My mother was no more enthusiastic about sewing than I am, but she sewed well and encouraged me to learn from her. It’s only now that she’s not around any more to support and advise that I appreciate just how knowledgeable she was, and just how many hours she spent each week sewing because – in a time of scarcity – there was no choice but to sew one’s own clothes and furnishings…and mend them, too.
Over nine days, I’ll be publishing short extracts from a new nine-part poem. It begins here.
My Mother’s Book of Hours: Novena
Double beech-wood covers yawn wide as a cathedral bible
To yield their treasures,
And suddenly we’re unearthing from the sewing box
The scriptures of our family history—
Here, in all their muddled glory.
(c) Lizzie Ballagher