House number two came and went and I don’t think I was knitting yet. I was still in the pre-knitting stage doing things that few children experience now. Almost all of the yarn at this time was still pure wool and most of it still came in hanks, or skeins, and had to be wound into balls before it could be used. It could be wound from some sort of contraption that held the hank and spun round but it was more common to put it over the back of a chair, or commandeer a pair of hands to hold it. The chairback method worked well for a while but the winder had to stand in a very strange position as it was best to be winding from directly above the back of the chair. Inevitably, after a while, a slight shuffling of position would result in pulling from a different angle and the whole lot would grip itself tightly around the chair. It was usually quite easy to put this right but irritating nonetheless. It was also a very solitary task.
Using someone else’s hands was much better. There was someone to talk to and a human being was far more responsive than a chair. However it did require coordination between the two people involved. As I was the only child, it was usually my hands that were called into use. Nowadays skeins tend to be the way of selling the large, dramatic yarns where hanging skeins show them to much better advantage than balls piled on a shelf. Tiny hands would be no use for those skeins but back in the fifties the skeins were mostly 3 and 4 ply yarns. Double knitting was just beginning its takeover bid and 2 ply was still readily available for the more really dedicated traditionalist. A one ounce skein of 3 or 4 ply would easily fit on those little hands but the hands must be kept outstretched with the thumbs pointing upwards and a lapse of concentration could cause disaster.
It was an easy task to wriggle out of as the winder would soon decide an unmoving chairback was less disruptive than an uncooperative child (or husband, father, brother, whoever). I thought it was a treat, not a chore, to be able to hold the wool. It had to be held taut, but not too taut, with a flick of the wrist at the appropriate time to ensure the wool ran smoothly. It was an even greater treat to progress to being the winder!
Those who are old enough to remember when most wool came in skeins will remember this process well whether they went on to become knitters or not. I class this as a pre-knitting activity because it gave children a feel for the yarn and must also have been good for the social skills developed. In very recent years I was amazed at the stir I created with a group of 12 and 13 year-olds in a high school classroom when I decided to pull undone a piece of knitting I wasn’t happy with. They were used to seeing me with my knitting and often asked questions but they watched this process in open-mouthed silence. Originally I thought it was the horror of seeing something I had worked on for a long time being pulled apart but then I realised that the fascination was for what I was creating not what I was destroying. Eventually the silence was broken by someone saying, “How did you do that, Miss?”. I still didn’t know what I had done to provoke this reaction until the question was rephrased, “How did you make that ball?”. They had never seen anyone wind yarn into a ball before. They spent a long time winding yarn from one ball to another. Most of us would assume that every child has wound something into a ball at some time in their life but when did you last see a child using such a basic skill?
There were other pre-knitting activities. Making a cord from lengths of yarn was a magical experience and it still has the same effect now. Two people take a few long strands of yarn and stand with the yarn stretched between them. It is easiest if this yarn is a continuous loop as you can slip a pencil into the loop at each end instead of trying to keep a grip on a pile of loose ends. Both people turn, in opposite directions, for what seems an eternity then, suddenly, without warning the thing jumps and it is impossible to stop it from twisting itself together in the centre. The two twisters are pulled towards each other and the cord joins itself to become half the length it was before. Try it with a child and watch the reaction.
Most little girls have plaited, or braided, doll’s hair, or maybe even a friend’s hair. Hair is only another type of yarn and plaiting wool is easier than plaiting hair because it is less slippery. It is only a short step to making a braid that can be used as a trimming or the strap of a small bag.
Another favourite activity was pom-pom making. I am told that, in those days, we made pom-poms using the card covers that came on milk bottles. I’m not sure I remember that though I can vaguely recall the waxy feel of those covers. I do remember using thick card but have no idea where it came from. Card has the advantage that you can cut it away easily but the avid pom-pom maker requires more. Cutting the card was a tedious business for little hands, especially cutting the hole in the centre. Besides, how could you be sure that the middle really was in the middle or that this pom-pom was exactly the same size as the last, unless you had compasses to hand to draw the inner and outer circles?
One solution was to prepare lots of cards at the same time, using one as a template for the rest. An even better solution was to have a Grandad who would make the rings out of some indestructible material. These days we can buy them in plastic but plastic wasn’t a material used at home then so they were made from wood. I guess that it was hardboard but I can’t really be sure.
It was always best to use two rings for the pom-pom because this made it much easier to tie the centre. The tying yarn could be slipped between the two rings, wrapped round, and fastened off very tightly. The most difficult part was removing the rings. With card it was easy. You could snip and rip it away but stiffer rings needed adult fingers to pull them off. If the hole in the ring was not packed tight it was easier to remove the rings but this was false economy as the resulting pom-pom would be a pathetic looking thing instead of the dense firm ball that looked so exciting. I wonder what my 12 year olds would have made of the magic of the emergent pom-pom. Perhaps I’ll try it one day.
Then there was corking, or French knitting. This goes under many different names and sometimes uses sophisticated equipment. I had four nails hammered into a wooden cotton reel and produced miles of woollen snakes which could be coiled into mats, mats and more mats.
There were tassels to make and those little woollen dolls that are really just elaborately tied tassels but somehow they never had the same appeal. I did like the small weaving loom Father Christmas brought one year in his sack in the sledge that I now know originated in my Dad’s shed. All this paved the way for knitting.
