Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl two.
Oh, it’s you. Yes, of course, come on in. It’s good to see you again.
What am I knitting? A sock. I haven’t tried knitting socks for nearly 40 years, so it’s quite an adventure. Setting the heels is the bit that makes stronger women than I blench, but our Librarian, Iain Nicholas Mackenzie, is teaching me.
And why wouldn’t a man know how to knit? There was a time in Europe when most professional knitters and needleworkers were men, they tell me. Many the soldier learned to knit in hospital, too, in one or another of the long wars that have plagued humanity, especially since medical care got good enough for there to be hospitals for soldiers to mend in. Besides, it’s an Argyle sock, and Iain Nicholas is Scots, after all! (Though he assures me he’s from Skye, and I already knew how to do the Argyle bits…but that’s another story, and we won’t let on to him.)
To my mind, there’s something fitting about a librarian who knits, anyway. One of the few things I learned from my grandmother was how to read and knit at the same time. ‘There were long years when the children were small when the only chance I got to read was when I was knitting,’ she told me. ‘It’s all in the way you prop the book up.’ Many’s the hour I’ve spent doing both since then, I can tell you.
Mackenzie isn’t the only inhabitant of the Green Man Library who knits, of course. Several of the Several Annies had been after me to join them on Wednesday nights for their regular ‘Chix with Stix’ gatherings. I finally managed to get away last week, and it was a real eye-opener, I assure you.
I don’t dare name any names, but one staffer had a huge bag stuffed with eyelash yarn. You’ve seen it, even if you didn’t know the name – wonderfully plush stuff. She was knitting up a storm in the corner (and yes, it was raining at the time, come to think of it), making a scarf. She told me she has an arrangement with the foreman of the gnomes who work with Gus in the garden to supply them with a new hat and scarf each every year, and there are so many of them that she’s at it all year round to be able to present the new batch in the fall, just before the first frost.
A couple of other members of the staff were arguing over Aran patterns. They had several books out on the hearthrug. I’d always heard myself that each family in the Western Isles had its own patterns, to make identifying the corpses easier, you know, but I don’t know if it’s true or not. My own people have been on this side of the Water too long for that knowledge to have been passed down. Anyway, they were trying to decide what would make a suitable sweater for Jamie the Cavalier King Charles spaniel who lives on the island in the stream out back. He’s getting a little rheumatic, and another winter like last year’s might be the death of him. None of us want to see Jamie go — for pure mercy’s sake, and because Jamie as a ghost would surely be even more fearsome than Jamie in life. I have my doubts about how he’d like a sweater with an Irish pattern, myself. He’s pure Scots is our Jamie.
Liath ó Laighin, our distinguished Archivist, was perched on a stool, her slender fingers flashing in the firelight. Though actually, it was more the beads strung on her yarn that were flashing. When I asked her what she was making, she told me it was a beaded amulet bag. The silk yarn was so fine that she was using needles not much bigger around than ill-fed toothpicks, and the beads were gloriously rainbow-coloured crystals.
It was a while before I noticed the oddest sight of all. Two brownies sat cross-legged on the floor across from each other. They were industriously balling yarn, but the skeins they were working from were suspended in mid-air. Curiosity got the better of me, dangerous though that sometimes is in the Building, and I went to find out what was going on. After a few fits of the giggles, they finally explained that Hamish, our invisible hedgehog, was asleep between them, and that the skeins were draped over his spine. He doesn’t seem to mind, so long as they promise him a saucer of sweet cream when they’re done.
So while I doubt I’ll get there every Wednesday night, I certainly intend to be back with the other knitters as often as I can. You’re welcome, too, anytime, you know.
