So in 1929 “You cannot afford not to have one”. Hmmm. We’d say the same applies today, but then I guess we would.
When I was pedalling up the lane yesterday, I was greeted by one of the regular doggie-walkers. Luckily the brain was working well, and I recalled that this lady had once mentioned in passing that she makes curtains. For which you need a sewing machine. So I stopped to tell her about the blog.
I was glad I did, because I now know that some modern machines don’t have foot-pedals, and that the reverse facility on some of them is a button you push to make it do one stitch backwards. Best of all though, I now appreciate what fun and games are involved when you’re sewing big heavy curtains with your friend’s modern lightweight plastic machine, which she’s lent you to do a rush job while your vintage Singer’s at the mender’s and which just won’t stay put on your table while you handle the work because there’s no weight to it.
Only last week, I’d mentioned the blog to the nice lady who does the alterations in the local dry cleaner’s, and it became apparent that not only would she be a lot happier working with the treadle machine she learned her trade on, but also that it would do a far nicer straight stitch than the modern domestic zigzag machine with which she currently spends her days.
And now I’ve just been scanning a 1929 Singer brochure for a blog post which is in the offing and I noticed the above blurb, which set me thinking – if somebody’s minded to buy a sewing machine, how might you persuade them to consider a vintage Singer? We’ve never thought about this before, but …
[Right, I’m back after the pair of us just spent the best part of an hour playing midwife to Alice and her egg. In case you’re not up to speed with egg-bound hens, the problem is that something’s gone wonky with the production of the egg so the poor thing can’t actually lay it, and consequently looks very sorry for herself indeed. The treatment, such as it is, involves suspending the patient over a bucket of boiling water such that her chuff gets nice and warm and moist but she can’t get her feet in the hot water (which, as you may imagine, is much easier said than done), and talking soothingly to her while Nature hopefully takes its course, as it did just now. We think. And at this point readers of a sensitive nature will no doubt be greatly relieved to find that I’m leaving the matter there and returning to our normal programming.]
Whenever we sell a machine, I always ask the new owner why she bought it, and the answers we’ve got so far range from “I can relate to an old mechanical sewing machine. I can’t relate to modern electronic ones” to “I like the idea of using what Mum used and having a machine I can pass on to my daughter” to “Cost-effectiveness” to “I don’t want a sewing machine that’s smarter than me”.
So the questions are
1 If you use a vintage Singer, why not a modern machine?
2 If you don’t use a vintage machine right now but you’re hankering after one, what’s the attraction?
We’d love to see what you think, so why not leave a comment now under this post and tell us?