I’ve just been showing a captive audience of primary school children how to make a rag rug. I managed to keep them (slightly) amused for a whole 20 minutes – a good 19 more than it actually takes to explain the technique.
I can’t imagine how my parents came to possess a rag rug, but they did. It was large and smelly, like a friendly old dog, and as a small child I would roll myself up in it whilst watching Crackerjack.
The Black Country Living History Museum capitalises on its location in an unemployment blackspot by forcing locals to dress as Victorians and Demonstrate things. When I visited, one unfortun
ate victim was demonstrating rag rug making. I immediately cornered her (Victorian Black Country cottages being ideal for this sort of thing) and bombarded her with technical questions, which she fended off bravely. Inspired by this encounter, I bought a rug-progger online, and set about learning the trade.
These rugs, I explained to the children (most of whom stayed politely awake throughout) are based on old hessian sacks, readily available throughout Victorian rural England.
I did not add that modern agriculture is, however, founded on bailer twine and paper sacks. I couldn’t find hessian anywhere.
I’d been wanting a hessian sack for some time. I’d heard that if you fill one with chicken pooh and keep it in a water butt, the result is a superb liquid manure (it isn’t: the sack rots and the result is indescribable).
My search eventually took me to Hen and Hammock, a stunning online shop for the Boden-clad weekend Cotswold cottager. Here, browsing deliciously around the unacceptable face of pastel-coloured Yummy-Mummy-hood, amongst designer hedgehog houses and alpaca wrist warmers, I found genuine hessian sacks.
A pair (‘for sack races…ideal for party games’) came to a price including postage whic
h would reduce any self-respecting farmer, Victorian or otherwise, to tears of mirth. Well worth it, however, as the foundation of a successful rug-making career.
I’ve progged half a rug so far, and it looks wonderful. I don’t know what I’ll do with the finished item. My own children are far too old to roll up in it, and you can’t play Assassin’s Creed II from inside a rag rug.
I could always unpick it and enter a sack race.
I can’t imagine how my parents came to possess a rag rug, but they did. It was large and smelly, like a friendly old dog, and as a small child I would roll myself up in it whilst watching Crackerjack.
The Black Country Living History Museum capitalises on its location in an unemployment blackspot by forcing locals to dress as Victorians and Demonstrate things. When I visited, one unfortun
ate victim was demonstrating rag rug making. I immediately cornered her (Victorian Black Country cottages being ideal for this sort of thing) and bombarded her with technical questions, which she fended off bravely. Inspired by this encounter, I bought a rug-progger online, and set about learning the trade.These rugs, I explained to the children (most of whom stayed politely awake throughout) are based on old hessian sacks, readily available throughout Victorian rural England.
I did not add that modern agriculture is, however, founded on bailer twine and paper sacks. I couldn’t find hessian anywhere.
I’d been wanting a hessian sack for some time. I’d heard that if you fill one with chicken pooh and keep it in a water butt, the result is a superb liquid manure (it isn’t: the sack rots and the result is indescribable).
My search eventually took me to Hen and Hammock, a stunning online shop for the Boden-clad weekend Cotswold cottager. Here, browsing deliciously around the unacceptable face of pastel-coloured Yummy-Mummy-hood, amongst designer hedgehog houses and alpaca wrist warmers, I found genuine hessian sacks.
A pair (‘for sack races…ideal for party games’) came to a price including postage whic
h would reduce any self-respecting farmer, Victorian or otherwise, to tears of mirth. Well worth it, however, as the foundation of a successful rug-making career.I’ve progged half a rug so far, and it looks wonderful. I don’t know what I’ll do with the finished item. My own children are far too old to roll up in it, and you can’t play Assassin’s Creed II from inside a rag rug.
I could always unpick it and enter a sack race.
No comments:
Post a Comment