Notable Lace
There are a few famous lace panels. Some textiles are preserved in the galleries and museums of the world as historical examples of pre- and post- industrialisation. Some displays highlight the genius of early craftwomanship, whether through the ruffs Queen Elizabeth 1 and her lords and ladies wore, or the adornments that graced the necks of Spanish and French royalty.
One notable piece is the Battle of Britain panel housed in the Australian War Memorial in Canberra. The panel was designed using actual footage of the Battle of Britain as well as historical and experiential knowledge of the battle itself. In all, thirty-eight pieces were thought to have been made using the jacquard (design templates) before the jacquard was destroyed. Thirty-one are known to exist and four are located in Australia.
The panel is the size of a small living room, big enough to display the types of aircraft involved in the Battle of Britain, as well as a castle and a cottage symbolising how war does not distinguish between rich and poor. Intermingled along the borders are floral symbols, a poignant reminder of the ordinariness of major world events amongst the never-changing seasons, because the battle occurred during the summer season when ears of corn, sweet and yellow, ripened on the tall green plants, their husks yellowing and falling.
Winston Churchill’s moving words ‘Never was so much owed by so many to so few’ is scripted at the bottom of the panel.
The panel is divided into three vertical columns. Planes are depicted in a dog fight of incredible ferocity, and they dominate the middle sections, while the castle-like structure at the bottom, reminiscent of the Taj Mahal, dominates the bottom quadrant. The planes descending to attack are at odds with the beauty and simplicity of the border, a border filled with flowers, ornate emblems and delicate patterns. That delicacy is a feature of this creation, at odds with the brutality and aggression of the subject matter, and it is this that astounds and confuses the viewer. The panel signifies nature in its infinite glory revealing hope at its core.
Mary: 1945
Chapter 1
VE Day and its aftermath signalled the end of one terror and the beginning of another. Jim returned home. His face belied his twenty-two years, suffering etched in his shadowed eyes that flitted from object to object, skittish, never at rest. His hands too, clasped and unclasped, as if a washing motion would cleanse his mind and heart of what he’d seen and heard. He never talked about it, but Mary noted the way he clung to his brothers, drawing them in, tucking them under his shoulders, squeezing their arms with a grip so tight the boys cried in pain and pulled away.
Harriet, alone, kept a distance from the young man. She stayed low and quiet when he was nearby. Mary was relieved. She’d taken to worrying about her daughter with the buck teeth and, as the girl grew into a gangly and awkward young woman of thirteen, Mary’s anxiety only increased. What future her ugly duckling daughter had, she couldn’t tell, especially not now so many young men were dead, killed in this horrible war.
Henry held back too, Mary noticed. He came and went, oblivious to Jim’s pleading eyes, searching for comfort and reassurance. Instead, Henry left the room when Jim entered, was out of the house before Jim got up and at the pub late, returning after Jim was in bed. It was surprising then when Jim announced one morning at breakfast that he was returning to Sutton Bonnington to live with his grandparents and Henry slammed his fist on the table, shouting,
‘Is this home not good enough for you?’
Harriet started crying. Frank covered his ears with his hands and George and Peter scurried out of the room. Mary put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. Jim said nothing though. He lifted his doe-eyes to Henry’s in a slow, measured pace, held his father’s gaze for a moment until Henry glanced away.
‘Go on then, if you’re so unhappy here.’
Jim pushed his chair back, rose and walked out the door. Mary watched Jim disappear, as if time froze. Upstairs, she heard the squeak of a cupboard door opening, the slap of a rucksack hitting the floor and footsteps moving about. Henry shoved his chair back, grabbed his coat from the coat stand and slammed the door as he left the house. In the corner, Harriet was still crying.
‘Why is Daddy being mean to Jim?’ asked Frank.
Mary pulled him close.
‘He’s not,’ she said. ‘Jim wants to spend time with his grandparents.’
‘I don’t want Jimmy to go.’
‘I know,’ said Mary. ‘I know.’
Harriet stopped crying and stood in front of Mary.
‘You’re lying,’ she said.
‘Watch what you say,’ warned Mary.
‘You never tell the truth. Jim won’t stay because he can’t stand the fact none of you talk to him. All he needs is some understanding.’
‘What would you know? You’re just a child.’
‘I’ve seen it,’ said Harriet, tears once again falling, her voice cracking as it grew louder. ‘Jim just wants a home, especially after all he’s been through. And you and Dad are so mean to him, like you don’t even care. But I do, I care.’
‘Stop it, Harriet. You’re scaring Frank.’
Harriet stamped her foot, her face was red and she was shaking. Frank cowered behind Mary’s skirts.
‘It’s only me as understands him. You’ve got no idea and now you’ve scared him away just when he needs you most. I can’t believe you. Someone has to stand up for him.’
‘Harry,’ said Jim from the doorway.
Harriet span around. When she saw Jim with duffel bag in hand, she turned an even brighter shade of red and bit her mouth so hard a droplet of blood formed on her bottom lip.
Jim came into the room. Frank ran out from behind Mary and hugged him around the waist. Jim ruffled the boy’s hair then held out his hand to Mary. Mary took it but she was unable to meet Jim’s eyes.
‘Sorry to cause you so much trouble Mrs Lacey,‘ he said, hesitating for a moment. ‘I’ll see you around.’
Jim turned and left. Harriet stared after him, into the space left behind, then glanced at her mother and disappeared upstairs. Mary held Frank for a moment then went back to cooking. She had baking to catch up on as well as some housekeeping before she left for the factory. Now the men were returning from the war, she was again in the finishing department and with less to do and less money coming in, was reduced to taking in washing for families in the posher areas of the city. Living as a married woman gave her some protection but hadn’t changed her day-to-day life much at all. There was so much to do and no time to think about what had just happened and what it meant for all of them.