Darning effort brings joy
People who lived through the two world wars and the Depression practised darning, but if you are under 40 you may never have heard of it.
Consumerism means darning socks has taken second place to buying another pair.
Nowadays, visible darning is in vogue, along with the willingness to repair broken items as opposed to replacing them. “Repair” is one of the 10 essential R words of sustainability.
My over-70 friends tend to darn their socks; they have done so for decades.
When I was a child, my mother taught me to darn; we darned our family’s socks to save money. However, in my 30s, when I started earning a decent income, it became easier and quicker to buy more pairs.
The quality of socks is not always what it used to be. Beware the lure of cheap ones; those bought last winter may already have holes.
In July I was sick. During my convalescence, I decided to mend some favourite woollen socks that had been lurking at the back of my sock drawer for years.
At the Re-Use Academy, I
made a donation for some beige darning wool that didn’t match the colour of either pair.
In my sewing basket a solitary darning needle is stuck into the brocade-covered pin cushion made by Aunt May in the 1960s, plus Mum’s and Grandma’s wooden darning mushrooms, which I inherited.
Sitting in my sunny conservatory, I set to work. The task was highly enjoyable; my handiwork improved as I persevered, thinking of my mum, grandmother and aunt.
It has felt good to wear my beloved old socks again.
Lyn Pearson says, “I know my darning skills aren’t brilliant, and arthritic fingers don’t help, but I also know mending wool socks, especially thick ones, is worth the effort.”