Sewing and knitting may be dying skills, but there are still some for whom hand-made is preferable, writes Rosita Boland

It's a fair bet to say that if you gathered up a dozen people off the street and put them into a shop that sold only fabric, thread, patterns and wool, most people wouldn't know what to do with the materials. Dressmaking and knitting are skills which for many generations were taken for granted, but which are now rare enough in Ireland to be unusual. The Wool Shop, an institution on Dublin's Dawson Street, closed recently due to lack of business; fabric and wool have long since disappeared from major department stores, where they used to be routinely stocked; and if you used the word "thimble" today, most people would think you were referring to a measure of whiskey, not a sewing tool.

Sewing is still taught in schools, and is a compulsory part of the curriculum in home economics. Students are taught how to use a sewing machine, how to cut fabric and make simple items; firstly wall-hangings or bags and then clothing.

Elizabeth Hayes is a home economics teacher in Coláiste Dun Iascaigh, Cahir, Co Kilkenny, and has been teaching the subject for 30 years. In that time, she has seen enormous change in the baseline ability of her first-year students. "Unfortunately, the students of today lack the skills they would have had years ago. I have to start further back with them; they haven't learned anything at home. They don't see the value of dressmaking skills because they don't see them being done at home."

This month sees the annual four-day Knitting and Sewing Show at the RDS, which has been round for a decade now. Last year, it attracted some 20,000 visitors. "They were predominantly women over 50," says Anna Franklin, of Creative Exhibitions in London, who aorganise and run the show. "It does get some schoolchildren and fashion students, but the core is the over 50s woman."

At the Murphy Sheehy fabric shop on Dublin's Castle Street, Geraldine, Jane and Fionn Adams have, between them, been in business for decades. Fionn Adams says they still sell "lots of dress fabric, mostly for evening wear". Although lots of women come in to buy fabric for debs dresses or bridesmaid dresses, very few are making the outfits themselves; they get a professional to do it for them.

"But I have definitely noticed one thing," he muses. "There are a lot of people sewing in the country. Dublin people don't seem to sew, but a lot of people come to us from all over Ireland to buy material, maybe once a year. They're not professional dressmakers, they're just ordinary people."

In Hickey's of Limerick they stopped stocking wool two years ago because demand was low. "There were still a few elderly women knitting, but nobody young," says manager Dawn McMahon. "They were a very, very mature age-group." However, she says that its dress fabric department is thriving, with lots of young people of both sexes coming in regularly.

"It's not just fashion design students, they are ordinary people. For instance, we got lots of corduroy for the autumn season and it's almost all gone. That was bought by girls and young lads wanting to make jackets." She has also noticed a trend in people repairing, mending, or updating existing clothes. "They used to throw them out and get new ones, now people are fixing things up."

No matter how much we hear about the "new man", in Hickey's of Henry Street in Dublin, you only have to look around you to see that virtually every customer is female, as are the staff. They are also overwhelmingly of an older generation. The only man in the shop has brought a bolt of green corduroy to the counter, the same fabric that is currently popular in Limerick. The assistant can't resist asking him if the material is for himself. "It's for a pair of trousers for my brother - but my mother is making them," he adds hastily, looking mortified, in case there is any confusion as to who is doing the sewing.

Deirdre Checkley is buying white wool to knit a matinée jacket for her grandchild-to-be. Checkley has recently started knitting again after a break of about 20 years, and feels patterns haven't changed in all that time. She is studying a fussy one with distaste.

"These patterns look ancient," she complains. "There is nothing modern; something simple and plain. It just shows you how they think there is no market for it now so they don't bother making new ones."

Her daughter doesn't knit, but Checkley thinks she will appreciate the jacket. "People still want hand-knit things, but they don't have the time to do it themselves."

Pauline Barnett is also looking through patterns. She has been sewing since she was 14. "My aunt taught me; she was wonderful. She showed me everything I know. I can sew anything and I love it. I love to design and create." She says her daughter has no interest in learning the skills. "It's too slow and too time-consuming for her." She thinks that the time element of sewing is what is killing it off. "If anything takes a lot of time now - forget it. People don't have the patience."

Barnett says she knows "everything" about sewing and dressmaking and is sad she can't pass on what her aunt taught her. "I'd love to teach all these crafts I know, but where would I go to do it?" She is appalled by the person who came to her some time ago, asking her to sew on a button. "Can you believe that? A button! Something as simple as that and they didn't know how to do it."

Val Pasquetti is looking for cream wool to crotchet a baby's christening jacket. She can't find the four-ply wool she needs. "That's the problem, there are so few shops left where you can buy materials now. And they are so expensive. Really expensive, and because there are fewer shops, you don't have the choice you used to have."

She learned how to knit and crotchet from her mother, but has nobody to pass it on to. Friends sometimes ask her to make things for their children, such as this christening jacket. She charges them for the wool and only a token amount, never any more than €15, for making them. "If I charged the proper rate for my time, nobody would buy anything. There isn't a value on hand-made things these days."

All the women point out that ready-made clothes are now very cheap and there is a huge range available; people don't need to make clothes any more.

Caroline Walshe is 26, and, like the lad with the green corduroy, she stands out in the shop since there are decades between herself and every other customer. "I'm one of a dying breed of my generation," she laughs, showing off her hand-made zebra-print mini skirt and knitted hat. She's searching for material to dress a set for a "Barbie opera" that her sister is putting on. "I was taught \ at school, but my granny was by far the biggest influence on me. I used to watch her. She used to make clothes for our Sindy dolls. She was amazing. God, I sound like I'm 90 or something!"

It's the same story all over again; the older female relative who taught Walshe had a much more profound impact on her than a schoolteacher. There is something that is essentially personal about learning to sew or knit; something invaluable about the association between the person passing on those skills and the one who learns. Certainly, it is touching to hear these women browsing in Hickey's reminisce so warmly and fluentlyabout the female relatives they spent time with, and learned their skills from. Something more than the ability to turn a hem or cut a pattern was passed on; some bond of intimacy was also formed.

The Knitting and Stitching Show runs at the RDS from Oct 30th to Nov 2nd. Entrance €12. plus concessions. For more information, see www.twistedthread.com