The Stitches That Bind Us

There’s a photograph I treasure — a single frame that somehow holds five generations of my family.

I’m the baby in the bottom left, looking rather unimpressed with the camera. Around me are the women who came before: my mum, my granny, my great-grandmother, and my great-great-grandmother. Every single one of them could work a needle.

My mum knits and crochets. My granny knits and cross-stitches. I sew, embroider, and breathe life into historical and fantasy-inspired garments. And before us came two remarkable women whose lives were stitched together — quite literally — with thread.

From Service to George Street

My great-great-grandmother, born Holman in Northampton, was one of six children. Like many young women of her generation, she and her sisters went “into service” — employed in large houses, far from home.

In London, she worked in one such house, allowed only a single week’s holiday in summer to visit her family. At some point, though no one quite knows why, she found herself in Berkhamsted, in service again at a grand home on Cross Oak Road. It was there she met my great-great-grandfather, and together they settled in George Street, where they would live for many years.

Jocelyn, the Seamstress

Their daughter — my great-grandmother Jocelyn — inherited not only their resilience but a remarkable skill with needle and thread. She became a professional seamstress, working at the Bulbourne Mantle Factory, which stood where Waitrose now stands.

The Mantle Factory was once a cornerstone of Berkhamsted industry. Built in 1902 for Hughes, Hawkins & Co., it produced coats, cloaks, and the fashionable “mantles” of the day. By the 1930s, under new owners Corby, Palmer & Stewart, the factory employed hundreds of local women, their work described at the time as “like a swarm of bees” — quick, precise, and industrious. Jocelyn’s speciality was making suits, much of the work done entirely by hand.

When factory life was behind her, she didn’t put down her needle. Instead, she built a loyal base of alteration clients, transforming garments with the same care and precision she once gave to tailoring new ones. Her work was known for its quality, and she carried that same perfectionism into her cooking — her other great love.

Threads Through Time

That skill, that instinct to make something last, is a thread that runs through our family. My mum knitted and crocheted baby clothes, blankets, and jumpers. My granny’s cross-stitch samplers still hang on her walls, their colours bright after decades. And now, my own work with Saintmore carries the same spirit forward — though the garments I make are steeped in history, they’re also part of a much older, more personal tradition.

It’s the tradition of making something with your hands because you can, because it’s needed, and because it will outlast you.

When I sew, I like to imagine the women who came before me — bent over their work in lamplight, steady hands and patient stitches. I like to think that in some small way, they’re all still here, threaded into every garment I make.

Some families pass down heirlooms of gold or silver. Mine passed down a sewing machine, fabric shears, and the knowledge of what to do with them. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.