Cosy and Warm

I reached into the box of goodies my aunt had put aside for me: a bunch of old cigarette lighters, a possum skin, trinkets, several boxed pens, and then I found it. It was not an item you would normally pass down the generations, but I was now the proud owner of a frilly orange tea cosy.

At first bemused, I thought about its origins. Had my aunt found the pattern suddenly when going through a knitting book and been instantly drawn to little frills or had she wavered over another style. Orange and yellow were not colours I might have chosen, but in the seventies when this was likely made, they were all the rage.

Did she feel a sense of anticipation as she slid the crumpled label from the ball of yellow? She would certainly have been aware of the softness and the unique smell of new wool as she cast on the first stitches. After the first row, it was time for the orange to make its debut. Every row was pattern: knit two together, pass the slip stitch over, make one, cast off and cast on.

Sixty rows later, all was drawn together and the top was finished with a matching chequered ribbon. Leaving holes for the handle and spout, the sides were joined. It was time for a celebratory cuppa.

Tea in this household was important. It was made strong; no golden liquid would enter a cup in this kitchen. You had to be prepared for the tannins and odd the floating ‘visitor’.

A trip to a clear mountain stream provided the water. Tap water was not acceptable. When the kettle sang, crisp dry tealeaves swirled and danced under the stream of liquid as it was poured from above. As the lid was slotted into place, they relaxed, producing a thick dark fluid. All was kept warm as the tea gained strength under the colourful cover.

If only this tea cosy could talk. How many secrets would it be able to tell? It must have heard discussions about the past, talk of the loud and riotous neighbours and expressions of anger and grief. For thirty or forty years it graced the table when visitors arrived. I saw it often and realise now, that it must have been kept for guests else it would have been stained and saddened. How nice to know that I was one of those special people.