My Sampler Quilt

My sampler quilt, I think everyone remembers their first quilt for me it was my sampler quilt. And I’m saying that as someone who isn’t sentimental in the slightest, yet I still remember mine, and I still use it. It’s… well, let’s just say it’s decorated with more than just fond memories. That quilt carried me through the first Covid lockdown, has been washed within an inch of its life, and still looks like it’s survived a minor incident.

My mum’s first quilt, on the other hand, is still in perfect condition, carefully folded and stored in my “memory box.” Writing that sentence made me realise what a ridiculous concept a memory box actually is. It’s a collection of the tiny number of things I apparently treasure from my entire life… which I’ve lovingly placed in a box… shoved to the back of a cupboard… never to be seen again. One day someone will open it, not knowing these were my most precious items, and probably assume I’d had some kind of episode when I decided this pile of random tat deserved archiving.

Anyway, didn’t take me long to wander off my thread.

I signed up for a sampler quilt group. In true me-fashion, I also signed my mum up. You know how it is: if I’m doing it, she’s doing it too. A sampler quilt, for the uninitiated, is a mix-and-match quilt made from different blocks sewn together with sashing. It’s basically a buffet of patchwork techniques, perfect for beginners because you get to try loads of skills while learning the whole process from start to finish.

As a group we met every week for six or eight weeks, and honestly, you bond fast when you’re all wrestling the same patchwork-induced identity crisis. Those strangers didn’t stay strangers for long, nothing unites people quite like collectively questioning their life choices over a cutting mat.

Making a quilt is wildly stressful. There are so many decisions, and every single one feels life-or-death when you’re a beginner.

What thread?

What fabric?

What colour?

On the bias or not on the bias?

Is the fabric directional or am I about to sew this block upside down for the third time?

And you can only make these decisions after industrial amounts of procrastination and enough cups of tea to qualify as a hydration hazard.

Honestly, I worry for the lone wolves out there making quilts without a support group. Who’s checking in on them? Who’s talking them down when they realise they’ve cut the wrong side of the fabric again? It’s a dangerous life out there without backup.

Before you can start, you have to make the biggest decision of all: what fabric?

My course was at a wonderful shop with rows and rows of temptation, the place where my fabric stash was born. They stocked a gorgeous range of Makower fabrics: great quality, great price, and, as I later discovered, very forgiving when it came to my grand prix–style sewing marathons.

I arrived early for the first session because I wanted plenty of time to wander up and down the bolts, stroking everything like a slightly suspicious villain in a fabric shop. I eventually settled on a purple palette that also featured my great love: cats.

By this point in my life, after years with my ex, I’d developed what we’ll politely call an intense attachment to my cats. “The boys,” as they were affectionately known. I had three boys and one girl, but Lady T had so much sass she could easily be classed as an honorary lad. You didn’t mess with T,  her attitude has stop humans in their tracks. The boys knew their place and toed the line.

The menace himself, Baby

I lost Asbo and Caspa a few years ago, and it’s left an unfillable hole in my heart. They’ll never know how much strength they gave me when I needed it most. I have, of course, tried to plug the gap with another cat. May I introduce Baby: now 18 months old and a one-feline demolition crew. He completely ignores the rules of hierarchy, thinks nothing of pouncing on T, and no matter how much she tells him off, he’ll always come back for more.

Sorry. My first quilt. Where was I?

Oh yes – purple fabric with cats.

We started with a very simple patchwork block. We were walked through every step and given plenty of time to complete each stage. We sewed as we put the world to rights, with an endless flow of tea and a frankly dangerous amount of homemade treats.

My sampler quilt is made up of twelve blocks. The first ones we tackled were a pinwheel and an hourglass.

·       The pinwheel block is made from four triangle units arranged to create a spinning pinwheel effect. It’s simple, fun, and a brilliant way to show off contrasting fabrics.

·       The hourglass block – also known as quarter-square triangles – is another great beginner block. It’s so simple

and effective that even if your work is more shabby than chic, the hourglass still looks amazing.

The hourglass starts with two fabric squares, a little larger than you want your final block. With right sides together, you sew a ¼" seam all the way around the edge. Then you cut two diagonal lines from corner to corner. That gives you four little squares, each one a mix of both fabrics.

Hourglass

So basically: sew a bit here, slice a bit there, and hope for the best.

Each week started with what quickly became my routine: arrive, put the kettle on, browse the fabrics, choose whatever extra bits I absolutely “needed” for that week, and catch up on the group gossip. It was basically a quilting club with a side order of therapy and caffeine dependence.

Every session we were expertly taught two new blocks. I’d love to tell you I remember the names of all of them… but looking at my quilt now, I’m pretty sure I invented my own versions somewhere along the way. I’ve been told I’m hard to teach because I listen to the first few instructions, nod confidently, then immediately launch into sewing at the speed of a startled squirrel, making several mistakes, unpicking them, realising what an idiot I’ve been, and then doing it properly the second time.

By the time I finished re-doing mine, the rest of the group were just finishing their first attempt.They say we learn from our mistakes. I am walking, talking proof. One day I might even take my own advice: measure twice, cut once; failing to plan is planning to fail. One day. Maybe.

Anyway, the blocks.

The 4-patch block was the easiest of them all. Four squares, sewn together. Nice. Simple. Foolproof… unless you’re me, in which case you can still find a way to sew at least one square upside down. The best part about being taught, though, is you get fed all the little tips and tricks so you don’t have to troubleshoot every disaster yourself.

One tip I still use religiously today is pressing seams in opposite directions so they lock together. That tiny trick makes lining up corners and points so much easier, and gives you those satisfyingly crisp, perfect intersections.

I’ve tried to name each of the blocks I made, but honestly? Quilt block names seem to change depending on where in the world you’re standing. So if I’ve got any wrong, feel free to correct me in the comments. I won’t be offended, I’ll probably agree with you.

Rail Fence, not the most exciting block, but a good solid workhorse. It starts life as three strips of fabric, each about 2.5 inches deep and as wide as the bolt you’ve cut them from. You sew the three strips together into one long panel, then slice that panel into four squares.

Once you’ve got your four little stripy squares, you lay them out, rotate a couple of them 180°, and sew them together in a neat 2×2 block. Simple, effective, and surprisingly satisfying, even if it won’t win any awards for glamour.

Split Nine Patch

Roman Strip, this one starts off much like the Rail Fence, but with only two strips sewn together. The strips are a little wider for this block, but the idea is the same: sew the two long strips into a panel, then slice that panel into squares.

Just like before, you arrange your four squares in a 2×2 layout and rotate the top right and bottom left blocks by 180°. Sew them together and hey presto, a Roman Strip block. Simple, tidy, and very beginner-friendly.

I’m pretty sure there’s also a Split Nine Patch block in my sampler. It looks technical, one of those blocks that makes beginners sweat, but honestly, once you’ve done one, it clicks.

You start with three different fabrics, all cut into squares about 3". I put one fabric in the centre, then alternated the other two fabrics around it so the four corners were one colour and the middle edges were the other. Basically: nine squares, nice tidy layout, nothing too dramatic.

Once you sew the nine squares together, you take a deep breath and make two big cuts, both straight through the centre, one vertical and one horizontal, so you end up with four new squares. At this point you feel very clever, like a quilting surgeon.

Just like the Roman Strip block, you can now rotate the sections to create different patterns, and it suddenly looks like you’ve done something much more complicated than you actually have. My favourite kind of quilting.

The last few weeks of the course were all about sashing the blocks, adding boarders, quilting and binding. Sashing basically makes all your blocks the same size, which saves you from the horror of discovering you’ve created a patchwork jigsaw puzzle that doesn’t fit together. Once everything’s the right size, sewing the blocks together becomes much easier.

But before you can sew anything, you have to decide on your layout.And let me tell you… this can take time and don’t forget to take photos, you can thank me later.Especially for someone like me, who struggles to make a decision even when choosing between two mugs in the cupboard. You may laugh, but I’m not joking, decision-making is literally something I’m working on with my therapist. So choosing the perfect block layout? That nearly finished me off.

Once the blocks are finally sashed, sewn together, and framed with a border, you’ll need to pick another fabric for the backing. This is the moment you can finally see light at the end of the tunnel, or you think you can, until you remember there’s still quilting and binding to do.

Next comes the fabric sandwich: backing fabric, wadding, and your quilt top. Then you quilt the three layers together. Without a walking foot, this takes time, patience, and the emotional resilience of a monk. And don’t even get me started on the binding. That’s a story for another day, preferably one where I’ve had a nap and a large drink.

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