This is my Marvel stitching machine, which I still haven't quite sorted out. It looks more like a syringe for delivering heroin than a lady's stitching aid.
Maybe I should have tried it out today, in one form or another, as I made a right mess of covering some cushions with my patchwork fat ladies.
I really should stick to Art, I am not clever enough for Craft. I expect in 1918, whoever first had this gadget was a marvel of neatness and expertise.
The only needlework I was taught at primary school [or not] was to hem round a napkin [no, no, those stitches are far too large] - encouragement was not yet considered a teaching aid.
When I was eleven we girls all had to make an apron for Domestic science, while the boys knocked up a table or something manly. My green check pinny turned out wonky, as did my later fish pie or fruit salad. Neither of which troubled my parents dining table, as there was no way they were going to survive the three mile trip home on the top deck of the No. 62 bus.
