My auntie Mairi Flòraidh MacInnes who has lived all her life in Eriskay was saying to me recently as we chatted on the phone, “Chan eil mi cinnteach cò às a thog thu fighe, chan fhaca mi riamh do sheanmhair a’ fìghe, no do mhàthair” (‘I’m not sure where you picked up your talent for knitting, I never saw your granny knitting, or for that matter, your mother either’).
What I enjoyed about this exchange was the fact that my auntie, the widow of my mother’s brother Mìcheal (Beaga), knew the familial traits on my mother’s side of the family going back generations, and was perplexed by my interest in knitting when, as far as she could see, it had never really existed on that side of the family. I told her when I picked up knitting again in adulthood that it was actually my father who, after quietly watching me from across the kitchen struggle to make a plain stitch, took the needles off me and showed me how it was done. ‘Ah!’, she exclaimed with satisfaction. “That explains it!”
It wasn’t quite true though. My mum was more than competent but, being from Eriskay as she is, the bar was set unusually high. For here is where the famous Eriskay Fisherman’s Ganseys are made. My auntie has knitted many over the years and in her role as shop assistant in the Co Chomunn Èirisgeidh (Eriskay Cooperative), she acted as a broker, commissioning local women to produce these beautiful, decorative hand-knitted sweaters for customers all over the world.
The fisherman’s gansey was essential workwear for fishermen throughout the United Kingdom until the seventies. These woollen sweaters are known for their hardwearing and weatherproof qualities. They are traditionally knitted on four or five pins without seams and feature attractive, highly stylised patterns. Many fishing villages and towns boast their own designs, but the Eriskay Fisherman’s Gansey is the most highly decorated and intricate found across the country. They are typically navy blue (used for work) or cream (worn on Sundays) and include maritime flags, fishing nets, harbour steps, horseshoes, starfish, anchors and the most beautiful of them all (to my mind anyway), the Tree of Life.
Thanks to individuals and projects like ‘Knitting the Herring, Scotland’s National Gansey Project’ and local groups such as Comann Eachdraidh Èirisgeidh (Eriskay Historical Society) who held classes on the island a few years ago, this traditional craft is now classed as ‘currently viable’ by the Heritage Crafts Association of the UK and does not appear on the Red List of Endangered Crafts. There are issues affecting its future sustainability however; chief among them is the fact that very few children are now learning even the basics of knitting.
I learnt to knit at primary school when, along with the other twenty-or-so children, we had to knit a square-shaped teddy bear. Although I enjoyed the time away from regular schoolwork, it was slow, and I didn’t take to it particularly well! As an adult, I began dabbling in knitting again – the odd hat here, perhaps a buff or pair of mittens there – and eventually I decided to approach my auntie for help with knitting an Eriskay gansey. To my everlasting gratitude, she was both willing and encouraging.
On my first visit to her house, I unwittingly produced a needle with a plastic tube on it, a ‘circular needle’ used for ‘knitting on the round’. The look on my auntie’s face ensured I never made that mistake again. I was to learn on four, long, thin metal pins and she kindly leant me her mother’s – there would be no shortcuts! This was a real challenge and only after skewering myself with them several times did I eventually learn to control them.
I slowly made my way through the different patterns, seeing for the first time how it was even possible to learn them. Some 100 years ago or so, in another part of the country, Daisy Aitchison of Eyemouth, experienced something similar. She explained how during the height of the herring fishing industry, women travelled across the country to gut and pack fish and in their spare time they knitted ganseys, socks and mittens for the fishermen, learning different patterns from one another. Daisy recalled that she “just learnt [the patterns], just watched other people, just had brains and that!”. She also described some of the patterns that she learnt, including several that also feature on Eriskay ganseys; marriage lines, the open and filled in diamond, the rope, and others I didn’t recognise like the ‘jeely jack’ (TAD 78803).
In another recording, Kate and Catriona MacNeil of Barra also told how the girls often knitted when they were away gutting fish: “Bha a h-uile seòrsa fighe aca, a h-uile seòrsa pàtaran… bha iad a’ fighe studaidh.” (The knew all sorts of knitting, all sorts of patterns… they were knitting all the time.) They were particularly complimentary of the Burghead girls who were “famous” for knitting (TAD ID 67247). Knitting was a national pastime and brought women together from across the country. They shared many patterns and perfected their skills, all the while developing unique configurations and other characteristics that became identifiable with particular places like Eriskay. The Eriskay Fisherman’s Gansey is as rare and precious an example of visual, cultural identity as you will find anywhere in Scotland.
In the end, it took me just over 6 months to complete my first gansey. It was made small, to fit my 12-year-old son (a fishing enthusiast, appropriately enough). It was far from perfect; when I started the main chest piece, which contains the most decorative motifs, I had to ‘frog it back’ quite a few times and restart. I was proud of it nevertheless, and my auntie even prouder. I am grateful to Mairi Flòraidh for taking me through the process. I have since gone on to knit an adult sized gansey for a friend who does a lot of work outdoors and owns two Eriskay ponies.
Earlier this year I was approached by Fèisean nan Gàidheal to run a series of knitting sessions for Gaelic medium pupils in schools across Skye. The idea was that children would learn to knit through the medium of Gaelic, picking up the basics of this traditional craft along with some of Gaelic vocabulary associated with it. I was joined by my friend and fellow island knitter, Marion MacKay, who is also a wonderful singer, and together we also taught the children traditional work songs we’d sourced on the Tobar an Dualchais website. The children made magnificent progress; during the first few sessions, the classes were pretty chaotic with many children needing help and descending upon us with what resembled great woolly wads of knots! By the fourth week though, the vast majority could knit fairly independently and some could even sing and knit at the same time!
The project demonstrated that there is still a place for knitting with the young people in our communities. It also served as a reminder that knitting, far from being simply a hobby craft, can bring with it deep, cultural connections with language, music, history and can even take us to the heart of who we are and where we come from.
Article by Floraidh Forrest