Look at the Things!

Sometimes I just need to come here and shout, “Look what I got!” because I have so much excitement in me that I have to share it before I explode.

Remember a little while back when I recommended that you let your family and friends know you’re a mad keen collector of porcelain cats?  Or 1970s pottery?  Or doilies?  Or whatever it might be?  Well I am back with further proof that it’s the best course of action in the form of a stack of vintage patterns I received from my mother-in-law the other day.  There I was, walking down the hall after sorting out a television issue when I spotted an interesting pile of paper that caused my vintage knitting pattern radar to go off.

“My vintage knitting pattern radar just went off,” I said to the aforementioned mother-in-law.  I always find it’s best to utter your inner thoughts aloud if you want other people to be aware of them.

“Oh yes, they’re for you,” she said.

A hearty stack of old patterns for me!  Could I have been more excited?  Only if someone had come along and said they would pay me a generous annual salary to collect vintage patterns and knit from them and given that this didn’t happen (and is unlikely to, alas) we can assume I’d reached the peak levels of excitement for the given situation.

Said levels were pretty high, though, because have a look at what I was given:

There’s actually a technical term for this; it’s ‘A giant pile of vintage knitting amazingness’.

Get the latest in neckline news, thanks to this pattern book! Haven’t you seen the Neckline News before? There’s probably a good reason for that. Those are some serious necklines, though, you have to admit.

So… I kind of like this but I’d never make it. Not in that many colours anyway.

There were a lot of patterns for boys, all looking rather dapper and slightly smug in some cases. The boy with the reindeer just looks politely confused.

A book for giant babies! Or a giant book for babies, if you want to be less silly and one hundred percent more correct.

Because nothing says ‘proudly Australian’ like carrying around a giant branch from a wattle tree.

As incredible as this bundle of vintage patterns may be, there was something amazing waiting to be discovered in the middle of it all.  A couple of weeks ago, I found a glorious book of 1940s fair isle patterns on Etsy and added it to my favourites so I could agonise over it whenever I had a spare moment or two.  Could I really justify spending $22 plus postage on it?  Really?  Did it contain $22 worth of awesomeness within its pages?

In the end, I said no to the temptation.  $10 is the most I’m prepared to pay for a vintage pattern book and even then, I’d be thinking twice about it.  So imagine my delight as I flipped through this bounty of patterns and caught a glimpse of a gold coloured cover with ‘Fair Isles’ written on it.  It couldn’t be… could it?

It could be and it was.  The very book I’d almost bought for $22 plus postage was sitting right there, being freely given to me.  I may have stroked it gently and held it close.  I may have squeed.  I may have mentioned it was now my precious and no others may touch.  Moments of serendipity like this happen rarely in the vintage pattern search, and when they do, the wonderful warm glow lasts a long time.

Later, when I was invited to take home some wool to go with all of these patterns, I found a little scrunched up book at the bottom of a bag.  It turned out to be another fair isle book of a similar age with hand-written notations on one of the patterns.  I absolutely love it when I find notations as it obviously means the garment was created and worn and enjoyed.  And in this case, I know it was created by the Chef’s grandmother, which makes it even more special.

I could pay $22 for this or I could just wait until it unexpectedly ended up in my lap. Still squeeing.

It comes with useful instructions on how to knit fair isle, which I expect will come in handy for, oh, the entire book.

Fair isle book number two! Its condition is a little ragged but that’s just because it was well-used. This is generally known as ‘a good sign’.

A pullover for a ‘small man’. Such a quaint term. I love the notations on the page, especially the bit where an entire section of the pattern was deemed surplus to requirements and scribbled out.

When you collect old things, you learn to be good at waiting and you cultivate the knack of patience.  You also learn to look absolutely everywhere and to investigate any scrunched-up bits of paper.  And sometimes, your patience rewards you with an armful of amazingness, thanks to your generous family and friends.

I hope it happens to all of you, too.