Preserving THE ART

Three women tell us about the endangered crafts that they're helping to keep alive

- WORDS: GILLIAN HARVEY

I hope I can help straw plaiting to live on'

Veronica Main, in her 70s, is a straw plaiter.

She lives in Buckinghamshire with her husband Peter.

'Why don't you do something more useful?' asked my mother-in-law. It was 1975, and I had just enrolled on a course to learn how to make corn dollies. They were all the rage and I wanted to create one for my wall. I had no idea that the course would prove life-changing.

I'm left-handed and had never succeeded in handicraft before. But when I felt the straw between my fingers, it was as if the material spoke to me. 'I have no idea what you're doing, but it's working!' my teacher said.

I'd given up working as a research home economist when I married, but my curiosity had never left me. When people remarked that corn dollies were seen as fertility symbols, I wanted to know why. So, I began to research.

In 1978, I opened a small business making and selling the dollies, and was invited to craft shows across the country. One day in 1983, I met two curators from Luton Museum who asked me to come and demonstrate straw plaiting to visitors.

As my research continued, I realised what a poor deal the women plaiters of the past had. They had an invaluable skill, but while the (often male) dealers are remembered, the plaiters' names are lost. One photograph I discovered from The Luton News in 1922 struck me: that of an elderly woman making a fine straw plait, material for a hat to go in Princess Mary's trousseau. The article named the plait dealer, but the woman remained nameless.