The Big Tragic Hole
A favourite pair of wool trousers – chocolate brown with thin pink pinstripes – sported a big tragic hole in the knee. I had fallen over while racing for a train. It was apparently imperative I catch that particular train, not the one that was due to arrive two minutes later.
As I ran up the ramp, one foot was caught up in the flapping trouser of the opposite leg, and down I went. And all I got for my pains was a bloody knee and an enormous hole in my pants.
Did I at least make the train, you ask? I actually can’t recall – the mental affliction of the ruined trousers has obliterated any other memory of that day.
…one foot was caught up in the flapping trouser of the opposite leg, and down I went.
However, I decided I couldn’t possibly throw these pants out before attempting their repair. (I have done this in the past with other holey trousers to my regret. But then, those holes were chewed by moths, and I cannot be held accountable for fashion-rage caused by evil winged creatures of the night.)
So I sat down one evening recently and inspected the hole. It was, I saw (at about the size of a 15¢ piece, if such a coin existed), too vast a chasm to simply sew the edges together. The hole would have to be filled with something.
I trimmed the frayed edges and made the hole even bigger. My heart dropped. I brought out the iron and placed some brown ‘iron-on mend-it’ material (the fabric equivalent to spak-filler) on the inside. The heat of the iron forged the nice wool and ugly mending fabric into one.
Next I brought out an assortment of frills and furbelows and sundry other fripperies. Giant poodle? Cute, but No. Pretty cream lace flowers? They stood out like the proverbial, and besides, were not big enough to hide the eyesore. Black lace leaf it would have to be. At about 3cm wide and 2 high, it would just cover the atrocity.
I took pains to sew it on with the smallest stitches I could muster. It wasn’t easy I can tell you. I had to stuff one hand up the rolled trouser leg and force the needle through several thicknesses of fabric. I got quite sweaty and cross, but many pin-pricks and a sore neck later, voila! Ze trousers, she is finished!
The final result is much more subtle than the picture shows; one doesn’t notice the patch at first glance. (Although the first few times I wore them, I kept going to brush off the black thing attached to me.) I have decided they are fine: just a little quirky. After all, nobody’s perfect.