WELSH FLANNEL WEAVERS

Grey River Argus, 11 June 1915, Page 6

WELSH FLANNEL WEAVERS

A DYING INDUSTRY.

In spite of the onward march of progress, with the thousand and one mechanical inventions of our modern civilisation, there ate still to be found scattered over England and Wales, relies of the* old rural industries. The making 1 of flannels used to be , one of the chief rural industries of Wales. Homespun flannel formed the chief fabric in the national costume, and ■no farm, or cottage was complete without its spinning" wheel, on which the women prepared the wool for t'lcii own clothes, often taking it to a neigh bouriner weaver to be dyed and woven FLANNEL FAIR DEPARTED This is still one of the staple Welsh industries, but the town factory l;<s superseded the country weaver's shed, nnd the old "Flannel Fairs,", 10 which' the country folk, in their r.'clure.\r,vir costumes, used to jog on hers iWa< I. are dying out. What need to g- 0 to a flannel fair, when a halfpenny postcard to one of the '"big shops" will bring- a collection of patterns far exceeding" in range or colour and fineness of weave anything the Kandlooiri weavers could pro duce? The old folk, it is true, claim contemptuously, that there is "no wear" in the factory-made material. Wear a dress made of factory-made stuff for two years, say they, and it is not fit to look at ! Whereas, a dress made on a handloom looks as good a? new after twenty years' wear and innumerable visits to the wash-tub. MACHINE-MADE. The rising" generation, Lowever, do not seem too eager to wear the same gown for twenty years : they are fascinated by the dainty colours and the fine textures, and so the "big shops" gain an ever-increasing* number of customers every year, and the country weavers find less and less demand for their weaves of everlasting wear. Here and there are to be found the real old-fashioned weavers wl.'o look upon the new-fangled machinery with hatred and scorn, and these will show you with pride th c looms and the spin nine: wheels whicl; their grandmother's and great-grandmothers -used. In a certain little villaere in Camarthenshire lives one of the last of the weavers of this type. ONE OF THT LAST. Mrs. Edwards is over 85 years of age, and has worked at her spinning wheel in the same weavingsLcd for over half a century. In spite of her great age she is as blythe as a girl, and still does her share of work in the shed, winding the wool to hand to tl.'e weaver whose loom is just behind her. Husband and wife used to work together; now the old weaver is dead, and his son has taken his place at the loom, which his father, grandfatler and great-grandfather worked before him ! These weavers are well known in this part of Wales, and they have many visitors. Americans seem to have a special knack of finding tl'em out and tourists from Lancashire find an extraordinary fascination in the hand-loom. It would be difficult to find a grentei contract than that beween the factories at Lancashire and this weaver's environment. On each side c.f the -oad leading to the cottage lusl.' fields lie. r The cottage stands a little wav back from the road, it is solidly built and there i? a roominess about it that is lacking in the modern cottage. The nassage is so wide as to form a small hall, and the first thini>- the eye lights upon is- a f-ddleback d'nir of old oal>" polished till it gleams like some dark iewel. The weaving shed is bu>lt in <"hp garden over which the encircling hills look down. In the spring and summer every available space is gra> with flowers, and a fairylike aspect is given by the while glistening fleeces stretched over the green box hedges to dry. The old dame rises from her spinning wheel and greets her visitors with the dignity of a great lady. Her homespun gown is open at the throat, showing a spotless white kerchief, her silver hair shines through a black lace cap, and a shapely foot encased in a white stocking and buckled shoe peeps out under her dress. ! Fascinated, one watches the brown ! knotted-arm of tl.'e old lady briskTv turning the wheel and 1 handing the bobbins as she fills them to her son -at the loom behind her. He inserts them in the shuttle, and the dink-clink of the loom fills the shed. IN THE FACTORY. "T went tc a factory liist week," saul her daughter, in an awestruck voice ,"and saw them putting- in the ram one end. and ii caane out doth at the other, and no work whatever .to do with* it, a child cou'd have nninded the loom. We have plenty of room her c for a loom like tratj but mother will not have it." Thus srjoke the new generation. The okl lady's face darkened, ar.d ?hi^ placed her hand with* an almost fierce protecting (air u/pon the old spinning 1 wheel. "No, indeed! Not till I die!" she ;aid with grim determination. * And when that happens the day of :he Land loom will be over, too; :hough not just yet. For it is strange hat the greatest war in history ; s help ng to keep alive this primitive irdus:ry! Many a soldier in the new Welsh irmy will be clad in khaki of this >ld lady's weaving. Many a bloodGained, mud-caked suit amid the in*' F erno of shot and shell was woven in this garden of exquisite peace and beauty. —"Daily News.' . *