Make Do and Mend

Of all of the cardigans, jumpers and other assorted warm tops that I own, there is one that's a particular favourite.  Not that I don't like the others, but this one is particularly special.  It was bought a few years back, to mark my seventh wedding anniversary (that being wool), but that's not the reason why it's my favourite.  Not that it means nothing, but I'm pretty sure the jumper I bought for Husband on that occasion has long since bitten the dust, what with him being in possession of the World's Sharpest Elbows and all.

No, it's my favourite because it's comfortable, it's warm, and it looks damn good.  It's not the workaday black rollneck, nor is it the huge, snuggly, not-terribly-smart cardie.  It occupies that hallowed territory right at the centre of the Venn diagram, meaning that I'm extremely reluctant to ever part with it.

This, naturally, became something of an issue.  My elbows may not be quite as sharp as Husband's, but I do still have a terrible tendency to lean on them when sitting at my desk, and that takes its toll on knitwear.  The sleeves of the cardigan developed increasingly threadbare patches, until I could no longer wear it in good conscience, certainly not anywhere that required a reasonable standard of dress.  Was this to be the end for Favourite Cardigan?

No.  Of course it wasn't.

Darning isn't something that comes up much these days.  Modern socks are both cheap and fairly flimsy, so nobody really bothers trying to mend them when they develop holes.  It's not something I'd ever tried myself, but the need to rescue Favourite Cardigan spurred me into action.  Fortunately, although it may not be as widely practised as it used to be, there are plenty of websites out there that will give you an introduction in how to darn.  And it's actually remarkably simple.  Some thin mending wool.  A cardigan with a threadbare patch.  Something to stretch it over (I bought a cheap wooden mushroom from my local Large Craft Chain).  And then it's basically just weaving.  A row of threads going one way, weaving in and out of the existing wool.  A row going the other way, weaving in and out of both the regular wool and the mending wool.  Easy as pie.

The work is all done on the inside of the garment, because it ends up looking like this:

 

Darn it!

Part of the reason for the ugliness is that you leave a loop at the end of the line every time you turn around, to give a little space for stretching.  That's why the edges of the patch look so fuzzy.  Fortunately, when you turn it the right way out it looks like this:

Flawless Victory!

I followed some advice that suggested making the second set of rows (the weft, if you will) diagonal rather than perpendicular, which again allows for a little more stretch.  It's also best to catch the problem before it turns into a full-blown hole if you can, because the darning is a lot easier (and will be stronger) if there are still threads left behind to work in and out of.  Although I'm told that if a large hole has developed you can cover it with mesh before you start, to give something to work with.

I'm immensely pleased that it worked and I can continue to wear Favourite Cardigan for a while longer.  I still don't plan to start darning my socks any time soon, but there's a chance that if I can keep an eye on Husband's elbows he won't have to spend quite so much of my hard-earned money on knitwear...