Det var ikke min Mormor, som lærte mig at strikke. Faktisk tror jeg, at Mormor Osine trods familietraditionen ikke var særlig god til det. Der var simpelthen ikke tid til den slags sysler i hendes liv, for allerede som stor pige arbejdede hun som sypige på sine fosterforældres systue, hvor man fabrikerede "Klipfisk" (den slags skjortebryster med knækflip, som mænd iførte sig før den første Verdenskrig), og da Morfar faldt i Krigen, i Belgien i 1917, og Bedstefar Schjøth kort derefter døde af alderdom, måtte hun allerede som 32 årig påtage sig ansvar og forsørgelse ikke bare af sig selv og sine to børn, men også af Bedste Schjøth og sin ældre søster - vores Grandtante Jane, der var udviklingshæmmet, som det hedder i dag.
Og Mormor var dygtig som selverhvervende kvinde tidligt i 1900 tallet. Da Klipfiskene var gået af mode, slog hun sig på knaphulssyning og manchetskjorter til herrer efter mål af det fineste lærred, som hun havde indkøbt (læs: hamstret) i store ruller hos Hundewatt henne omhjørnet i tiden før Den anden Verdenskrig, da hun så, hvor det bar hen, og belært af dyrekøbt erfaring under den forrige store krig.
Min Mormor havde altså aldrig rigtig tid. Men det havde Tante Jane. Og det på en helt fantastisk måde. Som jeg har nævnt, var hun handicappet i den forstand, at en hjernebetændelse, da hun var syv år, havde sat hendes åndelige udvikling i stå. Hun kunne til sin usigelige ærgrelse ikke læse, kunne kun skrive sit eget navn og kunne tælle til 10. Men med denne begrænsede færdighed var hun i stand til at hækle (og tjene lidt lommepenge ved salg) de fineste mellemværk til hovedpudebetræk - skulle hun hækle fx 37 masker, talte hun blot til 10 tre gange og derefter til syv. Men hun var også dygtig til at strikke, så det blev hende, som lærte mig det.
Efter i lang tid at have plaget hende, gav hun endelig efter den sommer, hvor jeg fyldte fem år. Til gengæld skulle jeg så overtage det forhadte arbejde med at trevle et af familiens fine, hvide, hæklede sengetæpper op. Det var nemlig i 1943. Europa var i krig, Danmark besat og der var mangel på næsten alting. Og Mormors forudseenhed havde ikke strakt sig til hamstring af strikke- og hæklegarn, så et par sengetæpper blev trevlet op og i stedet hæklet til livstykker - en slags kort undertrøje med "hold" i og lange elastikstrømpebånd til at holde de forhadte grove, lange, brune strømper oppe med, for det var først i 1947 eller 48, at de nymodens lange bukser kom til landet. Og det husker jeg ganske tydeligt. Min Mor forstod nemlig godt, at jeg afskyede de brune strømper, så hun fik skrædderen henne om hjørnet i forstaden til Århus, hvor vi boede, til at sy mig et par af min Farfars aflagte mørkeblå statsbaneuniform, så allerede som barn var jeg med på moden, i hvert fald hvad lange bukser angår.
Men nu har jeg foregrebet begivenhedernes gang. Tante Jane lærte mig altså at strikke dengang i 1943, og senere lærte hun mig også at hækle ..... til husbehov, for jeg havde ikke rigtig hjertet med i den form for håndarbejde. Måske var livstykkerne skyld i min vrangvilje. Men strikke, det kunne jeg lide, og Tante Jane havde mange små, kulørte nøgler garn til overs fra før Krigens tid, og hun gik som det store barn, hun var, lige så højt som jeg op i at strikke dukketøj til Mors fine, tyske porcelænsdukke, som var en gave fra Grandonkel Anton engang, da han var hjemme på besøg fra Argentina, hvor han arbejdede som gaucho bl.a. i Ildlandet. Dukken blev efterhånden særdeles vel ekviperet med trøjer og huer og vanter og kjoler - i vid udstrækning i stribdede designs på grund af det begrænsede garnudbud. Der var ikke meget Danish Design over det, for bortset fra at det begreb kun var i sin spæde vorden på det tidspunkt, måtte vi jo anvende, hvad vi havde, og arbejde ud fra de forudsætninger og færdigheder, vi var udstyrede med som henholdsvis 5-6 årig og 7 årig (egentlig 65 år).
Sådan gik det altså til at jeg lærte at strikke og tilbragte en stor del af den vinter i 1943 indendøre, da det var så afsindig koldt, at man kunne løbe på ski oven på det islagte Skagerak mellem Skagen og sydspidsen af Norge.
Men bordet fangede ..... Når først små piger havde lært at strikke, måtte de ikke sidde med hænderne i skødet - og det har jeg så heller ikke gjort ret meget i de 65 år, som er forløbet, siden jeg blev indviet i strikkernes "søsterskab". Det hænder, at jeg pludselig med 3-4 års mellemrum trænger til en pause; men når der er gået et halvt års tid, er jeg i gang igen, og lige i øjeblikket arbejder jeg lidt utålmodigt på at blive færdig med projekterne for denne vinter,, så jeg for alvor kan gå om bord i de forårs- og sommermodeller, som trænger sig mere og mere på i mine tanker.
It wasn't my grandmother who taught me to knit. She probably never really had time for that sort of things in her life as she was a working girl already as a child helping out in her foster parents' business making dickeys (the kind of shirt fronts with wing collars that men wore before World War I). And when her husband was killed in action in 1917 and his father died soon after of old age, she, at the age of 32, had to shoulder responsibility and provision for the whole family including her elder sister, our grand aunt Jane, who was a mentally retarded woman.
And Grandma Osine was a very capable and resourceful woman. When the dickeys went out of fashion, she turned to sewing soft front shirts made to order and of the finest linen, which she had bought (read: hoarded) by the rolls at Hundewatt's round the corner realizing what things were coming to in the late 1930s and taught by bitter experience during the previous Great War.
While Grandma Osine was busy earning a living, Aunt Jane proved the one to learn handiwork from. At the age of 7 she suffered from meningitis which left her with arrested mental development. Much to her annoyance she could not read nor write except for her own name, but she could count to 10, and with her limited mental capacity she was able to crochet (and to earn a little pocket money) beautiful insertions for pillow cases - if she needed to crochet 37 stitches e.g., she would count to 10 three times and then to seven. And she was good at knitting, too, so she was the one who taught me.
After turning five and after relentlessly nagging her to teach me, she finally gave in. But in return I had to take over the unraveling of one of the bedspreads that she had crocheted many years earlier, a chore that I hated for it was very beautiful. It was the year was 1943 and Europe was at war again. Denmark was occupied by the Germans and almost everything was in short supply or in no supply at all. Unfortunately Grandma's foresight had not stretched to such lengths as to hoard yarn for knitting and crocheting. Therefore, a couple of bedspreads had to be unraveled in order to make bodices. Bodices was a sort of undershirt with a certain solidity to it and long elastic bands attached to the bottom edge designed to keep up the coarse, long, brown stockings that I hated so much. It was not until the late 1940s that long pants for women and girls were introduced where I lived..I remember it very clearly. My Mother knew how much I hated those ugly stockings, so she had one of the first to-be called pair of slacks made to measure for me by the local tailor. The material was a fine, dark blue wool from my grandfather's discarded railway uniform ... and I was blissfully happy!
But I anticipate events. As it was, Aunt Jane taught me to knit and later to crochet. However, crocheting never became a passion as did knitting ..... perhaps because of the bodices. Aunt Jane had small balls of colored yarn left over from before the war, and between us we made a lot of clothes for my Mother's German porcelain doll. It was a present from Grand Uncle Anton when he came to visit from Argentina where he worked as a Gaucho in Tierra del Fuego among other places. By and by the doll was very well equipped with sweaters and cardigans, caps and mittens, and dresses - largely in striped designs because of the limited supply of yarn. It was not exactly Danish Design, but then again concept was barely in existence at the time. We just did our best using the skills and qualifications that you may expect from two dedicated little girls of five and seven (or rather 65!).
So that is how I learned to knit. We spent a lot of time indoors that winter in 1943, it was so cold that even the sea froze over and people skied on top of the ice between Skagen (the most northern town of Denmark)) and the southern point of Norway. However, a bargain is a bargain! Once little girls had learned to knit, they were not allowed to twiddle their thumbs, so working with my hands became a way of life as it did later on to you, Charlotte, and for 65 years I have knitted at least a couple of hours almost each and every day. Every three or four years I need a break, but then, after some six months, I am at it again, and right now while finishing the projects of this winter, new ideas for next summer's collection are taken shape in my mind.
From the east side of the Atlantic to the West side
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