This week’s blog nearly writes itself. It’s been a trip full of adventures, and I’ve only been away a week.
Within five minutes of leaving home, I’d scraped the side of the car. I stopped at the nearest pillar box to post a letter. The side road narrows at one point, and I’d odged over to let another car past. Crunch crumple! I’d scraped the car against the front corner of a parked one. The damage isn’t too bad, and the other car looked to have only superficial damage, but you never can tell. Being honest, I asked some folk loading their car if they knew who the owner was. They pointed out a nearby house, I rang the bell and apologised profusely. We exchanged details, and, talking sternly to myself, I set off again and vowed to pay more attention.
Seat with a view
After an overnight stop in Edinburgh, I continued to Northamptonshire to stay a few days at the family manse. On arriving, I noticed that some lights on timers were not on. Perhaps there had been a power cut, I thought. When I got into the house, the overhead lights worked, but anything plugged into a socket did not. While searching for the fuse box, I noticed that the timer for the heating and hot water was also not working. Eventually I found the fuse box, and by switching them on and off one by one, I found the switch for the residual current device. The sockets and controller were now working.
Next, the bathroom floor was littered with dead flies, with dozens of live ones on the window. It is that time of year in the countryside when flies come in to hibernate. They buzz sluggishly then try to hide in the windows’ crevices. It reminded me of a little poem of my dad’s, who trained as an electrical engineer:
Alternating current pie First a currant, then a fly Underneath the crust they lie, Alternating current pie.
Later, car unloaded, timers reset and dinner consumed, I remembered there was a huge chest freezer in the basement. Rivulets of water trickled off as I opened the lid. It had completely defrosted. Thankfully, nothing had obviously started to rot. Fortunately, the freezer had already been partly cleared. The most sensible course was to refreeze it and empty it another time.
Finally, on Monday I developed flu-like symptoms. I was due to go to a bamboo pipe course in the south of England a few days later. As a precautionary measure, I took a Covid test and, yes, you’ve guessed it, it came up positive. I contacted the organiser, and we agreed that I should not attend until I had a negative test. Although disappointed not to see my friends, I fully understand.
Saturday Fishermen by the canal
Because of the travel and then illness, I have not even looked at the gansey for the past week. When I packed it, the sleeve was giving me some concerns. It looked quite baggy. Since then, I have compared it to another gansey; the sleeve is too big, and needs redoing. I would rather reknit than have balloon sleeves. And because of fewer stitches, it’ll be quicker to knit the second time. Look for the silver lining.
The weather went on holiday last week. It packed its bags and went off to sunnier climes, taking any shreds of warmth with it. Temperatures plummeted – some areas of Scotland had frost – and some considered taking out their winter clothes and others did. I considered donning an autumn jacket, but in the end was glad I hadn’t. The next day, the weather returned from its short break, bringing back a trunkful of warmth as a souvenir. For two days, the skies were cloudless, the breeze was light, and those who’d unpacked their winter clothes wondered what they had been thinking about.
The next day, the souvenirs distributed, the brief bloom of heat vanished, leaving a blanket of dull, white cloud and a chilly wind off the sea. It was wonderful while it lasted, our Indian summer.
Umbellifer seedheads
And where does ‘Indian summer’ originate? I turned to Wikipedia, that source of all knowledge both reliable and unreliable. As it happens, no one knows the definitive origin of the phrase. It first appears in late 18th C US and might possibly refer to hunting season for first nation peoples. Early usage implied warm, hazy, still days after the first frost. Although known in the UK from 1837, it didn’t enter common usage here until the 1950s.
But apart from not knowing what to wear from day to day, it’s been a quiet week. There was an amusing phone call from a company doing a survey of the plot of land opposite the family home, which is next to the canal. This survey is part of government project to move water from the north of England to the south via the canal network. The call was to get the lay of the land – was there livestock, locked gates, crops, any bodies of water they should know about? “Um, the Grand Union Canal?”, I said. The lass I spoke to laughed; it did seem an absurd question.
Watercolour Trees
Yesterday, I spent several hours scanning estate-related papers in preparation for going on holiday, then combining them into appropriate PDFs. Yes, I’m going on holiday again, though it does seem I’m barely at home now. And it will be a long holiday. One of the earliest thoughts I had on becoming widowed was that I could visit the US in the autumn, and could stay as long as I pleased. I could have done this before, but leaving Gordon behind to cope on his own for weeks didn’t seem fair. He was eminently capable of coping, of course, and I knew he would occupy himself with work, listening to music and audiobooks, and knitting.
There has been good progress on the gansey. The shoulders are completed and joined. You can see in the photo what the shoulder might look like when worn. It’s not ideal, but doesn’t look too bad. The gusset on the first sleeve is nearly finished. I’ll probably keep the pattern going to the bottom of the sleeve; with a fully patterned body, a partly plain sleeve might look odd.
Well, here I am again, after another trip to the wilds of Northamptonshire. I’d like to say it was an uneventful trip, but it wasn’t. Events started to unfold during my drive, when I read a text from the friend I’d stay with in Edinburgh. The key was available from a neighbour over the road, she said. Another text from her daughter shed some light: her father had difficulties breathing and had been taken to A&E. Everything was in readiness for my visit, please rootle through the fridge and cupboards as required. After I arrived, another text to say it was probably a chest infection.
Evening on the Canal
My friend returned in the evening, and we chatted until I was starting to nod off. The hospital phoned later, and it didn’t sound good. I retired but didn’t sleep well, waking early. I occupied myself until a reasonable hour and went downstairs to find my friend sitting in the lounge. Her husband had died overnight. She’d taken a taxi to the hospital, but unfortunately didn’t get there in time.
It was fortunate I was there; her daughter had taken the grandson home and would return the following day. As happens in these situations, you’re in shock, operating on autopilot. So many thoughts tumble around, so many things to do. I’d planned to travel on, but offered to stay until her daughter returned. She said, no, after being awake most of the night, she would sleep, and inform people later. I continued my drive, and she confirmed that I could stop there on my return trip.
The next event was the next day, when the ‘Fine Arts Valuer’ arrived to survey the contents of the family home. I gave him a brief orientation tour. During this, he explained that valuations need to be in line with the market value – not undervalued, as the tax office doesn’t like that – and gave the extreme example of a three bed house in London whose contents were valued at £120! It wouldn’t take him very long, he said. I said I’d come look for him in the afternoon.
Four hours later, he’d finished. Usually his dictated notes are about 30 minutes long, but in this instance, it had been fifty. We had a chat, and I learned a few things. That chest in the corner of the dining room – it’s 18th C, with a shelf for candles – you’d only get about £50 for that. The Chinese carved chest in a bedroom – mass produced, not worth much. G-plan coffee table – now that’s worth a bob or two.
Blackberries are red when they’re green.
The gansey, of course, was not valued. The back is complete, the front is nearly finished, with just a few rows to finish the second shoulder. When the first shoulder was complete, I put the back and front together and found much to my chagrin that the pattern wasn’t going to work. I hoped for a fishbone effect along the shoulder, but it’s going to be a diagonal line. I thought of reversing the direction of the last half-fishbone on the back, but decided it would look odd against the regularity of the other fishbones. I am hoping that it won’t be blatantly obvious.
It’s been a tiring week. Again, I’ve gone down to Northants to attend to affairs. There’s not much to say – two days of long drives leavened by stopping overnight with a friend in Edinburgh and finding that audiobooks really do help with the tedium. We’ve listened to audiobooks in the car for years, but it was always when Gordon was at the wheel. Thus it was a very pleasant discovery, and something I will do more of in future.
A Walk on the Beach, Reiss
I am sure Gordon wrote about the ‘War of the Orange’, but some recent posts on Facebook by the Caithness Archive have reminded me of it. Over the past week, they have been posting the day-by-day entries from the Harbour Master’s logbook.
Remains of a Past Tide
On 27 August , what started as a minor scuffle over an orange between a local lad and a Highland lad became a full-scale disturbance with 300 people involved. The Riot Act was read, and constables sworn in, which only served to fan the flames. Tension eased slightly on 1 September, when some of the Highland crews left, but serious fighting broke out again on the evening on the 2nd when it was reported that four men had been stabbed. This time, the military was deployed, supplementing the 270 special constables. By 5 September, it was over, when the bulk of the Highland crews cut their fishing season short and headed for home.
I wonder what they were wearing …
Apples
As I’ve been knitting the gansey, I’ve been thinking and re-thinking about the design. The longer it gets, the more positive I am that the original was likely a yoked design, with a plain or wide-rib body. As you can see in the photo posted last week, most of the garment is hidden underneath a waistcoat, so it is impossible to know for certain. This presumption is based on the sleeve, which is patterned to the elbow only. I’m considering knitting the sleeves plain from the elbow down, but think it would look odd with the full body patterning.
Canalside Sunset
There was not much progress last week, but I have come to the point where I Have To Decide what the shoulder treatment will be. I haven’t definitely decided yet, but the favourite possibility is to work half a fishbone on each shoulder, leaving a gap for the neck. The other half of the fishbone will be on the front, and a two-needle bind-off will form the ‘spine’.
Alas, the conversion to a digital landline was not without a few glitches. First, I had to figure out how to connect the analogue phone to the router. An adapter came in the same box as the router, the instructions informed me. But where was the box? Ah yes, under the bed. Where else? With the phone duly plugged in to the router, nothing happened.
The next step was to have peer at the router software, to see if there were any settings I could change, but I couldn’t see any I was confident to tinker with. I haven’t had success changing settings on the router in the past, even with instructions and videos. Perhaps the settings would take a while to percolate through the system, I thought, and left it until the next day.
Grasses in the wind
The phone was still not working the following day, and I tried other solutions using the provider’s set-up and troubleshooting instructions. I determined that the phone could connect to the router because there were a few steps that needed to be confirmed with a dial-in code. But still nothing. A phone call to support was necessary.
After a short wait, relatively speaking, the tech on the other end quickly found that a crucial setting on the router hadn’t been transferred. He could do it from his end, and a few minutes later, job done. I now have a working digital phone line.
Space Stations
As an aside, the development of the telephone is rather interesting. It wasn’t just Alexander Graham Bell. Other inventors were involved, including Phillipp Reis in Germany (who devised the name), Elisha Gray, Antonio Meucci of Italy, Thomas Edison, and others whose names have been lost to history. I won’t go into detail but encourage you to research it.
Valerian
With the gansey, a total of ten rows were unravelled. I’m never very good with numbers and it’s even worse trying to count rows in knitting. To completely eradicate the miscreant rows, another row needed to come out. It took about one and a half sessions of knitting to regain the lost ground, and a few rows after that, it was time to divide for front and back. I’ve started the back, and it’s full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes. In a few inches, I’ll decide about the shoulders – three needle bind-off, or a shoulder strap? The photo on which this pattern is based appears to have a narrow shoulder strap of double moss stitch. I’ve been thinking about repeating the fishbone motif in a ‘grown-on’ strap – an extension to the front or back, instead of a strap knit from the neck down which joins front and back. Partly it will depend on where the patterning ends when the back is at the correct length.
copyright Johnston Collection. Used with permission.
This coming week, I’ll be heading south again. I hope to do the blog next week, but if I don’t, see you on the other side.
