When I was 18 years old, my mother gave me a green and white sewing box for Christmas. Now and then I load it into the car along with my sewing machine to go on a mending or altering excursion.

It was an amazing present to a girl who loved sewing and it has stood the test of time.

I try to give meaningful presents. I write down things I hear people admiring during the year. There is far more satisfaction in giving than receiving if the gift makes the person’s eyes light up with delight.

I opened up my sewing box on the kitchen table in Tipperary. In order to make alterations, I needed to rip.

I had left the ripper at home. I took out my mother’s old sewing box, which is an old biscuit tin, to see if her blue ripper was still there. It was absolutely topsy-turvy. I decided to tidy it, turning the contents onto the table. It took me down memory lane.

Tidying the box

I free up a circle of cardboard with a smaller circle cut out of it. There are two of them together. Faded green and yellow, wool is wound around a portion of the circle.

In my mind, I can see her hands and hear her voice as she would put the thread into the centre and around until the whole wheel would be full of thread and almost meeting in the centre. Then she’d take the darning needle in under the thread and secure it in the middle.

I remember the first time I saw her do it in Moyne National School. The magic bit came when she’d take the scissors and cut between the circles and out would pop a bouncy, even tassel for the knitted hat. She’d marvel with excitement at her creation as if it was her first time to make a tassel. It’s no wonder I remember it so well.

Feeling the old circles, I wonder which one of the grandchildren she might have been teaching to make a tassel. I make a mental note to show it to my younger nieces and Jack, who never experienced Gran’s teaching.

I continue. A ream of fairly tattered, black, embroidery thread reminds me of how she’d teach us to divide the thread into two threes for embroidery work. A frugal woman, she’d use one strand to sew in a button rather than buy a new reel of thread.

A fancy salmon-pink ribbon, doubled and tied in a fancy knot, comes away from the pile. I’ve no idea what it was for or why she might have kept it.

She did love silky, sophisticated things. A reel of green thread with the plastic end chewed off it is there. I hear her say to her miniature poodle: “Holly Campion, give me back my thread!”

There are more threads: reds, blues, greens, turquoise, yellow and white. It’s funny how the colours in our boxes differ. Mine has lots of purples, reds, wines, army green, navy and black threads. Then another cardboard circle, this time cut by the hand of a child, possibly Julie.

There is a hotel sewing kit with the name well-worn from it. She’d have loved getting that for nothing! I unravel three measuring tapes, all of them with the numbers faded. I roll them up tightly and put them back in the box. I find a line of tiny fasteners.

They most certainly were to be recycled for a dolls dress. I smile when I see the closing hasp of a bra. She was a funny woman. I tease out bits of coloured ribbon saved from presents. Her sewing box was an important place for storing special things. I loved it.

Pin cushion

I pick up the purple handmade pin cushion. I remember the day she made it. I see her hands flying around, stitching the three sides and then turning it out. Was she teaching me? I’m not sure.

She stuffed in an old sock and crudely stitched the top with turquoise thread. No need for matching thread! I realise now that there were many lessons here.

As a teacher, she worked fast so as not to lose the interest of the child. She showed us how to improvise and to draw from the resources that were to hand.

I teased out the pins and threads, a bodkin, a thimble, a pill box, a few apron strings, care labels from garments that are long gone and an English 5p coin from 1990.

Various other bits and pieces constitute my mother’s sewing box. The last two items I put back into the tin are a plastic robin for the Christmas cake and a crucifix from a rosary beads.

Missing her

Isn’t it interesting how much one can glean from an insignificant item like a sewing box? By the time I was finished, I was missing her profoundly.

I said aloud: “Mam, I’ve tidied your sewing box.” She would have said back: “Thanks Kathy, you’re a darling girl.” And I’d feel good.

I found no ripper but instead a small scissors that would do the job just as well. I pulled myself away from the memories and began the alterations that I’d set about to do in the first place.

I realised I was also sewing in the place where my own grandmother used to come to do the sewing jobs for Mam when we were small.

There is something very special about that type of continuity.

I put the sewing tin back in the press. It is 13 years this Christmas since Mam put it away for the last time. I cherish the memories we made together. Merry Christmas everyone.

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