WORLD WAR 1 PARACHUTE
HOW THE PARACHUTE CAME TO ME
I went to a garage sale in Devonport about 12 years ago. A weaver, I collect old or unusual textiles and am intrigued by threads.
At this sale I saw an old biscuit tin with a fragment of what looked like silk underwear spilling from it. On investigation, a tumble of crushed silk cloth, silk cords, sturdy heavily sewn harness and perfect stainless steel fittings. Muddy, torn, thrilling.
The man, a well known business man told me that his father had brought it back from WW1.
$3.00 was the asking price.
In awe, I unfolded it onto my living room floor and felt a joyous reverence. About half of a parachute, perfect panels sussurrating when I gently lifted them . It floated so so so slowly to the floor and lay in billows and folds.
There was mud. There were tears. Who? How?
I like to think that the ‘chute tore as it caught in a tree, perhaps. I want to think that it saved him. Whoever he was.
My plans were to recycle some of the cloth. I could not do it. I would not mutilate what to me was a powerful symbol.
A symbol of courage, honour and national pride. And the futility of war.
The cords, however, so many broken and tangled were another matter entirely. Silk is famous for its interaction with dye. It grabs it and shines.
I use some of these in every weaving that I now produce, dyed to match and hide in the cloth.
So the threads that dragged through the mud over 80 years ago are now part of beautiful objects that are my salute to all that once was, and a somehow, whimsical continuance of the story.
Oh, and I sold the biscuit tin for $3.00.
Tasweaver. November 22, 01 (excerpt from article)
I went to a garage sale in Devonport about 12 years ago. A weaver, I collect old or unusual textiles and am intrigued by threads.
At this sale I saw an old biscuit tin with a fragment of what looked like silk underwear spilling from it. On investigation, a tumble of crushed silk cloth, silk cords, sturdy heavily sewn harness and perfect stainless steel fittings. Muddy, torn, thrilling.
The man, a well known business man told me that his father had brought it back from WW1.
$3.00 was the asking price.
In awe, I unfolded it onto my living room floor and felt a joyous reverence. About half of a parachute, perfect panels sussurrating when I gently lifted them . It floated so so so slowly to the floor and lay in billows and folds.
There was mud. There were tears. Who? How?
I like to think that the ‘chute tore as it caught in a tree, perhaps. I want to think that it saved him. Whoever he was.
My plans were to recycle some of the cloth. I could not do it. I would not mutilate what to me was a powerful symbol.
A symbol of courage, honour and national pride. And the futility of war.
The cords, however, so many broken and tangled were another matter entirely. Silk is famous for its interaction with dye. It grabs it and shines.
I use some of these in every weaving that I now produce, dyed to match and hide in the cloth.
So the threads that dragged through the mud over 80 years ago are now part of beautiful objects that are my salute to all that once was, and a somehow, whimsical continuance of the story.
Oh, and I sold the biscuit tin for $3.00.
Tasweaver. November 22, 01 (excerpt from article)
posted by weavercherie @ 3:24 pm
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