Posts About Sewing Machines

Tomorrow I intend to donate a 1920s Singer sewing machine to a local charity shop. 

Then I realised I needed a picture of it but it's already in the back of the van, along with a conglomeration of other stuff, kiddy car seats, cat baskets, and old tools and would not make a pretty picture. So I had to trawl through my House & Home folder, which took a while as there are 2,218 files and 145 folders. I cannot have cared much for the machine for there was just one photograph.  And that was mainly of a hen.

I cannot remember when I got the machine but it is the last in a long line. I'd never gotten around to using it and would have felt guilty about selling as it was gifted to me. 

I've been searching through the blog archive to see how long it's been here. No record. The photo is from six years ago so much longer than that. While delving into the past I found a few more sewing machine references.

This one from nine years ago is a true story about how I acquired my first Singer treadle.

The other day I was listening to a discussion on the radio about how the recession has affected ordinary families. One woman had this to say,

I'm cutting back as much as I can. I go to Aldi and Lidl, I'm on online auctions, I use Freecycle, I cut coupons. I don't know what else I can do!

And I couldn't help thinking.

Well, you could always consider not wanting so much stuff!

Then I remembered that, as a young woman with a very small budget, I too used to enjoy acquiring stuff.

I loved auctions, jumble sales and charity shops. I was good at jumble sales (sharp elbows) and diligent in charity shops but for auctions, it was a cunning strategy that was needed.

And it was just such a cunning strategy that was lacking when I spotted the notice in the paper, advertising a house clearance near Glarryford. I was looking for a sewing machine and there were two listed. Surely I'd get one Singer at least? No strategy needed!

In that part of the country, house clearances were very popular with second-hand dealers and farmers' wives. I reasoned that the farmers' wives at least, if they were keen on sewing, would already possess a sewing machine and that at least one of the Singers would surely be mine. I also decided that dealers would not be interested in sewing machines so they would be no competition.

The auction started in the yard at the back of the house. I was surrounded by grim-faced men in tweed caps and their equally grim-faced womenfolk. The Singers were lots number ninety-something so I had a bit to go. I passed the time watching how other people bid. Seven cushions came up. They were a mixed lot, tatty and well-worn, just the sort of cushions you could sweep off the seats in any farm kitchen. The bidding started at fifty pence. Then it went to a pound. Two women were bidding against each other and the price kept rising. The cushions were eventually sold for £12 and if I'd been the woman who lost (wised up) I think I'd have been mighty relieved. But this bidding frenzy for a handful of scruffy cushions rattled me. What if one or more of the farmers' wives couldn't bear to see me get a perfectly good Singer for a bargain price? What should I do? At last, my treadle machine was called. 

Who'll give me £5 for this Singer sewing machine in good working order?

Oh no! These Glarryford women won't be able to bear seeing me get this machine for a knockdown price. 

I rang out, 

Ten pounds!

Silence. Then...

Sold to the woman with no nerve!

So that was my bidding strategy. And it worked.