A long time ago, during the memorable times of the Second World War, a small girl hidden in deep shelter, strained her ears over sounds whistling in the air bombs, which were crashing her family city. The shelter was built by the girl’s father who did this for his family and that day there was a whole street in it. Everyone found there warm, poor substitute for safety – even those who had been laughing at father’ s efforts.
The girl wanted so much to believe that her father had built the shelter well – finally he was a talented craftsman. When he was a young man, he had taken an active part in the previous war. The girl trusted her father and she wanted to be as brave as her father was. She wanted to do something constructive … something for her family, for people. She wanted to drive the feeling of fear away, she also wanted to help people gathered in the shelter. She was spinning and looking at her numerous siblings.
The girl’s need was detected (as usual) by her mother. In almost magical way, she pulled out a ball of wool from her vast pockets. At one of the gloomy twilights, lightened only by bland light of kerosene lamp, a small ball, filled with yellow color, appeared suddenly. It brightened in child’s eyes like the sun or a growing citrus fruit. The girl pulled out her hand spontaneously in the direction of this wonderful phenomenon and heard her mother’s voice: “Please, use it wisely, this is the last ball from our prewar reserves”. Studious and deep thought crossed her undersized face. She took the decision carefully eying her siblings. “Our little sister has not got any hat yet and winter is coming” she said. Her mother compensated her choice by unspoken smile.
Using her efficient fingers, she made plain yellow contextures. She put there all her positive feelings. That was a struggle against cruel, military world. Sisterly love against war turmoil.
A stitch after stitch, row after row girl’s wishes appeared. She wanted her little sister to have long, good and safe life. She also dreamed her sister not to be touched by the terror of war and not remember about nightmares of war. Plain, elaborate intertexture pushed off and the girl concentrated upon her work. She did not listen to the voices of bombing, she even did not hear the sound of siren retracting bombing alarm. She wanted to finish a ludicrous bobble garlanding the hat. In this way the war was beaten by solicitude.
Sometimes such little progression results with something more, sometimes there may be some kind of magic used.
That was the great beginning of Barbaras. Today employees of big, family company called BARBARAS, continue tradition and produce hats for children. The name of the company refers to that small girl with a ball of yellow wool.