Brian Strand Poet Narrative

The Lace Makers

Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,a pillow puffed up on her knee;with 
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their homespun ware.In such 
humble women,cottage-tied,a rare and dextrous art did reside.Fashioned 
out,stitch by stitch,pillowed lace in patterns rich.Tinkling bobbins with bewildering 
skill,inch by inch grew the intricate frill.Twisting threads in pairs and 
groups,knitted together with interlocking loops.An established craft of world 
renown grew around this county town.Plain or decorative old point lace,a lost 
rural industry of which there's no longer a trace.

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Carrie Richards May 16, 2017 at 2:35 PM I can visualize these women at their craft, like artists they were. Spinning the beautiful laces, row after row, day after day, their hands seeming to have a life of their own. I hope your family has kept some of these laces as keepsake treasures from a time lost with the years. Brian Strand May 16, 2017 at 3:54 PM Sadly my forbears were too poor Carrie,and as machine made lace took over in the mid 1850's they reverted to the canal barges.Local museums have examples of the kind made by my forbears.