After all those hours, those evenings and mornings and snatched half hours in the afternoon, I finally cast off and sewed in the ends to find… just a pair of socks.
It’s an awful lot of effort for something which will be hidden on my feet, tucked away inside boots or slippers or wellingtons most of the time. And although the pattern is deceptively simple, they’re still not quite as simple as a pair of toe up socks, with simple short row toes and heels. These socks sport a lovely, wavy pattern reminiscent of the Seine (and our own, closer-to-home Ouse). They have a thick and padded eye of partridge heel, and a double cast off at the toe. There’s a nice bit of shaping as the heel narrows into the foot, with a neat row of slanting stitches standing proud of the rest. And yet they’re not a cardigan or a hat or even a little snood. No, they’re just socks.
I’ve knit three such pairs of socks this winter: one for Mother and two for myself, as well as a pair last summer. There will be more this coming summer as I use up all the odds and ends in a stripy pair or two. To be honest, there’s still an untouched skein of yarn in the bottom of my wool basket. But for now, that’s where it’s going to stay. Because for someone who doesn’t like making the same thing more than once, even with variations, three is a lot of pairs in a row. I’m moving onto something new, as soon as I’ve sketched out the pattern. A proper winter knit, to keep me busy until spring.
There will be more socks in my future, that much is certain. I always tire of them before they’re done, and have to force myself on through the last few inches. But then I wake up on a chilly winter’s morning and pull on a pair and it’s the nicest start to my day. All those little details – the heel and the pattern and the colour of the yarn – make a functional piece of clothing a little bit of luxury. They might just be socks, but oh! What a treat.— February 14, 1932