers and cardigans. Some quite old (from my grandmother's button box), some new. It was as if each one had a story behind it.
Then there were different coloured spools of thread, the pins, the needles of all different sizes and the wonderful wooden mushroom for darning. My mother was not a hoarder, in fact she relished a good clear out, but the workbox was different. You never knew when something was going to come in handy, when a button would need replacing or a sock darned.
My first hat creations, made in response to a plea from my daughter for photography props for newborns, were crafted from left over yarn, bits and pieces that had been lying waiting to be used. I have used old buttons to decorate some of my hats, and ribbons and thread are always useful. Before starting to make hats I did have a rather neglected sewing box. It contained some thread, scissors, a few needles, some pins and old buttons, fasteners and darning wool. Nothing special, except maybe a few very old buttons, and the darning wool and mushroom which had been my mother's. Now, I am collecting lots and lots of special and beautiful things, ribbons of satin and lace and pearly buttons and beads, and my box has become important again.
Thank you for reading the ramblings of a now manic crocheter.
Laura x
