I’ve noticed that the seasons have started to turn while I was away. The frothy white heads of the umbellifers lining the paths have been replaced by the miniature space stations of their seedheads. The green fields are now golden. Alas, they’re not amber waves nowadays; ‘improvements’ in agriculture have shortened the stems. So why does wheat currently have shorter stems? During the mid 20th century, wheat was selectively bred to produce shorter stems. Shorter stems meant the grain was less likely to topple over in the field, and lead to higher yields. (Thank you, internet.)
There are also the thistles – there are so many varieties I don’t even try to identify them. The bright purples and pinks have turned to white fluff, soon to drift off in the autumn winds.
Black headed gull
There are changes in the wildlife too. Most notably, the black-headed gulls are starting to lose their black heads, changing to the winter plumage of a white head with black ‘ears’ – a dark spot behind the eye.
To drift off to another subject, a word I started to wonder about this week was ‘butter’. It just popped into my head during a walk. I thought that perhaps it was called ‘butter’ because cream is beaten, or by extension, butted, to make it. But another surprise awaited in the ever-useful Oxford English Dictionary: it’s a borrowing from Latin! And the Romans borrowed it from the Greeks! To quote the OED: “from classical Latinbūtȳrum (also būtūrum) butter from ancient Greek βούτυρον butter from βοῦς ox, cow (see Bucephalus n.) + τυρός cheese (see tyroma n.).” The first known use in English is before 1150 AD.
Thistledown
Coming back to the future with a jolt, tomorrow the landline in the house will be switched to a digital voice service. What does this mean? Instead of the telephone line being routed through the old copper network, it will come via the internet. The UK is switching off the copper network at the end of 2027. Essentially, communication needs have changed drastically since the network was first developed in the 19th century. Broadband is faster, more reliable, more resilient and easier to maintain. The landline doesn’t get much use now, perhaps the switch will future-proof it. The only thing I need to figure out is how to connect the phone handset to the router.
Finally, we reach the sparse paragraph where I detail this week’s progress on the gansey. The photo gives a false impression, because last night I realized that yet again I’d made a blunder, and a rather colossal one at that. If you get out your rulers and measure your screen, you will see that the top repeat of the fishbone pattern is too tall. Annoyingly, I didn’t notice until the end of the repeat. The last 9 rows will need to be ripped out. Due to the nature of the pattern, this can’t be done in sections, amending a stitch here and there. They’ve all got to go.
Back in the cool and gloomy North, after a long, uneventful drive from Edinburgh. It’s not a bad drive – unless you find yourself behind some very slow traffic, as I did – an exceptionally plodding van, whose top speed was 50 mph and which was also large enough to block the view ahead. Patience is a virtue, they say. Sometimes it’s difficult.
The Olympics end this evening, and rather belatedly I found out yesterday what the puzzling mascot is supposed to be. Was it a flame in soft toy form? A pyramid, like that outside the Louvre? Surely it wasn’t a red poo emoji? Then I read that it represents a Phrygian cap. Of course I’d heard of those – but the explanation of ‘the cap worn by French revolutionaries’ doesn’t tell you much. It is most famously seen in Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People, which hangs in the Louvre.
Hardy Fuchsia
This work, painted forty years after the 1789 revolution and one year after the second in 1830, was Delacroix’s response to the turmoil in France during these years. He is quoted as saying, “. . . if I haven’t fought for my country at least I’ll paint for her.” It was exhibited at the Salon of 1831 for the first time, after which it was bought by the French government. The plan to display it in the throne room, as a reminder to the King of who was boss, came to naught, and it was returned to Delacroix in 1832. The subject was considered ‘inflammatory’. Eventually the government acquired it again in 1874, and it has been in the Louvre since, apart from a trip to the US in 1974/5 for the Bicentennial and to Tokyo in 1999.
Marshland textures
But we’ve wandered away from the Phrygian cap itself. Its origins are from eastern Europe and ancient Persia. To quote from Wikipedia,
“The original cap of liberty was the Roman pileus, the felt cap of emancipated slaves of ancient Rome, which was an attribute of Libertas, the Roman goddess of liberty. In the 16th century, the Roman iconography of liberty was revived in emblem books and numismatic handbooks where the figure of Libertas is usually depicted with a pileus.”
Going to Seed
For the following two centuries, it was frequently used in the Netherlands, “where the cap of liberty was adopted in the form of a contemporary hat. In the 18th century, the traditional liberty cap was widely used in English prints, and from 1789 also in French prints; by the early 1790s, it was regularly used in the Phrygian form.”
So there you have it. An ancient garment revived during the Renaissance and taken up throughout Europe as a symbol of liberty.
Busy
With a bit of clumsy footwork, I can say that the knitting on the ancient garment of the current gansey has been revived. An inch or two have been done, and the gussets have been started. It feels like progress, when the gussets are begun – one third down, two thirds to go . . .
This week, I write from Edinburgh, having arrived after three quiet, restful days in Southport. There’s a festival on here , but you’d never know it here in the suburbs. My stay in Northants was longer than originally planned. With the change in location came a change in schedule, which disrupted sleep yet again. I’d hoped to get all sorts of things done – sewing, knitting, cleaning, photo editing – but in the end only got through some necessary paperwork.
A dab of red
I did fit in one walk, however, and ambled up to the nearby village of Gayton. The walk is along an ancient right of way, up the hill and through the fields. One year, golden wheat was waving and rustling in the field. This year, it was the solid green of broad beans, occasionally enlivened by a dab of red poppies. I went through the village to the ancient church. There had been a wedding that morning; confetti was swirling in the breeze, captured by spiderwebs on the church gate. The church didn’t seem to be open, I had to be satisfied examining the exterior more closely. The top mouldings of the windows were terminated by faces:
Window moulding
Did you know that the Olympics also included the arts? I hadn’t a clue. Between 1912 and 1948, 146 medals were awarded in the categories of architecture, literature, music, painting, and sculpture. Two talented individuals won medals in both the arts and athletics Olympics: Walter Winans, a gold for shooting in 1908, and a gold for sculpture in 1912; and Alfréd Hajós, two golds for swimming in 1896, and a silver for architecture in 1924.
Gayton from the path
And ‘clue’. I recently read the origin of the word on another knitter’s blog, and it was both enlightening and surprising. The meaning we use most doesn’t need explanation, but one of its meanings, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is: “A ball of thread, employed to guide a person in ‘threading’ his or her way into or out of a labyrinth or maze; hence, in many more or less figurative applications, a fact, circumstance, or principle which, being taken hold of and followed up, leads through a maze, perplexity, difficulty, intricate investigation, etc.”. Indeed, “clue” is still in use today with its meaning of ‘ball of yarn’, particularly in Scotland and the north of England.
Ships passing
One last item of interest – congratulations to RSPB Forsinard for being granted UNESCO World Heritage status. It’s the first peat bog in the world to be awarded such status. Well done to them.
Gayton church
The clue to the Gansey content of this week’s blog is apparent in the photo. Alas, no progress whatsoever has been made this week. Between lack of sleep and, erm, following up clues in paperwork, there wasn’t much left in the tank for knitting. I promise to do better next week.
To continue with the trip to France, one of the days we took a field trip to Albi, about an hours’ drive from our little village. There’s a massive cathedral there which dominates the centre of the town. Started in 1282 and competed 200 years later, it is constructed almost entirely of brick. Inside, the walls are covered in paintings. Many of these are geometric, quilt-like patterns; some, like the Last Judgment at the eastern end of the nave, are more realistic.
Albi Cathedral
Also in Albi is the cloister of St Salvi, a hidden gem tucked in between the town’s buildings and reached by a staircase. The church is well worth a visit too, but it’s the small cloister that you’d return to. It’s very small, and the centre has beds of medicinal plants and a few small trees – it’s a haven of quiet in the centre of the town.
Cloister of St Salvi
The Toulouse-Lautrec Museum is also in Albi, housed in the former Bishop’s Palace. Having visited it previously, this time I only browsed the shop and then went in search of a view of the parterre garden behind the palace. It has ornate plantings of carefully trimmed box hedges. It’s not possible to stroll through, but there is an elevated walkway to view it. The river Tarn flows below the Palace and is spanned by the Pont Vieux. Even covered in scaffolding, it dominates the river. I strolled down to the riverside and had my lunch in the shade of the trees, the river lapping at my feet.
Side chapel in the cathedral
Speaking of strolling, I also enjoyed my regular walks while there, wandering up the road above the valley of the Sor. I’ve always liked this walk, past the ancient village houses to the forested area beyond. There are some beautiful houses along the road; many of them were water-powered copper beating mills.
I’m still on my travels, having driven down to Northamptonshire for my brother-in-law’s funeral. I broke the drive in Edinburgh, staying with my very accommodating friends overnight, and completed the journey the next day, driving through the hot, sticky Midlands. I’ll return in the coming week, but this time stopping twice.
Carving on Gayton church
The funeral last Monday afternoon went well; many people commented it was a good service. The classic car club arrived in their classic cars, the morris men danced “Bonny Green Garters” at the end of the service. This dance, also known as “the morris men’s traditional farewell”, is usually performed at the end of a set of dances. They danced at the reception too. Former regulars of the side had come from near and far to pay their respects.
Not much progress has been made on the gansey these past two weeks. I’ve been rather occupied with funeral arrangements, travel, and getting to grips with paperwork, which will be a long term project. But there is some progress on the gansey, and that’s the important thing. The alternating pattern of waves and ‘fishbones’ should block quite well, to give an overall texture.
I’m back in Scotland now, after a week in foreign climes – half in the south of France sandwiched with days in Edinburgh. The weather was . . . disappointingly much like home. Arrival day in France was hot, but the intervening week was generally cloudy, cool, and breezy. Expecting tropical temperatures, I’d packed for warmer temperatures. Layering up as much as possible, I longed for ‘Caithness summer’ clothing.
View from my bedroom window
The ’art retreat’ I attended was conducted at a relaxed pace. With three leaders, each instructing in separate techniques, we explored three disciplines: polymer clay, embroidery, and sketching. There were two sessions of polymer clay, learning simple techniques and using them for jewellery. For embroidery, the instructor gave us kits for hand-sewn needle books, complete with needles and tiny scissors to put in them. With sketching, we explored ways to make a blank page less daunting by tearing holes in vintage printed paper which were then glued to a backing sheet. The holes were used as frames for small sketches of the village.
Rue des Martineurs
In the past, the village was known for copper vessels, with half a dozen copper beating mills in the valley of the river Sor. The copper was made into vessels in the village’s workshops. Now, the focus has shifted to art & craft, and the village has rebranded itself as an ‘artisanal village’. For the art, a street artist was commissioned to paint a forest scene on a building next to the square. Further commissions extended the artworks to other walls, and then residents could have their garage doors muralled. These have made the village a much more colourful place.
Inside the Market Hall
Part of our time was spent in the airy attic studio and part on excursions. On the Saturday morning, we went to the nearby market in Revel. The large market square, with a 14th C market hall, is encompassed by arcades with shops and cafes. The market radiates into the surrounding streets, with food in the square, and household goods and clothing in the outlying stalls.
A Lane in Albi
The gansey came with me on the trip. I didn’t knit as much as hoped, but there is reasonable progress. The split welt and a few inches of the body are done. To avoid interminable inches of garter stitch on the welt, I chose a broken rib pattern which is too ‘ribby’. A stern blocking should make it behave. The pattern for the body is from one of the Johnston photos. Sometimes I think of it as “Calm Seas and Prosperous Voyage” (rippling seas and lots of herring), or more prosaically as “Thos McKay”, which is the name on the glass plate negative.
In parish notices, Sigrid has sent photos of a delicate pink gansey cardigan with a shawl collar. Well done to her.
Next week, I’ll be on the road again. This time I’m travelling down to Northampton, for my brother-in-law’s funeral. I’ll do my best to get a blog out, but I know you’ll understand if I don’t.
I’ve noticed that the seasons have started to turn while I was away. The frothy white heads of the umbellifers lining the paths have been replaced by the miniature space stations of their seedheads. The green fields are now golden. Alas, they’re not amber waves nowadays; ‘improvements’ in agriculture have shortened the stems. So why does wheat currently have shorter stems? During the mid 20th century, wheat was selectively bred to produce shorter stems. Shorter stems meant the grain was less likely to topple over in the field, and lead to higher yields. (Thank you, internet.)
Finally, we reach the sparse paragraph where I detail this week’s progress on the gansey. The photo gives a false impression, because last night I realized that yet again I’d made a blunder, and a rather colossal one at that. If you get out your rulers and measure your screen, you will see that the top repeat of the fishbone pattern is too tall. Annoyingly, I didn’t notice until the end of the repeat. The last 9 rows will need to be ripped out. Due to the nature of the pattern, this can’t be done in sections, amending a stitch here and there. They’ve all got to go. 
