SEW FAR SO GOOD


Wrinkled fingers and snow white nails. I stand fascinated as I watch the silver needle slip through the fabric, pulling the thread with a soft sigh. 
She is Miss Lawson the sewing teacher and we are having our first sewing lesson at East London Street Primary School. I wanted to have hands like hers - I've got them now - but that's another story.
We started on a set of clothes for a doll. First item was the petticoat. I never got beyond that. I spent nerve-wracking afternoons doing untidy running stitches up the French seam and them pulling them out again because the weren't straight enough. By the time I got through the nightmare of the blind hem my classmates had finished their entire outfits. Petticoat, knickers and dress. Yet, somehow, maybe because I have an obstinate streak that makes me keep on with things I'm not very good at, I carried on sewing.
When the war ended material was scarce and on clothing coupons. My American pen-friend Donna, (who now wins prizes for intricate hand sewn patchwork), sent me some pink and grey striped cotton, enough for a blouse and some green and white enough for a dress. Heigh- ho;  Off I went, scissors slicing merrily.  Being me, I cut both the yoke of the blouse and the back bodice of the dress the wrong way. Right side vertical, left side horizontal. The material couldn't be wasted so these items were finished but had always to be worn with a cardigan, sun shine or no.
Never one to hold back I decided to make my own wedding dress. (Aided by our night school teacher Mrs.McKay). More tears and trauma and a last minute panic over inexpert cornering of the neckline. It'll look a mess on the photographs I sobbed. When I calmed down, I took two of the covered buttons from the sleeve and sewed them over the corners. The photographs looked fine and Mrs.McKay,  who was probably the only one who noticed, was pleased with my camouflage. "It's like cooking" she said. "It's what you do with your mistakes that make you an expert."  Really?
I doubt if my eldest son would agree with that. I expect he shudders at the memory of my early efforts on his behalf - I know I do. 
When Lindsay, our daughter, was born I was given a new electric sewing machine for Christmas. Here was a chance to show off  my hard won skills. The kilts I made for her brothers to wear at her christening were pretty good I thought. 
She went along with wearing my creations for a while but when she started dressmaking at school she was much too keen on perfection. "Keep moving "I said, "No one will notice if your hem isn't perfect."
With changing fashions and my broadening shape it wasn't so easy to "run up a dress". I was no longer a pattern size 12 and fitting became even more of a chore than it had always been.
Even curtain making - which seems so simple- had its terrors.
When first married and buying our first home in 1955 I set off to buy material for our 3 apartment semi. I was seduced by scarlet French brocade embroidered in blue, green and gold. I squandered the £20 in my purse on enough for two sets of floor length curtains for our living room……Need I say more…..?
I cut them wrong and amid tears and frustration I had to patch the last one. Their magic was spoiled for me forever more. I thenceforth took a hesitant and dim view of curtain making that has lasted to this day though, I still occasionally have a go.
Of late the sewing machine has lain idle. If I want something to wear I buy it. But….
One day my 14 year old granddaughter, Tanya, said "Grandma, I'm going to be a guide at Linlithgow Palace during the holidays,  where do you think I could find a dress to wear?"  The old enthusiasm stirred but I was non-committal. Should I offer I wondered?
The following week we watched - yet again - El Cid. Sophia Loren and her maidservants filled the screen in simple tunic dresses and I thought, I could make that!
I found a pattern, Lindsay gave me a length of material she had forgotten she had and I set to. A whole day to myself with my husband Jim at golf and endless time just to concentrate on what I was doing
It went well - but - of course, I eventually stitched the front to the back on the wrong side and had to undo it. "Par for the course" I muttered to myself between gritted teeth. Then laughter bubbled up as I heard my mother's voice down the years "Betty, every time I look at you, whether you're knitting or sewing,  you're picking it back."
Well - c'est la vie. As far as Tanya and I are concerned, the dress is a success - AS LONG AS SHE KEEPS MOVING!. 

END