There’s a famous anecdote of Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai, on being asked what he thought the impact of the French Revolution was, replying that it was “too early to tell”. Well, that’s still where I am with regard to my version of the Staithes pattern in this gansey. Sometimes it looks like it might come good in the end and recreate the pattern quite effectively, while at other times it more closely resembles medieval pillow mounds seen from the air. (Actually, that’s a thought – has anyone tried to knit an archaeological site drawing as a pattern before – other than Stonehenge, anyway – and how cool would that be?)
I’ve been debating whether to bail out and turn the pattern into a band across the chest, and switch to another tried and tested pattern for the rest; but I’ve decided that’s the coward’s way out – the gansey equivalent of a loaded revolver in the desk drawer. No, I think the world needs to know how this will turn out, so I’m going to carry on (for now at least). I can wear it on special days when the sun is at a particular angle to show off the pattern just so; or I can position myself nonchalantly under streetlights, in the hopes that someone will take me for a seagoing private detective on a stakeout; or I can lurk by the fridge in the hopes that someone will ask for a pint of milk, so the light will… Well, you get the idea.
I still think the pattern will emerge slightly clearer once it’s been washed and blocked, though it won’t be as definite a pattern as my model, which is a shame. But it should give an interestingly textured feel to the thing, and there’ll be enough of a pattern to get by. The effect I hadn’t anticipated is that, with the extra knit row separating the patterns, the purl stitches appear sunk into the surface of the gansey while the knit stitches seem to stand proud – not the other way round.
Other news – I moved my stuff up to Edinburgh mid-week, hence the lack of progress on the gansey. (Well, I say I moved it – really, of course, it was a couple of guys from the removal company who had the joy of struggling up the 7 flights of stairs with all the boxes and wardrobes, etc., while I mimed having something in my eye and being extremely busy in the kitchen…) As a result, updates to this blog may not happen every week, for the next few months while I flit between two addresses, 400 miles apart – so the next entry will probably be on or around Good Friday, in about 10 days’ time. See you then!
Let’s start with the Moray Firth Gansey Project. Remember a couple of weeks ago I discovered that one of my images was being used to promote the project? Well, it turns out to have been an honest misunderstanding; I’ve been in touch with Kathryn Logan, the project leader, and it’s all sorted: they’re continuing to use the image with my full consent, and I’m still rather flattered that they’re using it. So that’s all right.
Anyway, the reason for all this was the fact that I’ve had a couple of ganseys lurking in a chest for a couple of years, which we’ve never got around to photographing till now. And as this seemed the ideal opportunity, and the sun was shining, off we went. You can see the pictures of the first one, a combination of various traditional patterns that took Margaret’s fancy, 
As I’m sort of between jobs at the moment, and haven’t moved to Edinburgh yet, I’ve had plenty of time for knitting this week. Of course, being the idle young scamp that I am, I haven’t taken full advantage of it, and have instead spent my time sleeping and rashly climbing up Glastonbury Tor. (And shame on the website that refers to the “magical mystery Tor”!) But as the pictures will show, I’m making progress and am now an inch or so up the gusset. I still can’t quite make up my mind if the pattern is working or not (two plain rows for every knit 2/purl 2 pattern row, if you recall). You see, it depends on how the light strikes it – in the wrong light (i.e., most of the time) it just looks like bumpy stripes, which isn’t very appealing. But in the right light – if you hold it just so, and squint with your head on one side like you’re looking at one of those 3D “magic eye” puzzles that used to be all the rage – it almost looks exactly like the pattern on Henry Freeman’s gansey.
Now, the thing that stops me worrying too much at this stage is that this is just how the bottom panel of 
Time this week for some number-crunching, and for a small confession.
Now it’s time for the confession. I always knew deep down that it wasn’t going to be possible for me to replicate Henry Freeman’s gansey exactly. As far as I can tell, either he was a very small man (i.e., a dwarf), or his ganseys are knit in a rather larger gauge than mine – perhaps 5 or 6 stitches to the inch instead of my 8 or 9. This means, if I knit his pattern as recorded, instead of that rather nicely textured, spaced effect on his ganseys I will end up with a closely dappled texture, which isn’t really what I want. (You can see what I mean on the yoke of Gavin’s gansey 
The solution I’m most minded to try isn’t one I can recall seeing written down anywhere (though I’m willing to stand corrected) – which I guess suggests that it probably won’t work! But I’m thinking of alternating the pattern rows (knit 2, purl 2) with not one, but two, count them, two rows of plain knitting. I’m hoping this will separate out the pattern rows just enough to bring out the pattern without turning it into a sort of moss stitch effect. (The risk is, of course, that at my stitch gauge, 2 stitches of purl alternating with 2 of plain will just not be big enough to make it work.) I’ll aim for 3 bands across the yoke of 50 rows each, which at least has the virtue of simplicity.
Well now, imagine our surprise when Margaret opened her March edition of Slipknot, the journal of the 
Fame at last, I thought. But no; it’s obscurity again, I’m afraid. The picture has actually been lifted from this website (uncredited, which is a little bit naughty) to illustrate a new gansey project taking place in Scotland, organised by one Kathryn Logan of the Moray Firth Partnership. The stated aims of the project are to locate, conserve and record old ganseys of the area and their patterns, and to get more local people interested in knitting and in their coastal heritage.
But as the photos this week show, this is where it all starts to pay off: just doing a row or two each night builds up to an inch or two each week. So that, almost without my noticing it, my embryonic gansey is about a foot in length – the gussets are perhaps only a couple of weeks away, and it’s almost time to think about working out the pattern.
Another way of measuring progress is in yarn used, and I’ve included a picture here of the cone I’m working from alongside an untouched 500g cone – which looks remarkably fat in comparison!
It’s a curious thing that gansey wool, which feels quite soft to the touch in swatches, when knitted at this tension to a height of 10 inches or so takes on the consistency of canvas – i.e., becomes stiff and unyielding. Maybe it’s all the caked-in salt from the sweat of my fingers, or all the hot salt tears I’ve wept over it, I don’t know, but I’m tempted to make my next project a gansey tent, or even a natty pair of shorts. Anyway, I’m hoping it will retain its firmness once it’s been washed and can then act as a sort of corset, thus turning me into the William Shatner of herring fishermen.
I have a growing pile of novels on my bedside table, each of which is there just in case I feel in the mood for it, and a similar pile which I’m accumulating for the move to Edinburgh, like a squirrel squirrelling away for the lean times ahead. (In the same way I’ve iPodded over 100 audiobooks over the last year, and stocked up on some big, fat classical cd box set bargains (60 cds of Beethoven, and boxes of Vaughan Williams, Benjamin Britten, Wagner, Haydn).