When my grandmother was born in 1918, her mother was a milliner and accomplished seamstress. As a precious only child (until her brother was born in 1928), little-girl Pearl was always dressed to the nines in velvet and ribbons. Grandma herself would have had the sewing skills of most women in her generation: sewing on buttons, patching worn spots, darning socks, and making clothes last a little longer were part of being a wife and mother of the mid-twentieth century.
When Grandma moved into a seniors' residence, she no longer needed her sewing kit, and gave it to my mother to pass along to me. Within its depths, I found a wealth not all might appreciate, but which I greatly treasure.
Needles wrapped in perfect, tiny envelopes, bragging of the quality within.
Imagine, having a century's worth of needle-making skills that would allow you to guarantee the quality of your product!
It would appear that Abel Morrall's claims are true: these are fine needles.
Wooden spools with beautiful labels.
And this beautiful little book, full of all-purpose patterns for most basic knitting needs!
The item I love the most is this fabric measuring tape, marked timelessly in inches, even though in Canada, we "officially" use the metric system. I imagine my grandmother's hands measuring her child for a sweater, and even HER mother's hands measuring my little-girl Grandma.
Some women inherit diamond rings or precious china. I inherited the tools of a woman's work, imbued with the history of my foremothers. I am rich, indeed.