Some knitting books stay with us long after their first reading. We return to a photograph or a stitch pattern, and find something we want to explore with our own needles.

For me, one of those books is Patterns for Guernseys, Jerseys & Arans by Gladys Thompson. In the Whitby chapter, there is a photograph of Harry Freeman wearing a beautifully textured sweater. It was the arrangement of stitches across his shoulders that drew me in: small, repeated textures separated by clear horizontal bands.

A closer look at the inspiration

Looking at the photograph beside Porto, I can still see the connection. The double moss stitch and reverse stocking stitch borders in my sweater grew from that interest in the bands of texture. I took that starting point into an oversized circular-yoke design, making something I wanted to knit and wear myself.

I first knitted Porto while travelling through Portugal in 2018, finishing it in the city that gave the design its name. Eight years later, I’m still wearing that original sweater, and I’m knitting a new version in Kelp on our Sportlicious base.

Guernseys, ganseys and a coastal tradition

If you have come across both names, you might have wondered about the difference. The words are closely connected, although their use varies. The V&A describes the simpler Channel Island guernsey alongside the patterned ganseys associated with fishing communities around the British coast.

These were clothes made for work. Close knitting and wool helped protect the wearer from the weather, while texture brought pattern into a garment made in a single colour. Dark blue is especially associated with ganseys, though surviving examples show other colours too.

There is something very appealing about that combination of purpose and creativity. A sweater could be useful every day and still hold so much care in its making.

Patterns that travelled

Ganseys are often linked with particular coastal places, but the patterns travelled too. The women who followed the herring fleets around the coast carried their knitting skills with them, sharing and picking up ideas along the way.

I like thinking about those stitches moving from one pair of hands to another. It makes me curious about the choices behind an old sweater: why a knitter placed one texture beside another, and how they made the design fit the person who would wear it.

Finding my way back to texture

Revisiting Porto has reminded me how much can happen with knit and purl stitches. Across a whole sweater, those small changes create bands that catch the light differently and give the fabric its character.

I’m coming to this month’s series as a curious knitter, following the threads that led to a much-loved project. Over the next few Fridays, I’ll explore more of the practical details, simple stitches and traditions that make these sweaters so interesting.