Story by Potia Pitchford, photo by Neil Pitchford

I could hear the soft moaning as I approached the spinning room, it wasn’t that unusual for me to hear their voices but this morning there was a new voice. I had a feeling that there might be one less in the group of girls coming from the orphanage to their spinning tasks this morning.

I knocked before entering the room, I always do even though no one else can hear them. The girls think I’m mad, the mad weaver they call me behind my back, not that I care. Sure enough, the spinning wheels have moved again. There’s a cluster in the middle of the room round the newest of the wheels. They’ve nearly all gone silent now except for the mournful whimpering coming from the young wheel.

“Excuse me ladies” I say as I gently move the other wheels back to their places.

Then I stop by the youngest, the newest. Her hair is still tangled on the spindle, scraps of material on the floor, threads spun on the bobbin. I rest my hand gently on her wheel. “Shh, shh. It’s alright now Mavis, I know it’s not what you wanted but I did warn you. I can see the ladies have been teaching you and you’ve made good progress. I’m sure you’ll be one of the best before long.”

You see every so often there’s a girl that doesn’t listen to my warnings about the importance of respecting the wheels and other tools in this room. Girls who blame the tools for their mistakes. I’m always clear about that. A worker should never blame their tools. And Mavis was furious yesterday when she got her hair caught in the spindle. She’d been grumbling about the work for a while, insulting the wheel when the thread broke, things like that. Yesterday she went too far though, she kicked the wheel. I had known there would be a price to pay for that, I had felt their disapproval.

I get the broom and sweep the remaining bits of her dress into the pile for carding being sure to mix it through the rest of the scraps, luckily there’s nothing easily recognisable in the scraps. I then gently untangle the rest of Mavis’s hair from the spindle, she had lovely long hair. I think I’ll weave that into something myself, I’ll keep it safe until I know what to weave with it. The wheels will tell me. Perhaps Mavis will want something special made when she gets used to her new existence.

I turn at the sound of footsteps hurrying through the front door and along the hall.

“Ah. There you are girls. Assume your seats please, there’s plenty of work to be done. What’s that Jane? Mavis has disappeared. Oh dear! I do hope she didn’t run off after being so cross yesterday. Now remember…”

They chorus back…

“A good worker never blames their tools.”