Weaving connections: straw, history and home

It was a dark and windy evening when I arrived at Shetland Museum for a talk and demonstration of straw work. I was a little late and was surprised to find a crowded room and no available seats.

The organisers had expected around 20 people and when over 70 arrived more and more rows of chairs were hastily set up.

Having researched the history of Shetland native breeds for my PhD I was familiar with kishies – kishie is the dialect word for a straw basket or creel.

People often showed me old photographs of lines of ponies, with straw baskets on their sides, bringing home the peat that was a croft’s only source of winter fuel. An iconic story of heat, light, survival and hope. Although such pictures of peat carrying have become one of the most familiar images of Shetland history, they are only one example of straw work.

For much of the archipelago’s history, crofters needed to be incredibly self-sufficient, producing almost everything they needed to survive. With few areas of cultivatable ground and little shelter from salt-laden winds, the environment posed significant difficulties. It was from these challenges that Shetland’s unique straw weaving tradition emerged.

People used the materials they could find in the environment around them to craft kishies, bait bags, fish baskets, chair backs, fowling traps, and to build roofs. Although straw from crops like oats was among the most common material for weaving; floss, heather and marram grass were all used. With changing economies imported goods began to replace these crafts in people’s everyday lives. Over time, skills that would once have been essential to survival began to be forgotten.

After the talk, tables were set up with people demonstrating different methods of straw working. Baskets were woven with a coiling technique, chair backs using an intricate system of knotting and kishies made by working the straw into lengths of cord. Sign up sheets were passed around for people wanting to attend straw making workshops. I put my name down and was delighted when a few days later I was offered a place on the basket course.

I joined a group of enthusiastic learners around a table covered in sheaves of straw and some completed baskets. Deepa, our teacher, described how for her, "Learning was such a social and communal process, working together to make something. It became quite addictive. When you make items by hand you learn to appreciate these objects and the skills that go into them. This is such an endangered craft and I feel lucky to have been taught it and be able to teach others."

Before starting, we cleaned the straw, removing rough outer layers until we were left with sleek, golden stalks. Each basket began with seven strands knotted in the middle which we folded in half and then twisted around into a flat spiral.

As we wrapped, we held the coil in place with stiches of thick string. Deepa moved around the table, helping us add straw to the coil, attach new lengths of string and showing the group how she was using these techniques as she made her own basket.

As we worked we chatted. People shared stories of the baskets they remembered from their grandparents' houses, the kishies on the crofts and folk making them on winter nights.

The straw we used was all grown locally. For much of history, crops were an integral part of Shetland agriculture. Fields of grain and stooks of hay are part of living memory for many islanders but over time agriculture changed.

When people started trying to revive straw craft, they realised how difficult the materials were to find as so few crofts grow crops. Many compared this to wool.

There was a time, not long ago, where pure Shetland wool had little monetary value. As Shetland wool and knitwear regained popularity, more people began to value their unique qualities and wool is now a growing and diverse part of island economies.

It was hoped that more people learning straw weaving techniques could lead to demand for straw as a raw material. This in turn could encourage more crofters to grow some crops.

Another participan, Logan said that despite his family having been in Shetland for generations, for him and many other young people, there were elements of heritage that were unknown. He described how growing oats was one of the first ways he began to re-engage with island cultures.

As he sat, weaving straw into kishies, he explained that now he grows the grain and sees it being used and valued, he is eager to share his knowledge, and the seeds he produces, with others.

Helen has a croft and described the joy of seeing evidence of Shetland’s history in the landscape around her.

"I look out to the bay and broch and know my house is probably made from the broch’s stones. I have been growing Shetland oats and I feel excited to work with the materials people would have worked with hundreds of years ago and honoured to be part of keeping these skills alive".

After learning techniques in these classes she hopes to share this knowledge with others by starting a straw group in her local community.

Slowly, as the weeks progressed, my pile of straw began to take on a basket-like shape.

It looked nothing like the beautiful symmetrical baskets, with smooth edges and even stitches that I had been shown on the first evening, but it was something. Something I had made and felt proud of.

There wasn’t enough time in the classes for me to learn how to make lids and handles for my basket and it was suggested I could join the community of basket makers in Bigton to finish my project.

I decided I would go along to the group where I will perhaps start another basket, with the guidance of others, learning from the mistakes of the first one and joining a community giving new life to ancient skills.

Discover more about how Shetland's dramatic scenery and heritage inspires a thriving Arts & Crafts movement.