Battered and bashed and a lump in the throat.

Sorting some bits earlier I came across this


An old tin. Battered and bashed, but I knew what it contained. I lifted the lid


Sure enough the bits and pieces were neatly stashed inside – and there on top was the last piece of work, incomplete. It was the handy collection that my mother took with her when she travelled – so that she would always have something to keep her hands busy. I was prepared – but it still brought a lump to my throat – especially as the thread on top was one of my hand-dyes. I can remember the last time she took it on holiday – with us, to Wales. She opened and closed the tin, but couldn’t remember what she had to do with the things inside.

015The inscription on the bottom of the tin intrigued me, I’m not old enough to remember the name, but I think I’ve heard it mentioned somewhere in the dim and distant past. Looking online there are a few photographs – and also this little bit of history.

Sorry, I have to go and wipe my eyes.

11 thoughts on “Battered and bashed and a lump in the throat.

  1. I can so relate to this. My mother learned how to crochet from me late in life, when she was often bedridden. She left behinds dozens of hankies with crocheted edgings, as well as one piece, unfinished, in her sewing basket. I’ll keep it forever.


  2. And just before I read your post, I was delving into my special box: where I keep mementos of my three special ladies in my life–my mother, my mother in law and my grandmother in law!
    They all influenced my journey in needlework. Today my M-I-l’s work is on display……..


      1. Yes,Myfanwy the pieces are still in regular use. I hope my daughter will follow on “later”. Like me, she appreciates her family relics even though her skills lie in other directions


      2. That’s such a comfort to you I’m sure. My daughter is the same. Who knows what they will do when they have more time on their hands, though. Maybe they too will be inspired…


  3. Finds to be treasured indeed; my mum died a couple of weeks ago and finding pieces of her work and her notes in books have just been precious beyond belief.


    1. I’m so sorry to hear about your dear Mum. It’s the little things that seem to mean more – the things that others might reject.

      My mother is 96 and has Alzheimers.


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