Laura, the woman with the bundle of silk, surprises me by offering a small hope. “If these are for Millie, she’s a friend of mine,” she says warmly. “Come, you can share my table.”
“Will you be all right?” Brandon asks. “I might look around the rest of the stalls and find something to buy. Do we need anything?”
I could hug him. He’s claiming me, letting me share in the good will Laura feels for his brother.
“I’m fine. Off you go.” I smile to show I get it, then go to Laura’s stall.
Laura’s a tall slim woman with very short dark hair and a strikingly beautiful face. She leads me towards an arch made of more luxury bunting, several more tables have been set up beneath it. Her table is one of the longest, and I can see a lot of folded fabrics. A sign at the end reads,LA CANETTE SILKS. So, she owns the business I’ve just apparently insulted. This just gets better and better.
If she’s taken offense after what Philomena said about me, she shows no sign of it. She immediately gets busy rearranging the display. There are several folded bedspreads on the table. All are beautiful, especially one in deep indigo silk with flecks of silver and gold thread.
Laura sees me looking and unfolds it to show me. “This is inspired by the night sky here.”
Of course, that’s what La Canette is famous for. The base colour is indeed evocative of a dark sky made lighter by stars; the pattern is random, and the flecks of colour and light mimic the swirls of constellations. “It’s breath-taking!”
“Thank you, but not a patch on the real thing. Have you seen the night sky yet?”
“Only pictures.”
“Oh, you should. It’s magical. Wait till it’s a bit warmer and we have a clear night, then go out with a blanket and watch. I promise you’ll be a convert. My boyfriend and I spend so much time sleeping in the garden, we’ve now got an outside bed.”
She shows me another piece, this time a wool stole woven in a subtle blend of purple, lilac, and blue. “This is the sky at dusk.”
There is no missing the pride she has in her textiles. Time for me to explain what Philomena Hill said and why she might have misunderstood.
Laura surprises me again by laughing. “You’re right. It is very unusual to have Christmas decorations made of expensive damask, but there’s a story there. When I first came to La Canette, the textile factory made a lot of jacquard curtains and upholstery fabrics, all of them unsellable. Too expensive when you could get the same designs made in China or Vietnam for a fraction of the price.”
“Why were they making it in the first place?”
“That’s the thing. The business was set up by some unscrupulous consultants who did it to draw down government funding for refugees in the UK. That was the workforce, by the way, asylum seekers from war zones. Bosnia, Kosovo, Syria, Eritrea, you name it. Once they came to the island, they lost their UK asylum rights. Then the money disappeared and so did the management. The workforce was left with a tonne of fabric they couldn’t sell and no income.”
Just for a moment, there is a hint of anger in her large brown eyes. It echoes my own feelings. “Asylum seekers are always the first to suffer budget cuts, and to hear that a company had deliberately stolen a chunk of it makes me…” I draw in a slow breath and stop talking.
It makes me nothing!
Nothing.
I’m not in parliament. I can’t write to anyone. I’m no longer in the heart of power. And this story is just another of those injustices that are forgotten.
“What happened to the workforce?” I ask her.
“Some found other jobs, a couple had nursing experience, so they now work for the clinic. Others set up small businesses.” She nods toward the pub where a woman was setting out a selection of snacks. “Lena was a refugee from the war in Syria, now she makes pastries and Middle Eastern snacks. Try her spinach rolls, they’re yummy.”
The woman, Lena, looks to be in her late sixties. I don’t even want to imagine what she must have lost in that war to have washed up in a foreign land alone at her age. Yet, she’s all smiles when a passing man stops to buy something, offering him various things to taste.
“And what happened to the factory?”
Laura’s face lights up. “Look.” She points at the fabrics on her table. “We relaunched the business together. So many of the women had skills, including an accountant, a machine supervisor, a customer service manager, and even a social media assistant.
“They’re still making silk?” I’m surprised. “Can you sell it?”
“It’s now La Canette Silks and La Canette Wools.” she says. “We reinvented it as a boutique manufacturer for designs inspired by the island. It’s very expensive, of course, but we’re unique, so we get customers willing to pay. But it wasn’t easy. When I took over, there was nothing in the bank, not even enough to pay wages beyond the next month.
“Lord M offered to pay it himself, but we refused. Letting someone else pay for you just makes you feel like a failure.”
Her words touch my own nerve, my own fears. “So, what did you do?”
“I really believe adversity and hardship forces you to find solutions. We had all this old stock filling the warehouse, so I suggested we sell it to anyone from La Canette at a huge discount. Pay whatever they can afford. Half the money would go to us and half to either the clinic or the school, both of which needed help. Lord M and George, set an example by ordering new curtains and bed covers. The staff at Du Montfort Hall followed suit, a curtain here, a throw there, some cushion covers. Evans, do you know him?” She looks around and then points to a middle-aged man in overalls leading away a horse and cart. “He bought some fabric that his wife made into a trim for the carriage. Before long, everyone was inspired. The islanders took it to heart, and they bought the stuff. If they didn’t need upholstery, they bought small cuts to make decorations.”
