In an age where machines can knit a jumper in minutes, there’s something quietly defiant, and deeply human, about a community of knitters creating every pair of socks in the Purdey hand-knitted collection the old-fashioned way. At the heart of this community is Wendy Keith, whose devotion to craft and care has turned the simple act of knitting into a driving force for traditional British craftsmanship.
Her mission began, fittingly, with a pair of socks. “My husband was a keen shot,” she recalls. “He’d go out three times a week wearing the same pair – made in the Highlands, the only place you could buy decent shooting socks back then. But once you washed them, they shrank. And after a few wears, they had holes. So I thought, perhaps I should make him something really beautiful.”
In Hampshire, Wendy found a lady who had knitted socks for sailors during the Second World War. Together they set out to make a perfect pair – experimenting with yarns, patterns and tension until they had created something extraordinary. “It took us six months to get it right,” she says. “My husband wore them on a major shoot with the late King Constantine of Greece and King Juan Carlos of Spain. Both sent their equerries to ask for 12 pairs each! Then King Juan Carlos invited me to tea at Claridge’s, and before I knew it, I had an order for 600 pairs. That’s how it all started.”
Today, Wendy oversees a network of around 60 hand-knitters around the UK, from the Highlands to the South Coast. “It’s become a family, it’s all about the people” she says warmly. New knitters receive a sample of what they’re aiming towards and begin with one of the more simple patterns, learning on four needles until they achieve Purdey’s exacting standards. “It takes about six months to get them to the level we want,” Wendy explains. “But when their knitting becomes their friend, when they pick it up and love what they’re doing, that shows in the quality.”
Every stage is done by hand, and no two pairs are quite alike. “Some can knit four pairs a month,” she says. “Others take their time and make one. That’s fine. One beautiful pair is better than none.” The process may sound quaint, but the coordination behind it is intricate. “We know who’s knitting what, who needs support, and when each pair will be finished,” Wendy explains. “Then the socks come back to us to be dressed, shaped, and finished so they’re perfect when they reach Purdey.”
The yarns used for Purdey’s socks are sourced with care and integrity. “We test every yarn ourselves,” says Wendy, “wearing them around the farm in our Wellingtons.” The cashmere comes from Loch Leven in Scotland, while British alpaca is spun locally in Devon and Cornwall, supporting small-scale producers. Knitting cashmere by hand, however, is no easy feat. “It’s like knitting with dishcloth,” Wendy laughs. “It makes your hands sore. One knitter sent me a photo of all the plasters she’d worn! I told her, ‘That’s it, no more cashmere for you.’”
When the socks return to the workshop in Cornwall, they are softened in the finishing process. “They go into a special wash cycle,” she explains. “Suddenly, the yarn bursts into its full beauty, emerging super soft. Then we mould each pair by hand and dry them in the Cornish air. It’s a full hand-crafted process from start to finish.”
Wendy travels across the country meeting knitters and searching for new talent, and each region brings its own heritage to the craft. “In Norfolk, knitting goes back to the Celts and Vikings,” she explains. “They brought the technique with them, and it’s still passed down through families. And the Welsh knitters have their own unique way of reading patterns, it’s almost like another language. Many of the cuff and cabling patterns within the Purdey socks are inspired by these historic patterns in the Scottish Isles and Celtic knitting.”
“The biggest challenge is finding people who can knit to our standard,” she admits. Many are older women who grew up with the craft, but in recent years, younger knitters have joined too. “Knitting has had a bit of a revival,” she smiles. “Since Tom Daley started knitting, people realised it’s not old-fashioned; it’s meditative and creative. We’ve got some younger knitters now whose work is absolutely fantastic.”
The reward, she says, is not just in the finished product, but in what it represents. “When we see the socks lined up, ready to go to Purdey, we all stop and think – wow. We’re proud. It’s about knowing you’ve created something real and lasting.”
In an industry dominated by speed and scale, this community of knitters stands for something enduring: patience, care and connection. “I don’t subscribe to the idea of AI for all,” Wendy notes. “I believe that creativity and inspiration comes from the human heart, head and spirit. Supporting British craft is about keeping these skills alive and creating meaningful work. It’s about loving what you do, being part of something. Knitting gives people purpose and pride.”