For a short time there it looked like spring was about to make an entrance, and rather earlier than usual. The days are getting longer, the snowdrops are out and the first green shoots of a crowd (possibly even a host) of golden daffodils are, well, shooting. A few optimistic blackbirds even start the day with a bit of a warble, stubbornly ignoring the fact that this is Caithness and dawn at this time of year usually happens to other people. Spring has definitely been in the air, and in the earth.
Then on Friday morning Storm Otto swept in, and all bets were off. I’d had a restless night. Lying awake at 5.30am I heard the wind blowing and thought, pah, call yourself a storm? By 6.15 I thought, okay, that’s definitely windy. By 6.45 it felt like a jumbo jet was revving its engines in our front garden. The whole house was shaking and it seemed the only thing holding it together was the wallpaper. At times like this, all you can do is sit it out and hope. Luckily Otto didn’t hang about. The worst was over by about 8.00am, and an hour later he’d headed off to trash Aberdeenshire. Wick recorded a top wind speed of 78mph—not the worst we’ve had, but bad enough. And then, the aftermath. I always know when a storm’s blown through, the roads are littered with broken branches and twigs; and I suddenly realise why Caithness is so bare of trees.
As for spring, Shakespeare famously has this jaunty little ditty: “In spring time, the only pretty ring time/ When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding/ Sweet lovers love the spring.” Seriously, Bill? Stretching for the rhyme a bit there, mate; I mean, have you ever heard a bird go “ding a ding, ding”? Other than a very confused woodpecker mistaking a church bell for a birch tree, obviously. But then, I suppose, given the alternative (When birds do tweet, tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet/ Sweet lovers love… the sleet? To cheat? A treat? A spreadsheet?) on second thoughts, birds that go “ding ding” are probably fine…
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TECHNICAL STUFF
It’s another landmark week this week, as I place the half-gussets on their holders and divide for front and back. The overall length of the gansey is just 24 inches, so including the two inches of ribbing at the bottom I’ve divided at 16 inches: the plan is to make the armholes seven inches plus one inch for the shoulder strap (16 + 7 + 1 = 24″). Normally this is the point where you really pick up speed, since you’re only knitting half a row at a time, but in this case I’ve got to be careful as the lacy trees in the centre panels with their yarn overs and right- and left-decreases require my full attention.
Here are the pattern charts for the yoke. These charts are for the original gansey in the glass plate negative: please note that in this knitted version I’ve inserted cables to separate the various pattern bands. This is purely to make it wider (to fit the recipient) while leaving the actual pattern elements the same.
In the following charts / = right decrease, \ = left decrease, and 0 = yarn over.
Beautiful ! Love your work and your blog !
I’m wondering how many stitches you have in the cables you added ?
I’m contemplating changing cables in a gansey I’m knitting (just finished the ribbing) and I’m pondering how much the different cables pull in.. There are lots of things to figure out in the gansey knitting journey aren’t there ?
Hi Christiann, thank you! To answer your question, each cable is what I think of as the “standard” gansey cable: a cable six stitches wide, with two purl stitches on either side. I like cabling every seventh row, but that’s just my personal preference. Cables do pull in the width of a gansey, and sometimes I add an extra stitch to the overall width for every cable to compensate. But it can also depend on the pattern. Hope this helps!
Oh my, that is a pretty gansey.
Hi Tamar, once again credit where it’s due: John Macleod was a lucky man for someone to knit this for him for his “Sunday best”!