A white piece of fabric, quilted and embroidered in a curving pattern, in shades of brown, orange, grey, cream, and red

Experiments in Random Stitchery

A white piece of fabric, quilted and embroidered in a curving pattern, in shades of brown, orange, grey, cream, and red
A month’s worth of unplanned stitching, September 2021

Last month, I decided to do something new. Well, new for me, at any rate. I was very busy preparing a paper about stitching in the Cromwell Trilogy for a conference about the work of Hilary Mantel which took place in mid-October, and I didn’t have much space in my head for thoughts of complicated sewing. What I needed was the equivalent of a musician practising scales – keeping my muscle memory in play.

I had read about the practice of doing a bit of unplanned sewing every day, and, earlier this year, I went to a fascinating online talk by textile artist Claire Wellesley-Smith about her longstanding stitch journal. I didn’t want to embark on anything large scale, especially given my ongoing Cromwell quilt work, but I was intrigued by what I had heard about the stitch journal and I wondered whether a few minutes of daily unplanned sewing would benefit my work.

White fabric with some quilting in chain and running stitch in orange thread
A bit of orange thread

I had an odd piece of white fabric lying around – about 13 by 10 inches – and an offcut of wadding of about the same size. And I picked up a bit of orange thread. I’ve been quilting with chain stitch a lot recently, so I started with that, then added in some standard quilting stitch. The idea was not to worry too much about stitch length but just to see what happened.

As ever, the first stitches on blank fabric looked fairly underwhelming, and I found the process slightly odd. I am usually quite controlled with my sewing and know exactly what I am going to stitch – especially when I am working with lettering – but here I was faced with a blank space and an attempt to let my needle go where it chose. I defaulted to curves very quickly, because I always prefer to stitch curved lines rather than straight.

White fabric, quilted with orange and grey thread in a curving design
Trying not to worry about stitch length

I got into the habit of using whatever thread was to hand, provided that it fitted in to a fairly restricted colour range – brown, orange, red, cream, black, and grey. Rather than allowing cut off pieces of cotton from other stitching to sit in my pincushion and get tangled (a bad habit of mine), I started to add them on to the random stitch piece.

White fabric, quilted with brown, cream, orange, red, grey and black thread in a random curving design
Random Stitches spreading out

I usually did about ten minutes random stitching at a time. I didn’t do it every day; I live with a migraine condition which means I tend not to commit myself to a daily practice, as I can’t maintain it. But I did add stitches on most days, finding it beneficial to have something I could pick up in odd minutes.

As I very gradually added more stitches, the fabric changed texture – something that never fails to surprise me – and I started to see random patterns becoming something else. Was this a rockpool? Or some sort of shale rock formation? Sometimes an unstructured stitch takes a needle somewhere entirely unexpected. It was exciting to see my ten minute stitching sessions actually turn into something – a fairly coherent piece of sewing that started from nothing.

White fabric quilted in a curving design with orange, red, cream, brown, black, grey thread
September Stitches

I found the practice so beneficial that, at the end of September, I cut out some russet coloured fabric and added it to the first piece so I could carry on in October.

So far, October’s random sewing looks less interesting – largely because I have been so preoccupied with other work. And I find that interesting, albeit not surprising: a ten-minute random stitch practice is impacted by what else is going on elsewhere. This month, there are no swirling curves, just some rather unadventurous wavy lines. I’ll have to watch how it develops in the last week of October.

Quilt Archaeology: The piece I like best

Cross Little Men Singing a Cross Little Song (2016)
Photographer: © Michael Wicks

During my ongoing Quilt Archaeology, I unearthed the one piece with which I am entirely happy: Cross Little Men Singing a Cross Little Song. I handquilted them in 2016.

Cross Little Men Singing a Cross Little Song sing out on two pieces of cloth just 13 inches by 8. I must have been looking at the Isle of Lewis Chessmen when I thought of them (I have a replica of that chess set. I keep meaning to learn how to play, but I’ve been saying that for well over a decade). My needle had its own ideas, however, and my Cross Little Men decided to be rather jolly. They didn’t turn out biting their shields as I had originally envisaged them, instead they sprang off the needle wanting to sing about the sea. They make me laugh every time I see them.

I sometimes think about making a whole fleet of Cross Little Men, but I suspect that if I did, they wouldn’t turn out in the same spirit: they might be rather forced and become very bad-tempered indeed. And the original three might feel slighted and stop singing. And that would be a shame because this is the one piece in my collection that I love without reservation.

Quilt Archaeology

I have been digging around under the stairs and in the back of the wardrobe, in bags and in boxes, and finding old quilt projects – or, as I like to term it, indulging in Quilt Archaeology. I’m in between two phases of an enormous project and I’m having a bit of a break before picking it up again.

An enormous project: The Cromwell Trilogy Quilt as at 6 July 2021

I finished work on the Wolf Hall section of the Cromwell Trilogy Quilt on 19 August 2021 and have been busy writing up the project and matters relating to it for a conference about Hilary Mantel’s work which takes place in October. I started doing a bit of work on the Bring Up the Bodies section but I realised I was forcing the process, and that’s never a good idea.

19 August 2021: The Wolf Hall section of the Cromwell Trilogy Quilt is finally finished, and I am both exhilarated and exhausted

So rather than going back to my notebooks, index cards, and Hilary Mantel’s glorious prose, I started to sort some of my fabric stash into better order, and in the process unearthed some old and unfinished projects.

The difficulty of replacing a central star: not recommended

During my quilt archaeology session, I came across various pieces. There’s a star quilt, which I started in 2005. I abandoned it because the central star was off: the original fabric had a particular pattern and I hadn’t cut it with any thought to pattern matching. It looked terribly clumsy. In October 2019, I replaced the central star with a different fabric. This piece is now half way quilted, but I keep thinking about whether I should replace some of the outer pieces before going any further. The pattern matching is a bit off in a couple of places. So, yes, I probably will have a further fiddle with the piecing before I finish quilting it. Maybe next year…..

I also found a hexagon quilt which I paper pieced in 2013. I don’t do much paper piecing these days, as it is so hard on the hands. I had started quilting, but I can’t think what led me to want to place a circle on every single hexagon? I like the effect, but it’s going to take years to finish. Can I be less strict about the quilting design I wonder? Maybe finish it with something less dense? Or would that spoil the overall effect?

The most problematic piece I found is a very floral quilt that I made in 2007-8. I was figuring out how to handquilt properly, rather than by stabbing the stitches through the different layers. My taste has changed so I wouldn’t make anything so floral now, but I remember liking it fifteen years ago. Do I keep this piece to remind me of learning to handquilt? Do I finish it and highlight those painstaking learning stitches? Or do I decide it’s not worth the effort? When I examined this quilt more closely I found that there were multiple problems associated with the layering: I didn’t get the wadding properly flat and it has twisted slightly. It’s not fixable to my satisfaction without unpicking everything and relayering it. Can I be bothered? I haven’t decided yet.

Then there’s a bee folklore quilt top that I’ve just washed. I remember doing the research for this piece, but I have no memory of putting it together. My memory insists that that’s a project waiting to be started, so how did it get so far ahead without me noticing? There’s an aggressively bright strippy floral quilt, which is very near completion – why didn’t I finish that in 2009 when I made it? I’ve an unfinished purple and cream diamond quilt top that’s been lurking since 2013: I know my hands don’t appreciate the paper piecing involved so I can’t make it any bigger, but perhaps it can be appliquéd onto something else as a centrepiece? Under the desk, there’s a double wedding ring quilt top I painstakingly handpieced in 2018-19, just to to see whether I could. All that effort really needs quilting….

If you work entirely by hand – as I now do – quilts take a long time to make, and there’s a good chance of becoming disenchanted half way through stitching. Or of deciding that something isn’t working. Or of finding a structural problem that you don’t know how to fix. Yet. But one of the joys of making quilts is that they don’t go off: you can put them aside for days, months, or even years, and pick them up again. You can fix what defeated you before, you can unpick, rework, and restitch, or possibly even decide that the thing that was bothering you before is actually all right.

Scrappy quilt – finished in 2019: 13 years after I started sewing it.

The scrappy quilt above is a case in point. I started it way back in 2006. I felt then that I should learn how to stitch by machine, even though I hated doing it, and I was a very inexperienced quiltmaker. I got half way through handquilting it, and then found that, structurally, there were real problems, due to my inability to machine stitch a straight seam. So I stuck the whole thing in a bag and refused to think about it. I picked it up again in 2019 and realised it was fixable with some unpicking, some restitching and some patching. I finished it in late 2019. These days I quite like having it around. It’s comfortable. And it reminds me that one day’s abandoned project can become tomorrow’s finished quilt, with just a touch of rethinking.

Embroidered fabric with the words Anna Regina and a postcard of Anne Boleyn

The Cromwell Trilogy Quilt: Designing around the Text

The last time I wrote about the Cromwell Trilogy Quilt Project, I mentioned the absence of planning when I started embroidering the chapter titles from Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall, Bring Up the Bodies, and The Mirror and the Light. Yes, I made sure there was some regularity about the lettering I stitched, but I didn’t have any sort of scheme for how the pieces would fit together or how they would be quilted. It is unsurprising therefore that once I got into working out the quilting design, this presented challenges.

A rectangular rush basket full of embroidered wording
A basket of embroidered chapter titles waiting to be quilted

There are two main issues. Firstly, once I started putting the pieces together, I wondered why I hadn’t simply quilted the chapter titles from the start. I can quilt using chain stitch, so why had I simply embroidered them, thus necessitating a whole separate quilting exercise that might lead to distortion of the lettering? The answer of course lies in the fact that I had never really intended to stitch all this text at all – I just intended to sew Mirror and Light but I carried on for five months until the chapter titles from the whole trilogy were done, and my left thumb ached from gripping the thread.

The second issue is one of design. Some of the chapter titles are short – Early Mass, Angels, Wreckage, Salvage – and the text, as it is sewn on to the fabric, provides space for prominent quilting designs before or after the words in question. Other chapter titles, however, are almost as long as the fabric strips that make up the different elements of the piece – An Occult History of Britain, Alas, What Shall I Do for Love?, The Image of the King – so adding very prominent quilting would both confuse the eye and detract from the text.

Embroidered fabric with the words Anna Regina and a postcard of Anne Boleyn
A shorter title – Anna Regina – gives space for prominent quilting motifs

The trick with these longer titles is to come up with a quilting design that fades into the background while still conveying meaning. For An Occult History of Britain, for example, I spent hours studying pictures of snakes so I could design a serpent to sit behind the lettering, in homage to the snake that slithers through the trilogy – I picked up a snake in Italy – after biting Cromwell. I enjoy the appearances that snake makes on the page, so I wanted to add him to the quilt.

Embroidered fabric reading Entirely Beloved Cromwell, with a copy of the play script
Entirely Beloved Cromwell – Lettering takes up the entire length of the fabric

And for The Dead Complain of their Burial I was stuck until I found a description of Cromwell and George Cavendish watching Cardinal Wolsey’s possessions being ransacked at York Place:

“He and George Cavendish stood by as the chests were opened and the cardinal’s vestments taken out. The copes were sewn in gold and silver thread, with patterns of golden stars, with birds, fishes, harts, lions, angels, flowers and Catherine wheels.”

Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall (London Fourth Estate, 2009), p.282.

That gave me my start. I designed fishes, stars, and a Catherine wheel; and for the bird designs I consulted a book of sixteenth and seventeenth century sewing patterns: Richard Shorleyker’s A Schole House for the Needle. That book tells its readers to ‘compose its patterns into beautifull formes, as will be able to give content, both to the workers, and wearers of them’. So I quilted these designs in the background in silver and gold thread – subtle enough not to detract from the chapter title while glistening in the light.

When I started quilting this project I had an uneasy moment when I thought “If I were starting again, I wouldn’t start from here”. But by that stage it was too late to restitch all those chapter titles. And I also reflected on the fact that the Cromwell Trilogy Quilt has its own history – it’s a project started in lockdown. Being able to read Hilary Mantel’s work during lockdown, and finding a way of engaging with it creatively, and stretching my quilting design skills is a privilege.

Index cards with notes from Wolf Hall

The Cromwell Trilogy Quilt: Immersing myself in words and stitch

Index cards with notes from Wolf Hall
Quilt planning on index cards

In my stitching practice, the element I enjoy most is handquilting. I’m not a particularly accurate piecer, and I don’t enjoy constructing patchwork blocks to specific dimensions. But I love handquilting and I take great pleasure in sewing tiny stitches to make tightly controlled patterns, or lettering, or pictures.

When I started stitching the chapter titles in Hilary Mantel’s Cromwell Trilogy, it was just a way of passing some lockdown time and processing what I had read. There was no plan and no coherent thought as to what this stitching might become. There was no standard sizing, and no design concept. But as the pile of stitched chapter titles grew and grew, I knew I would ultimately want do something more purposeful with them.

A hand holding a pile of embroidered fabric
The embroidered chapter titles waiting to be quilted

When I decided to put all the embroidered chapter titles together into one handquilted piece, I knew that the quilting had to be approached in a considered way – partly because I knew it would be the most pleasurable part of the stitching, but mainly because I wanted the experience of quilting this piece to be as immersive as possible. That meant establishing a fairly tight practice for working on each section of the quilt. I decided from the start of the quilting process that I would work incrementally, and sew each section in a strict order – I would not dot back and forwards throughout the Trilogy, and I wouldn’t piece the whole thing together in one go. I wanted to be very intentional about what I was doing, which meant reading and listening to the chapter I was stitching as I quilted it.

An ipad with the audio book of Wolf Hall and a section of quilting
Quilting and listening to Wolf Hall Part One, Chapter One: Across the Narrow Sea

I worked out a process that would support this way of working: although I know the three books really well, I wanted to reacquaint myself with the text before starting each chapter. So when a section is pressed and basted ready for quilting, the first step is to re-read the relevant chapter. I then make notes on index cards as prompts for the stitching. There are three sets of index cards: anything that might inspire me to draw a quilting motif, or phrases that might spark an image are written on white cards; I make a note of the colours that are prominent in the chapters on pink cards; and finally references to anyone who actually engages in an act of stitching go onto green cards.

Index Cards with notes relating to An Occult History of Britain
Index Cards: An Occult History of Britain

I then start to quilt. At that stage I won’t necessarily know what will go into the relevant section overall, but, as long as I have a starting point, I am happy to pick up a needle. I then listen to the audiobook of the relevant chapter as I work, and the act of listening brings out other ideas, almost without me realising it. The reader’s emphasis on a particular phrase, or my hearing – rather than reading – Mantel’s words might highlight something that I want to sew into to the quilt, so I usually listen to the chapter on repeat. Sometimes I listen to it in the German translation – I know the original English so well that I can follow it even though my German isn’t really up to it. I don’t move forward with reading and listening to the book until each individual section is quilted.

The decision to work in this way has an impact on the way the quilt is developing. I don’t have an overall plan worked out in my head for the entire piece, and each section evolves as I read and listen. And sometimes it is a difficult process; some chapters contain almost unbearable levels of loss and pain and I had particular problems when I came to An Occult History of Britain and Make or Mar when Cromwell’s grief overwhelms him. I actually had to leave part of that section unsewn as it was too distressing to continue, thereby breaking my own rules. And I do foresee problems with this process once I approach the end of the Trilogy, but that’s a worry for another day.

This contrasts strongly with my stitching of the chapter titles in 2020. That was very unfocused, with no sense of a larger project to come. This has presented some significant design challenges, but that’s another story.

Green thread, a notebook, containing a sketch for a quilting design
Planning out a shattered emerald for Wolf Hall – Part One, Chapter Three: At Austin Friars

A cushion showing Thomas Cromwell with stitched wording in strips

Locking Down with Thomas Cromwell

A cushion showing Thomas Cromwell with stitched wording in strips
A pile of Cromwellian stitchery

I have spent much of the last twelve months reading and re-reading Hilary Mantel’s incredible Cromwell trilogy, Wolf Hall, Bring Up the Bodies, and The Mirror and the Light. Along with the text on the page, magnificent new readings of all three books by Ben Miles, who played Thomas Cromwell on stage for the Royal Shakespeare Company, have kept me enthralled, entertained, and energised.

Of course, over the past year, like many other people, I have been mostly staying at home due to the Covid-19 pandemic, so immersing myself in these books has been an important coping mechanism. This isn’t to say that they have necessarily been an comfortable read. Running throughout the trilogy is the sweating sickness, and there are many instances of loss, pain and death. And in the 1520s, in the trilogy, Cromwell and his family have themselves to undergo a period of isolation, just as so many people have done in 2020 and into 2021;

Mercy comes in and says, a fever, it could be any fever, we don’t have to admit to the sweat … If we all stayed at home, London would come to a standstill. ‘No’, he says. ‘We must do it. My lord cardinal made these rules and it would not be proper for me to scant them.’

Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall: Part Two, Chapter Two, An Occult History of Britain, 1521-1529
Plants in pots, a path, and a close up of a large hardback novel.
Reading The Mirror and the Light on the doorstep during the first UK lockdown

There is overwhelming grief contained in all three books, but there is humour too, and warmth, loyalty, and love. There are amazing foods and furnishings, politics and governance, gardens and London streets, the River Thames and the Narrow Sea. And there is fabric. So much fabric. Linen and velvet, satin and brocade, embroidered, quilted, draped, rolled – these books make you want to touch and feel cloth.

A copy of The Mirror and the Light on a quilted piece with a quote from Thomas Cromwell "I was a ruffian in my younger days"
The Mirror and the Light with an earlier Cromwell Quilt

One of the things that has helped me through this current extended period of isolation and disruption has been stitching. I recognise how privileged I am to have been able to spend the time this way, and how fortunate I am to know how to sew. As well as keeping me occupied, it has added to my deep pleasure in the Cromwell trilogy. As someone who plies a needle almost every day, I find the act of stitching in the trilogy to be endlessly fascinating – who sews, what they sew, what that sewing represents, what tools are used. I have been obsessed with these references since first reading Wolf Hall in 2009. I remember the first time I read a description of Anne Boleyn looking ‘small and tense as if someone has knitted her and drawn the stitches too tight’, and the pleasure I took from these words. Mantel’s writing about cloth and what can be done with it is, perhaps, particularly pleasurable for those who work with textiles. Back in 2014, I wrote about some of the textile references here and I made a small Cromwell-related quilted piece.

The embroidered words Mirror and Light soaking in water
Mirror and Light: soaking the stitched fabric

In June 2020 I finished reading The Mirror and the Light for the first time. The visceral shock of the ending stunned me, then haunted my dreams. I re-read Mantel’s Beyond Black, and then restarted Wolf Hall. In August, there was a heatwave and I couldn’t bear to sit under the heavy quilt I was then working on. I wanted something small, unlayered, and cooler to stitch. I started – in a rather unfocused way – to chain stitch the words ‘Mirror’ and ‘Light’, on to strips of white fabric, just to see how it felt.

In a brief period, when lockdown was eased, I made my one and only trip into the City of London of 2020 and took the sewing to the Austin Friars, where Cromwell once owned a house. And then, as a way of processing what I had read I just kept sewing, and it soon became apparent that I had embarked upon an enormous, immersive sewing project. I spent the rest of 2020 stitching the chapter titles from The Mirror and the Light. Then Bring Up the Bodies. Then Wolf Hall. I finished chainstitching all the titles on 29 December 2020.

Author holding stitched fabric under a sign that reads Austin Friars Passage
Mirror and Light stitchery at Austin Friars, London

I’m now engaged in quilting all these words, but that’s another story. Or, as Mantel puts it so beautifully in Wolf Hall: ‘Beneath every history, another history.’

Enjoying Hard Time with Jodi Taylor

This is a blog tour stop for Jodi Taylor’s marvellous new book – Hard Time – the second in the Time Police series.

Hard Time by Jodi Taylor on my And The World Went White quilt

Many thanks to Antonia Whitton and Headline Press for inviting me to review Hard Time, and for sending me an advance hardback copy.

About the Book

Team Weird are back causing havoc in the Time Police in this irresistible spinoff series by international bestseller Jodi Taylor, author of The Chronicles of St Mary’s. If you love Doctor Who, Ben Aaronovitch and Jasper Fforde, you’ll love the Time Police.

The Time Police do not have problems. They have challenges. Idiots who want to change history have always proved ‘challenging’. But now temporal tourism is on the rise – highly illegal but highly lucrative.

Step forward Jane, Luke and Matthew. They may be about to graduate, but there’s still plenty of time for everything to go wrong. Throw in the Versailles time slip, a covert jump to Ancient Egypt and a race against Time itself and you’ve got yourself an assignment worthy of Team Weird.

My Review

I am a great admirer of Jodi Taylor’s books. From the moment I picked up Just One Damned Thing After Another, I have been captivated by her work. Her ability to conjure up characters, institutions, and worlds is phenomenal – and her new Time Police series is no exception.

A shelf full of Jodi Taylor

I noticed that some of the other reviewers on this blog tour haven’t read the St Mary’s series – they have a treat to come – and their enjoyment of Hard Time demonstrates that the Time Police books can hold their own as a series in their own right as well as a spinoff. I’m coming to Hard Time as a lover of St Mary’s, so my perspective is that of someone who knows and loves St Mary’s Institute of Historical Research. And, yes, I would love to work there.

Readers of the Chronicles of St Mary’s know the Time Police. Or at least we know the Time Police from the point of view of Max and Leon and Dr Bairstow. But we now get to see events from the Time Police point of view, and share the career and personal development of Jane, Luke and Matthew – three very different young recruits who don’t really fit in. In the first book in the series, Doing Time, we saw their early mistakes, their incompatibility, and the trouble in which they found themselves – and now in Hard Time we see them growing slowly into a solid team, forming friendships – and still finding themselves in trouble.

I don’t want to give away the plot of Hard Time, but I can guarantee that it is a funny, tense and exciting read. There are shocks galore, plenty of jumps to interesting places, lots of chaos, unexpected heroism, the appearance of some St Mary’s personnel, and some very bad behaviour by some very unpleasant people.

The overall tone is slightly lighter than that of the St Mary’s books; anyone who knows the Chronicles will be aware that alongside the laughter there is tragedy (I can’t bear to think about what happened at Troy) – and there are no guaranteed happy endings for anyone. But the Time Police have a less emotional approach to history, which makes Hard Time the ideal read for a gloomy autumn day, when you want to be transported to different times and watch a bunch of engaging characters jump in and out of trouble.

You don’t need to have read the Chronicles of St Mary’s to appreciate Jane, Luke and Matthew – so why not give them a go? I thoroughly recommend getting to know the Time Police – and I am sure you will enjoy the ride.

Hard Time by Jodi Taylor was published by Headline on 15 October 2020, and is available in hardback for £18.99 from all good booksellers. It is also available as an ebook, and I am looking forward to listening to Zara Ramm reading the audiobook.

Locking Down with Georgette Heyer

Way back in March 2020, when it was becoming clear that we were entering a strange, antisocial period of staying in during a growing global pandemic, I sat down to think of a pleasant diversion for a scary and dark time. The diversion that sprung quickly to mind was reading, and I recalled a comment about my Georgette Heyer Advent Calendar on Twitter – that seeing a nice edition of a Heyer novel each day in the run up to Christmas had helped them through a difficult December. And so, on 19 March, I posted a tentative tweet…

I had no idea what the reaction would be. I knew there was a Georgette Heyer corner of Twitter, and I knew there were discussions to be had about her novels. And I knew that The Unknown Ajax was a favourite with Heyer readers – largely due to its lovely hero, Hugo Darracott – but would a Twitter readalong work? I expected it would be me and a couple of other people and that it would quickly peter out, but decided to give it a go anyway.

So on Sunday 22 March, I read and annotated the first two chapters of Ajax, and prepared a series of tweets – questions, comments, observations – and at 7.00pm I was amazed to find about 20 people eager to discuss the Darracott inheritance. We spent a splendid, friendly hour unpicking family relationships and the bullying behaviour of Lord Darracott. Two days later, in the UK we were in full lockdown, and the #GeorgetteHeyerReadalong community started to grow in earnest.

Twice a week, on Sundays and Wednesdays, we read three chapters, and came together (while staying apart) to discuss our admiration for the majestic Aunt Aurelia, whether Vincent and Claud were redeemable, whether it was fair to dupe an exciseman just trying to do his job, how it was easy to underestimate Mrs Darracott, and, once we reached chapter 12, to swoon at Anthea asking “Hugo, how dare you call me love?” As the reading progressed, we got to know each other better and the discussions reflected this – jokes were exchanged and personal information shared.

Cotillion. These editions Book Club 1954, Pan 1967.

When we finished with Hugo we carried on reading. I wondered what participants would like to discuss next, ran a poll, and Cotillion was voted the favourite. I felt slightly disappointed: I had only read it once before and had dismissed it as fluffy – but reading it more slowly showed me how wrong I was. The fashionable Freddy Standen turned out to be a capable, practical young man – just what is needed during a pandemic. Lots of readers were big fans of his father, Lord Legerwood. And far from being fluffy, Heyer didn’t shy away from showing the seamier side of high society, so the Readalong discussed the fate of the dependent woman, the sex trade, and sexual double standards. To my surprise, I found that I loved Cotillion. Conversely, I really struggled with a slow read of Sylvester – a former favourite – finding the hero’s behaviour extremely problematic.

All the time we were reading, companionship was growing. We had enormous fun during our sessions during which hashtags about favourite characters – #TomOrdeIsSoSolid and #AllHailMrTrevor – were thrown in. Members were extremely generous in sharing historical background information, in a tribute to Heyer’s own meticulous research. I enjoyed a running joke about my love for Regency Buck in general and Lord Worth in particular. Conversations spilled over into the rest of the week as we thought of new themes or answered each other’s points. Books were recommended, news shared, heroes and heroines compared.

Keeping track of what we read when: the #GeorgetteHeyerReadalong log

We roared with laughter at The Talisman Ring, debated Frederica’s management of her family, and thoroughly enjoyed loathing the monstrous dowager in The Quiet Gentleman. As a result of slower reading, we had the opportunity to reflect on Heyer’s writing style, her sentence construction, and her gift for dialogue. We also considered the social and economic background to the novels: Heyer makes clear in The Quiet Gentleman that the Frant fortune originates in the enslavement of people, and, while we were reading this book, the National Trust published its report, Addressing our Histories of Colonialism and Historic Slavery. The large houses and the society about which we enjoy reading had a horrific human cost.

Now it’s October and the news continues to be grim. The pandemic is still with us, we are still social distancing, and, at the moment, there seems no end in sight. But having seen the way in which the #GeorgetteHeyerReadalong participants cheered each other on and provided companionship through the first lockdown, I am determined that we will carry on reading into the autumn and winter.

Beauvallet. These editions: Heinemann 1938; Pan 1963

More activities are being added to keep us cheerful. In August, I had to reduce the reading sessions to once a week on Sunday because of busy work commitments, but participants said they missed the Wednesday connections, so I introduced #GeorgetteHeyerReadalong #MidweekMusings where we have a deeper discussion about one theme. We’ve talked about philanthropy, responses to unwanted attentions, matched or mismatched couples. On a lighter note, on Fridays, we now have #GeorgetteHeyerReadalong #FridayFantasyCasting (Christopher Plummer IS Lord Worth), and I am looking at organising some sessions where we can actually see each other with quizzes, readings and debates.

Wear a mask like a Heyer Hero!

From that tentative “would anyone like to read The Unknown Ajax with me?” to today when we have a very active community. There were 188 participants at the last count – people who join in the discussions, those who quietly read along with us, people who stumble across our hashtag and find a welcoming community. Even as I type this post I can see that there is a Twitter discussion taking place about possible real locations in The Nonesuch, complete with illustrations.

When the Bad Times are over, I suspect at least some of us will gather near Miss Heyer’s beloved Albany and take tea at Fortnum and Mason. We’ll swap old editions, argue over the merits of Lord Worth, and celebrate the friends we made while reading during a pandemic. I just hope our Georgette would approve.

How many participants? 188 as of 9 October!

A Seasonal Countdown with Georgette Heyer

I collect vintage editions of Georgette Heyer’s novels, and in December – the season of sharing good things – I like to share my collection with other Heyer readers, and Twitter provides me with a great place to do so. While Twitter nowadays can be a fairly toxic environment, the online Heyer community is a warm and friendly place. So I have been tweeting a Georgette Heyer Advent Calendar as a thank you to my fellow Heyer-ites.

It’s very enjoyable. I choose a book each day, take out my vintage editions, snap a quick picture, draft a short summary, and post it on Twitter. Throughout the day Heyer readers reply. They comment on the choice of book, their views of particular characters, they discuss the plot, analyse the covers, advocate for their favourite supporting characters – the dialogue the Calendar inspires is absolutely splendid.

For this year’s Calendar, I started with Venetia, a great favourite among Heyer-ites. But Damarel divides opinion – some readers love him, and others really, really dislike him. Should Venetia have married him? Well it depends which reader you ask!

GHAC - Venetia

Venetia. This edition: Heinemann 1958.

Days 2 to 5 were Beauvallet, Sylvester, Sprig Muslin, and The Convenient Marriage. Two of these are particular favourites of mine – Sylvester and The Convenient Marriage – both of which have particularly engaging heroines in Phoebe and Horatia (and I adore the Earl of Rule!). And those Beauvallet covers are marvellous!

Day 6 involved The Masqueraders, which divides opinion. I don’t especially like it (I cannot bear The Old Gentleman), but I know people who adore it, and I wanted to share a lot of the books I knew others enjoy. Day 7 was Faro’s Daughter, and a number of people said they really must re-read it. I know I haven’t read it for years, so it has gone onto my To Be Read pile for 2020. Day 8 was Regency Buck. This book really does split the Heyer community – some readers really dislike Worth and Judith; others are very fond of them. This was my first Heyer, so I have a real soft spot for it. And I definitely like Worth.

Day 9 was Frederica. This book is absolutely adored by many Heyer fans. Rather than attempting to do justice to Heyer’s sparkling plot, I summed it up with humour: “Never leave your hot air balloon unattended. And make sure you have Dr Ratcliffe’s Restorative Pork Jelly to hand in case of injury or illness.”

GHAC - Frederica

Frederica: These editions: Bodley Head 1965, Book Club 1965.

Days 10 and 11 were The Quiet Gentleman and The Grand Sophy respectively. ‘Does Sophy’s conduct go “from bad to worse?” Is Cousin Charles a dictator? Is Eugenia a suitable bride for him? Or will Sophy disrupt the entire family?’ I asked.

And then on Day 12 I had a dilemma. Should I include My Lord John, Heyer’s longstanding, unfinished John of Lancaster project, published posthmously?  It’s not widely read, even by Heyer-ites, so was I wasting a day on an unpopular choice, so unlike her lighter novels that are so beloved? As her biographer Jane Aiken Hodge wrote, one of the problems with My Lord John was that ‘Heyer could not make her characters think like mediaeval people and, fatally, she could not make them talk like them either’. (The Private World of Georgette Heyer, p.76). And Jennifer Kloester noted, ‘In this book, Georgette had failed to wear her learning lightly’. (Georgette Heyer: Biography of a Bestseller, p.385).

GHAC - My Lord John

My Lord John. This edition: Bodley Head 1975.

It’s that learning that fascinates me: Heyer was a meticulous researcher. She went to enormous efforts to research My Lord John and this research was very important to her. Photographs of her notebooks intrigue me – her drawings of armour, of coats of arms, of maps. Her card indexes of materials relating to the project. Her efforts to read mediaeval English. I felt that the painstaking process of her research and her persistence in maintaining this project had to be acknowledged. So I included it.

I re-read Friday’s Child for the first time in years and laughed again at Ferdy, George and Gil (and disliked Sherry, but loved Hero) in preparation for Day 13. And I blundered on Day 14 with Devil’s Cub. My memory told me that Mary shot Vidal by mistake, and Heyer-ites kindly pointed out that my memory was at fault. As one reader tweeted: ‘She definitely means to do it’. Either way, Vidal definitely deserved it! And Powder and Patch gave readers a lot of pleasure on Day 15.

More enjoyment came with The Talisman Ring – another popular choice, largely due to the love readers have the heroine, Sarah Thane. I wish there was another novel about one of the secondary characters, Eustacie de Vauban – who provides lots of laughter. Day 17 was The Corinthian, and Day 18 brought These Old Shades. I have to confess to disliking These Old Shades – I don’t like the characters – but it’s very popular with other readers, so it had to be included. And both Day 17 and Day 18 provoked comments about the cover illustrations, and how faithful or otherwise they were to the plots.

I had a message from a Heyer reader expressing a wish for Cotillion so that came in on Day 19, and there was much love for Arabella on Day 20. Day 21 was reserved for An Infamous Army, which divided opinion. Was Heyer’s recounting of the Battle of Waterloo fascinating and informative, or was it to be rushed through to get on with the story? Was Barbara liked or loathed?

I had to include The Reluctant Widow on Day 22 – it’s the Heyer I have probably re-read the most because of my research into the 1950 film adaptation. It isn’t a favourite of mine, but it probably contains the most loved younger brother character in all of Heyer – the hilarious Nicky and his dog Bouncer. And Day 23 was Bath Tangle which provoked some strong reactions – Serena and Rotherham really aren’t popular!

So what of Day 24? Well, there’s only one choice really. It has to be The Unknown Ajax and the marvellous Hugo Darracott. “Hugo, how dare you call me love?” asks Anthea, but readers everywhere would give much to be in her shoes. If you haven’t read any Heyer, The Unknown Ajax is an ideal place to start. There is intrigue, family tension, mystery, humour, and love. And an absolutely ideal hero. Does anyone not love Hugo?

GHAC - The Unknown Ajax

The Unknown Ajax. This edition: Heinemann 1971.

It’s been lovely to read all the comments and discussions while I have been posting the Georgette Heyer Advent Calendar and sharing my collection. If you would like to have a look, you can find the 2019 Advent Calendar here on Twitter.

The Georgette Heyer community is a friendly place – so why not join us and tells us your favourite Heyer, your first Heyer, your most loved characters, and what Georgette Heyer means to you?

 

Picking up a needle again

For most of 2018 and 2019, my quilting inspiration was notable by its absence, and I was starting to wonder if it would ever come back. But with the help of a long-abandoned project – which required some creative remedies – I’m definitely now back in the quilting spirit.

Lucie with a finished quilt

The pleasure of completing a very long standing quilting project.

Quilting took a back seat while I worked on writing up my PhD thesis about the early career of Maurice Elvey, which I submitted in February 2018. I passed my Viva that August, was awarded my Doctorate in September, and attended my graduation ceremony in November.

I anticipated feeling a bit dislocated once my PhD was completed, but I didn’t realise that this dislocation would extend to my sewing practice. As one of my quilting friends commented, “I thought that now you’d finished, your quilting would be unstoppable!” Rather than being unstoppable, it almost stopped altogether. I spent months picking up projects and putting them down again, unable to find satisfaction in any sewing at all. Nothing seemed right and I kept bemoaning my lack of inspiration.

In January 2019 I decided to make a Double Wedding Ring just to see if I could – precision piecing isn’t really my thing but I wanted to challenge myself technically – and I completed the patchwork, but couldn’t decide how to quilt it.

I then fiddled about with some quilted drawings but they didn’t capture my imagination. I was starting to think I’d never really quilt properly again, when I came across an unfinished quilt I started back in 2006.

I was fairly new to quilting then, and at that time, I was trying – unsuccessfully – to get to grips with using a sewing machine, so I pieced the patchwork by machine, and then attempted to handquilt it. I decided to use a big stitch pattern – and some of those early stitches really were huge!

In 2019, I couldn’t remember why I had abandoned this quilt until I washed it, had a good look at it, and found that there were significant problems with the construction: uneven seams, some seams that didn’t even meet, a misguided use of seersucker around the edges, and some terrible fraying in places. As a new quilter, I hadn’t known how to address any of these problems so I’d stuck the whole thing in a bag and moved on. But all these years later, I knew what to do. I unpicked some of the uneven seams, patched over the largest gaps, and cut off the frayed fabric. The seersucker – a real mistake – was anchoring some of the quilting stitches so I couldn’t remove that entirely, but I did cut it down and made a mental note never to use seersucker in a quilt again.

Quilted flower

I added finer quilting to contrast with the original big stitch design

I agonised about the original big stitch quilting, some of which was really badly executed, and unpicked the worst of it. But in the end I left most of it in place – it was done to the best of my ability when it was first sewn, and it felt important to acknowledge this. And it’s a useful reminder of my learning and developing my quilting technique – and knowing when to let go: I could probably have spent another year unpicking and resewing, but there are other things to stitch.

I added new borders and stitched the long process of making into the quilt itself, so the bottom border reads I started this quilt in 2006 and completed it at the end of 2019. And suddenly, this abandoned quilt was bound and complete.

From being crumpled in a bag and hidden in a cupboard – a reminder of frustration and failures of technique – over the last couple of weeks, this newly finished quilt has been out for a walk by the Thames, been blowing in a friend’s garden on a windy day, and is now a favourite way of keeping warm during the colder weather.