Wool gathering – what brings thousands of people to a barn in Mid Wales

On the last weekend in April, I re-connected with my tribe.  After a break of two years because of the pandemic, Wonderwool Wales was finally able to go ahead in its traditional slot of the last weekend in April, and nothing was going to keep me away.  The event at the Royal Welsh Showground near Builth Wells in rural Mid Wales has taken place since 2006, and whilst it started with the idea of raising the profile of Welsh wool and providing a showcase for craftspeople and small businesses using wool, it has developed into a gathering of the fibre-obsessed from all over the UK and beyond.

Colourful skeins of yarn.
Fivemoons yarn hand painted yarn from the Blackdown Hills, Devon. www.theslowwardrobe.co.uk/collections/fivemoons-yarns

Let me try to set the scene.  The venue is three large barns which, when used for agricultural shows, are full of pens containing trimmed and brushed sheep and cattle, the elites of their breeds.  During Wonderwool, however, the barns become like the inside of a kaleidoscope, a sensory overload of colour and texture with nearly two hundred stalls representing sheep breed societies, craft guilds, boutique textile mills, purveyors of equipment for knitters, spinners, weavers, dyers, feltmakers – but mainly yarn, more yarn in a dizzying rainbow of colours than I have ever seen in one place.  The choice is overwhelming.  The first time I came, I felt like I needed a lie down in a darkened room for the rest of the weekend.

Dozens of skeins of brightly coloured yarn.
Sock yarn by Siobhans Crafts www.siobhanscrafts.co.uk

But it is not only the cornucopia of goods for sale which draw the eye.  Fibre events like this (similar gatherings in the UK include Yarn Fest in Yorkshire and Woolfest in Cumbria) are an opportunity for people to show off their creations.  There are several thousand people here, and seemingly every second person is wearing a handmade scarf, hat, sweater or dress.  I could have photographed dozens of examples at Wonderwool, but I settled on these two ladies who had travelled to Wonderwool from Cheshire, resplendent in their stunning, unique creations which incorporate felting and stitching techniques.  Fortunately, they were happy to pose for me!

Two smiling ladies modelling a coat and waistcoat.
Ali and Christine modelling their creations

Over the years that I have been coming to Wonderwool, I have noticed trends within the fibre crafts world.  For example, a few years ago there was a plethora of yarns made from hemp/linen, organic cotton, and nettle fibres.  This year, when I specifically wanted some cotton yarn for a project, there was none to be found, and remarkably little linen either.  Neither was there any sign this year of the giant knitting – with yarn as thick as rope, and broomsticks for needles – which was all the rage the last time I went.  The theme I could see this year was traceability – there was a strong emphasis on the provenance of the yarn on sale, with information on the flock that the fleece came from and the mill or hand-spinner that had processed it.  One vendor was even able to show a prospective customer a picture on her phone of the individual sheep whose fleeces had contributed to the balls of undyed knitting yarn on sale!

Sacks of sheep's fleeces in a range of natural colours.
Sacks of raw fleece. British Coloured Sheep Breeders’ Association www.bcsba.org.uk
Skeins of coloured wool featuring the red Welsh dragon on the labels.
Yarn from Welsh flocks by Midwinter Yarns www.midwinteryarns.com

I was interested, too, to see an exhibit of natural dyestuffs – a range of plant products which have traditionally been used to dye yarn and fabric – together with the yarn that has been dyed with them.  There is increasing interest in natural dyes, with a number of how-to books now available (I have tried it myself, using onion skins to dye some silk fabric a vibrant, autumnal orange) and in view of the environmental impact of conventional (artificial) dyes it was good to see awareness of natural processes being raised in this way.

A selection of natural dyestuffs.
A selection of natural dyestuff from Allium Threads www.etsy.com/uk/shop/AlliumThreads
A selection of naturally-dyed yarns in shades of cream, wheat and green.
A selection of naturally-dyed yarns from Allium Threads www.etsy.com/uk/shop/AlliumThreads

Despite the name, it’s not all about the wool – one particularly eye-catching stall was selling yarn made from recycled saris.  The fabric is ripped into narrow strips, which can then be used to knit, crochet or weave.  The colours are luminous.

Photo of a woman winding a skein of bright orange recycled sari yarn.
Making a skein of recycled sari yarn at www.lalawithlove.co.uk
A display of recycled sari yarn in a range of bright colours.
Recycled sari yarns by www.lalawithlove.co.uk

Wonderwool sets out to showcase all the processes from sheep to finished article.  Some of the breed societies bring ewes, with their lambs, to the show, and these are always popular.  ‘Raw’ fleece – clipped from the sheep last summer – is available for those who like to process and spin their own fibre, as well as combed fibres for feltmakers and spinners who prefer a little less lanolin in their fibres!  And, of course, there is yarn – so much yarn.  Knitting patterns.  Spindles, carders, looms.  Knitting needles, crochet hooks, spinning wheels, buttons.  Embellishments, dyes, bags of dyed combed ‘tops’ for feltmakers.  Knitted toys.  Traditional ganseys.  Textile art.  Yarn.  And yet more yarn.

Felt art by Ali Scott www.aliscottfeltartist.co.uk
A display of knitted and crochet toy animals including a poodle, a whale and a lobster.
Kits for toys by Toft www.toftuk.com

For many of us, though, it isn’t only about the retail opportunity – although I very much doubt anyone leaves empty-handed!  There is an aspect of the event which is more like a pilgrimage, a gathering of like-minded people, an opportunity for people to connect around the passion for fibre crafts that unites us.  It serves an as annual reunion – in the weeks before Wonderwool, many of us were emailing each other to ask ‘are you going to Wonderwool?  Shall we meet up?’  Everywhere, there were greetings, especially enthusiastic this year because of the enforced separation of the pandemic which means it’s been several years since we’ve all got together like this.  I arranged to meet up with friends I haven’t seen since the last time I was at Wonderwool, texting ‘I’m here!  Where are you?’ and rendezvousing for coffee, where we compared purchases and recommended stalls as well as catching up on our lives.  And the world of wool is international – I encountered people from Sweden, Germany, and the USA, as well as from all over the UK.  Guilds and groups hire coaches to bus their members to Mid Wales.  Conversations start over a shared admiration for a yarn, a texture, a colour.  I know I’m not the only one to have made friends through casual meetings at Wonderwool.  Here, we all understand the enthusiasm for that amazing sock yarn, that beautiful spindle, the lustre of that fleece.  Here, we are amongst our own, our tribe.

A wall display of coloured yarns.
Yarns by John Arbon Textiles, Devon www.jarbon.com
Display of hand-turned wooden spindles.
Spindles hand-turned by Ian Tait on the Isle of Wight www.thewoodemporium.co.uk

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My creative inheritance – the story of three generations of women and our textiles

I have been making things with yarn and textiles for almost as long as I can remember.  I can vividly recall the first time I saw someone crocheting (I was about four at the time), which I described as “knitting with one needle.”  Evidently I already knew about knitting with two needles!  As a child in the Netherlands I grew up around embroidery and cross stitch – my aunt used to make amazing tablecloths embroidered with naturalistic leaves, berries and flowers in tiny cross stitch, a style which is very common in the Netherlands but rarely seen here in the UK.  It always impressed me that the reverse was very nearly as beautiful as the front of her work, and I was taught that this was something to aim for.  My Oma (grandmother) was skilled in a wide range of embroidery styles – blackwork, drawn thread work, and crewel work as well as cross stitch and needlepoint.  She always had something on the go – unless she was immersed in one of her beloved English-language whodunits!

Occasionally she would knit – I have a vague recollection of cardigans she knitted for me when I was very small – but it was my mother who was the prolific knitter.   Rarely working from patterns, between the 1940s and the 1980s she produced a vast number of garments, not only the usual sweaters and scarves, but also entire dresses – with panelled skirts – fully fashioned and a perfect fit and, astonishingly, knitted from the finest 2-ply or laceweight yarn on knitting needles barely thicker than sewing needles.  She always claimed to hate knitting, but nevertheless she put a lot of time and effort into her creations, even when knitwear was easily and cheaply available to buy and knitting was no longer the necessity it perhaps was in the 1940s and 50s.  She also made her (and my) clothes occasionally, including her own wedding dress, on a 1950s Singer sewing machine with an electric motor.

Image of textile art. Skyscape in blue wool with vapour trails and clouds suggested in white and oyster silk. Image and art copyright Lisa Tulfer 2012.

Beacons Skyscape. Wool felt and silk. Lisa Tulfer 2012

It was probably inevitable that I would continue the tradition.  I was embroidering (including blackwork and drawn thread work) by the age of 6, and I also remember learning to knit when I was 6 or 7 – it was a scarf for one of my dolls, made out of scrap yarn in stripes of olive green and burgundy.  I made all my dolls’ clothes, sewing as well as knitting and crocheting.  Up until my late 20s (when my eyesight started to struggle) I made fine cross stitch cards and bookmarks as gifts.  After that, I moved onto needlepoint, as it is larger scale, uses chunky wool instead of fine cottons and silks, and is altogether easier on the eyes.  For a time I took commissions, creating unique bespoke designs for cushions.  In my 20s I acquired a 1930 Singer hand cranked sewing machine, which is my pride and joy, and started dressmaking.  Unfortunately, full-time work and the demise of fabric shops in the 1990s eventually ended that, but I still use the machine to do alterations, shorten trousers, and make things for the house, even if I haven’t made myself an item of clothing for many years.

Image of a hand knitted sock, with a second just begun, and a ball of yarn, in stripes of three shades of green.

I knit compulsively – I’m more than a little obsessed with yarn, especially wool and silk, and deeply in love with the self-striping sock yarn which has been developed in recent years in a kaleidoscope of colours.  I think that for me it’s often about the process of knitting – the meditative rhythm of it, and the tactile and visual enjoyment of the yarn – as much as the finished garment.  I rarely use commercial patterns, usually sketching out my own designs and often making it up as I go along.  If the yarn is colourful or has a great texture I try to keep the design simple so as not to compete with the materials.  Over the last few years I have set myself new challenges – I have learned to knit socks (my partner is now the proud owner of a number of pairs of custom socks in the knock-your-eye-out colours she loves) and also plucked up the courage to try lace knitting, with generous guidance from Liz Lovick of Northern Lace.  Both of these do require patterns, as well as intense concentration.

When I was very young, I was told I couldn’t draw.  With art therefore not open to me as a creative outlet, I turned instead to the skills I did have, inherited from the women of my family – textiles.  For me, there has always been more to making things with yarn and cloth than simply making functional garments – colour, texture and pattern are paramount.  In my late 30s I discovered feltmaking, and rather than making the clothes, wraps and bowls which many of my contemporaries created – often very beautifully – I ‘painted’ with coloured wool fibres to create wall art which was mounted and framed like a picture.  I then discovered spinning – with a spindle, still my preference, and with a wheel – and with the unique yarns I was making I started to weave.  I did make myself a scarf, and a table runner is currently awaiting its bead fringing, but otherwise everything I weave, too, is wall art.

Although I have inherited a number of things which belonged to my Dutch grandparents, I think the one I would save from a fire is a blackwork wall hanging embroidered by my Oma in 1966 – before I was born.  It hung on her kitchen wall for as long as I can remember, and now it hangs on mine.  It depicts the signs displayed outside Dutch hostelries and other businesses in former times.  It could do with specialist cleaning, but the marks on it tell the story of family life, and for me, as the work of her hands, it’s infinitely precious.

Photograph of a blackwork embroidery, dated 1966, depicting old Dutch inn signs and associated advertising slogans.