All the women of the household spent an inordinate amount of time knitting - mufflers and mittens, gloves and socks and hats, vests and sweaters - to keep their men warm.
Mrs Glover sat by the kitchen stove in the evening and knitted huge gloves, big enough to fit over the hooves of George's plough horses. They were not for Sampson and Nelson of course, but for George himself, one of the first to volunteer, Mrs Glover said proudly at every opportunity, making Sylvie quite crotchety. Even Marjorie, the scullery maid, had been taken by the knitting fad, labouring after lunch on something that looked like a dishcloth, although to call it 'knitting' was generous. 'More holes than wool' was Mrs Glover's verdict, before boxing her ears and telling her to get back to work.
Bridget had taken to making misshapen socks - she could not turn a heel for the life of her - for her new love.
. . .
Pamela's support for the expeditionary force had taken the form of a mass production of dun-coloured mufflers of extraordinary and impractical length. Slyvie was pleasantly surprised by her eldest daughter's capacity for monotony. It would stand her in good stead for her life to come.
Oh dear, it seems like only George is going to come out well from the knitting parcels sent to the from from Fox Corner.