A Bluestocking Knits

Knitting in the Movies and TV: "The Durrells in Corfu"

Watching "The Durrells in Corfu" on Sunday evening, as one does, I spotted this jumper of Margo's, worn a number of times throughout the episode, including in an earlier scene, which is a better view of the jumper itself but darker because it's indoors at Spiro's house --

Margo has at least one other knitted jumper, in this scene from episode 4 this season (the one with Larry's friend the Indian prince) --

but it was the mustard-colored one that caught my attention, partly because unlike the striped one it looks hand-knitted, and because it immediately reminded me of one in Marion Foale's Classic Knitwear book --

Foale's version is clearly inspired by the 1930s, and hers -- called "Badminton" in the book -- is so like the one that Margo is wearing that I wouldn't be surprised if the series costume designer used Foale's pattern, just trimming some of the 1980s hem to a more 1930s length.

Actually, all of the clothes in the series are very good, and the high-waisted, slim 1930s lines suit Keeley Hawes especially well, though I'm sure that she would look lovely in pretty much anything.

I love this hat.  I do not have much of a "hat head," but if I saw this hat in a shop I would buy it at once.

Louisa also has a number of very pretty blouses, many of which I would happily wear -- certainly this one, both for its simplicity and that lovely raspberry color.

As it happened, the first thing that came up while I was looking for photos for this post was a review on “Frock Flicks,” the gist of which was “if this were my family, I’d have run screaming into the night.”

Why are they such shits to each other? Why do they stick together if they hate each other so much? There’s no sense of familial affection or tradition or anything holding them together, and they don’t have any money, there is literally no reason to be together when they’re all such assholes to each other (except for Gerry, the little boy, who isn’t a total jerk, and obviously, being so young, does depend on his mom).

Admittedly, I missed some episodes here and there – including the very first one – so, fair enough, I might have missed the “long, tedious stretches of people being awful jerks to each other, and not in a fascinating or revealing way”. But I am coming away from the series with a vastly different impression. The Durrells in the series certainly take the famous English eccentricity to rather drastic heights, but I don’t at all see a family who hate each other, I see one in which at least three of its members are almost completely self-absorbed, which leads to them giving their own wants a far higher priority than anyone else’s, and with a mother who is indulgent to a rather amazing degree, especially for the 1930s – but this isn’t hate, or even dislike. It can certainly lead to exasperation with siblings and/or parent – and yes, “selfish bastard” behavior – but is a different emotion altogether.

The English have a tendency to not run away from unpleasant things, which at one end can lead to the sort of attitude shown during, say, the Blitz, having a cup of tea on the rubble of one’s bombed-out house before setting to work cleaning up the mess, and on the other to – in the past, at least, less so now – sticking with a family one doesn’t much like (or even actively dislikes) because they are one’s family. This I think is part of the Durrells’ situation here – they have all come to Corfu, even though Larry at least is old enough have stayed in England on his own, but presumably he goes with his mother and siblings partly because he is lazy and self-indulgent enough to not want to bother supporting himself (he writes constantly but hasn’t published anything) and make a home on his own, but partly simply because his mother arranges to move the whole family. (By the way, the real Lawrence Durrell was married and possibly – depending on whether you read Gerald’s or Lawrence’s Wikipedia articles – already living on Corfu when the rest of the family moved there.) And again, the series family pretty clearly don’t literally hate each other, so the easiest thing is to acquiesce to their mother's notion and go to Corfu, albeit complaining about it most of the way.

Much of what’s irritating about the story is the hugely ethnocentric attitude this British family has toward the people around them in Corfu. Aside from two characters, naturalist Dr. Theo Stephanides and cab driver/all-around good-guy Spiros Halikiopoulos, the local Greeks are treated as strange foreigners, indecipherable oddities, merely obstacles to be dealt with, not legitimate independent people who should be understood on their own terms. And really, Dr. Theo and Spiros are only there to serve the needs of the Durrells and act as go-betweens with other Greeks. Most interactions the family has with the locals are of the ‘we’re British, we know best’ variety. It’s a genre that’s been done to death.

In fact, I rather appreciated that the series doesn’t shy away from the reality of that English ethnocentricity, which was still in full form in the 1930s. There have certainly been some expatriates throughout history who dove pretty completely into their adopted cultures, but most took that “little corner of England” with them to at least some degree, whether traveling or living abroad. It can be more than a little dismaying for us to see that attitude now, especially when it manifests itself in overt racism and subjugation – which it does not in “The Durrells in Corfu” – but personally I find it more out-of-place to see a character who is anachronistically broad-minded and tolerant, someone “modern” in a “period” setting (one of the reasons, in fact, that I increasingly found Claire Randall Fraser in the Outlander books to be a bit jarring). It may very well be that from series 1 alone, this is all the impression that we get of the Durrells – except perhaps from Gerry – but there it is. It also should be remembered that the series is clearly not holding up the Durrells as sterling examples of model behavior, either, and thus their British-is-best attitude is not being condoned here, but mocked.

Perhaps part of the problem is that the characters are, like real people, taking quite some time to develop and mature.  In episode 6 this season, Larry, during a disastrous attempt by their mother to throw a birthday party for Gerry (she literally doesn't remember that he is turning thirteen, not twelve, and has wrapped up a knitted bunny toy for him more suitable in fact to a four-year-old), shows her some of Gerry's zoological notes and says to her, "Gerry's going to be a really good writer" -- one of the few times that Larry has said something really generous, or shown a real awareness of any of his siblings as a person.  I have been watching the series partly because it is filmed so beautifully and partly because it's hard not to think "what kind of idiotic things are these people going to do next?" but I'm enjoying it this season even more because the Durrells, while still as the English would say, completely mad, but also are, slowly but surely, growing up.

Knitting in the Movies and Television: "Anne With an E"

On their way to Mrs. Lynde's house so that Anne can apologize for her temper, Marilla wears, here in the 2017 series based on Anne of Green Gables, the shawl that figures so largely in another scene from the book and the series.  The one chosen by the costume designer here is rather decidedly untraditional for a late-Victorian lace shawl -- but then, it is very plain and serviceable, much like Marilla herself.  I couldn't find a better view of the shawl -- there is one closer in another scene, when Anne is admiring the brooch, but that part wasn't included in the recap at the Netflix website.  Perhaps the stitch is either "Falling Leaves" or "Shetland Leaves," from Martha Waterman's shawls book? or the one that FreeKnitStitches.com calls "Shrubs"?

But I confess that there will probably be no more here on this particular series, as I have decided that this was my second and last attempt to watch it.  I had heard that it was coming, and was a little wary -- how could anything hope to compare with the near-perfection of the 1985 "Anne of Green Gables"?! -- but was delighted to find that Marilla and Matthew were to be played by Geraldine James and R.H. Thomson -- oh, if anyone could come close to the standards set by Colleen Dewhurst and Richard Farnsworth, it would be James and Thomson!  And the photos only increased my interest.  I was a bit dismayed, then, upon the debut of the series here, to find such an emphasis, even in the first episode, even forewarned as I was, on cynicism and sordidness.

I cannot fault the production values, from photography to costumes to set design to casting, in the first episode, but this leaves only writing and direction to blame for the direction the series takes.  I got as far as the beginning of the second episode -- at about the 90 minute mark -- where Anne alights from the train on her way back to the orphan asylum after being wrongly accused of stealing Marilla's brooch.  It was difficult enough to watch this Anne's bitter and vicious encounter earlier with the hired boy, but after the child-snatcher (yes!) at the railroad station, I turned it off.  I already knew from other reviews that this version not only emphasized the grimmer aspects of Montgomery's story but added in more than a few of its own, and so I had sort of steeled myself for things like Anne's flashbacks to the brutality of life in the asylum -- but I just didn't want to watch it diverge so very much from the intentions of Montgomery's original novel.

(I understand the rationale behind that first scene with the hired boy because, clearly and understandably, Anne is afraid of being replaced -- but Montgomery's Anne is not cruel.  That's all.  If Montgomery's Anne felt that she was in danger of being replaced, she would far more likely have intuitively "imagined herself" into the boy's own situation -- which he tells her right at the beginning of the scene, that he needs the work to help support his family -- than she would have shrieked at him like a harpy.  What I don't understand is why screenwriters choose to adapt a story by throwing out much of what is essential to it, and adding things that the author never intended.  The fact that this series is not called "Anne of Green Gables" is a warning, indeed.  We don't need to be bashed over the head with how hard an orphan's life is -- we get it!  Anne's parents died when she was a baby, she's homely and skinny and she talks far too much, and nobody wants her -- nobody.  It's an awful life.  Why does the series feel it necessary to exaggerate things to the point that fellow orphans are actually physically abusive and the bullying father of Anne's only foster family dies not from a violent outburst at work but from a violent outburst while beating Anne? or worse, add in 21st-century lectures on the evils of racism, sexism, and homophobia?)

It's a real shame that the writer didn't love Anne herself and Montgomery's book enough, that she didn't trust the original story enough to film the the real Anne, the one who brings joy and love to Green Gables and in the process finds the joy and love and family that she herself craves.

Thoughts on the Fourth Doctor Scarf

Here it is, in all its twelve+ feet glory!  The Fourth Doctor scarf (original aka "Acheson Hero" version), in Cascade 220 Superwash, pattern from DoctorWhoScarf.com.

The Cascade 220 Superwash is okay, a bit splitty, and I've never tried it before but I guess fringe does not work particularly well with machine-washed superwash (even on my front-loader's benevolent hand-wash cycle) --

but luckily I'd made the fringe with 12-inch strands so I had the capability to trim the ends even more, and I will certainly tell the recipient to wash the scarf by hand.  The scarf was definitely more like ten feet before washing, but I hung it up to dry, and it has now gained quite a bit of length, as well as getting much softer. 

What really irked me, though, was that even according to the pattern's meticulous calculations, I ran short of wool.  Maybe this is why --

Supposed to be a 100g ball.

Grrr.

So this was how much wool I had left --

The labels are either used-up balls or the one I didn't need after all.  I used two measly feet (for two strands of fringe) of the second ball of gray, but only because I had it -- of course I would have just silently made two tassels without gray if I'd had to.

So, to be frank, I think I would recommend anyone knitting this scarf to go with the non-superwash -- because the ends of the fringe will look better, and because the woven-in ends of all those color changes will conceal themselves a bit better, and in the long run you will enjoy the everyday wearing of a good-looking scarf enough that washing its 12+ foot length in the bathtub the few times you really need to do it will not be so onerous.

But -- it's a fun knit, I must say.  I'd put pins in at the beginning of each new day of knitting, and as it turns out, this took me eleven days' worth of knitting, though some were not particularly industrious and one or two were positively heroic. Just to give you an idea of the scale of the thing, here is a photo sequence of each day's knitting! --

The machine-washed texture, by the way, is a bit looser than the above (pre-laundering) photos though surprisingly not much -- presumably its stretching a fraction of an inch for every foot is where all of that extra length came from!

And a few more photos of the "real thing" in action, plus a bonus! --

Drop Everything (Again)

When David mentioned the other day that a co-worker is retiring and they have been wracking their brains trying to think of something to give him, and that his name is quite like a certain Doctor's, to the point that they even call him that at work, it seemed to me that the obvious gift would be the famous Scarf.

Yes, it's a Fourth Doctor Scarf!  Yes, it's twelve feet long, give or take!  Yes, it's so iconic, so desirable, that it actually has a website dedicated to re-creating it, in a variety of wools to suit, and you can even choose which season's version, since with use and damage and whatnot, the original scarf lost and regained some sections here and there, or you could -- seriously geeking out here -- make the stunt double!

Yes, I must be mad -- but really, who could resist?  So I am temporarily halting progress on ...

The Big Bad Blanket (ripped back to what I hope will be the new midpoint, and merely a handspan or so into the second half, though it still goes quite quickly once I actually start knitting).

The Mora two-end mittens (back in the ball altogether).

The Parley cardigan (halfway up the first sleeve, wh. I started with, doubling as my gauge swatch -- you can't quite tell anymore now that it's been stuffed into and taken out of my bag numerous times, but the lower part has been blocked and checked for gauge).

The "Greek-Style Georgian" miniature carpet (only a little bit further along than the last time I set it aside -- am going to work the rest of the gold shades to see if I run out of anything else before I order more blue).

In a casually-unscientific calculation, I noted that I worked 12 garter "ridges" of the scarf in a little under a half-hour, so ... hmm.  Wish there were sonic knitting needles.

But I'm fairly optimistic, and anyway I'm getting a kick out of knitting The Scarf anyway.  I've seen a number of Doctors over the years, but I must admit that my favorite is still Tom Baker.  You never forget your first Doctor, do you!

Miss Marple Knits

It seems appropriate to end this little series of knitting in the movies and television with Miss Marple, Agatha Christie's famous amateur sleuth, one of whose main characteristics is that she is often to be found knitting, and it seems that in the half-dozen-plus films and series featuring Miss Marple over the years, the knitting part has come more and more into play.

I admit that I haven't seen any of Margaret Rutherford's 1960s Miss Marple outings in full, and so I don't really know whether she actually knits much in the films, but I could find only the one image to use in this post.  She isn't actually knitting in the second one, obviously, but she is wearing a wonderfully dumpy cardigan as well as a knitted hat, with characteristically Rutherford pompom of course.  (Apparently, she insisted in wearing her own clothes to portray Miss Marple!)

Angela Lansbury played Miss Marple in a single outing in 1980, so perhaps there was not much time for knitting.  I don't see a single image of Helen Hayes as Miss Marple actually knitting, which is a shame -- I don't remember her two films, though I must have seen them, so I will certainly make the effort to do so again.

Joan Hickson played Miss Marple in the late 1980s and early 90s for the first television series, one that remains firmly in the consciousness of many viewers as the definitive Marple.

The production values and attention to detail for Geraldine McEwan's tenure as Miss Marple in "Agatha Christie's Marple" were high enough that she was often shown knitting, although I will not be the first to say, nor the last I'm sure, that for a series called "Agatha Christie's Marple" it strayed rather far from the original at times.  I am still hoping that McEwan was simply doing what the director asked for.

Julia McKenzie took over from McEwan after the latter's retirement, and I must say that she fits my mental image of Miss Marple rather more (I won't say "better" because I admire McEwan tremendously) -- and of course I love the fact that pictures of her knitting in the series abound!

Bonus -- slightly out of order, but how could I not end with this? --

Miss Marple herself wearing a classic keyhole scarf.  Free patterns are available for Skiff's Miss Marple Scarf here, and another one here by SusanneS-vV, and an actual 1948 one here from The Sunny Stitcher.  Just for fun, here's a faux-fox version.  I knitted mine up -- in two days! -- in some of the late and much-lamented Jaeger Extrafine Merino left over from my Pearl Buck Swing Jacket, in the beautiful elderberry shade 944 (about 80g).

Knitting in the Movies (and TV): "The Bletchley Circle"

Another series with excellent costumes and knitwear!  For some reason, I avoided "The Bletchley Circle" when it first aired in 2012 or '13, then started watching it on Netflix about a year ago, and though I don't remember much at all now about the mysteries, I was intrigued by the characters themselves, the relationships between the four women and the way the four actresses pulled everything together.  I was also -- all right, I'm a knitter! -- charmed by the sight of Susan (Anna Maxwell Martin) knitting in her sitting-room.

("Dear Sir" spotting: "The Bluebell Railway is excellent to stage late 1940's or early 1950's scenes on trains, but when selecting stock for trains supposed to be working out of St. Pancras Station it was careless to use a locomotive of the Southern Railway. St. Pancras was on the London Midland & Scottish Railway until nationalisation in 1948, when it became British Railways.... What is more, the bus that appears is an RML type which was not built until 1961 and in a livery that dates to the mid 1970's, the stations shown on the route board for the Barking line are incorrect (East Ham!!!), and a character mentions the Gospel Oak to Barking line but at this date the route ran via Kentish Town, not Gospel Oak."...!)

Knitting in the Movies: "The Hobbit"

Well, I seem to be in a bit of a house-keeping mood this week (blog-keeping?), tidying up old draft posts and putting them up.  When I wrote this in 2014 (!!) I said "I'm a bit behind with this, I know -- 'The Desolation of Smaug' came out nearly a year ago!" which sounds positively ancient by now.  These photos, though, especially the studio ones, are still pretty good, and worth posting for the knitwear and my theme, even though my opinion of the movies has tumbled considerably.

So -- these are from the first "Hobbit" movie, of course, "An Unexpected Party".  I think all of the dwarves have hand coverings of some sort, but not all are knitted.  Ori, on the far right here, has heavy garter-stitched fingerless gloves.

He also is the only one who has a knitted waistcoat, which gives him a sweet air of childlikeness in addition to Adam Brown's own, as though Ori's mother sent him off with extra warm clothing.

Sometimes he wears the waistcoat properly, and sometimes twisted and cast somehow about his neck like a cowl.  I must admit I can't quite figure out how this works, as the thing isn't circular!  Maybe he's just pulled out his arms and tucked up the hem around his shoulders.

Óin (John Callen) here has some pretty splendid knitted gloves, whose swirling cables echo that splendid beard.

Bofur (James Nesbitt) wears a multi-colored garter-stitch scarf.

Bombur (Stephen Hunter) has, perhaps not coincidentally, the thickest mitts, even with an extra moss-stitch patch sewn to the back of the hands.

Gandalf (Ian McKellen) has knitted mitts as well -- these are apparently folded back for extra warmth on the hands.  Unlike the dwarves' mitts, these don't appear to have a knitted thumb.  (The scarf is not knitted but woven, though I'm sure someone has come up with a knitted version by now!  Here's one, in fact.)

Knitting in the Movies (and TV): "Home Fires"

This is a bit old, but I was weeding out the images file on my computer this morning and realized I'd not posted these yet.  They are from the late "Home Fires" -- yes, it's been cancelled -- which I watched sort of half-fascinated, because Blitz-era England is one of my fascinations, and half-guiltily, since it was not a little soapy at times.  I do love Francesca Annis, though, in just about anything.

Part of these photos, I admit, are for the aprons and pinnies as much as for the knitting, though!  Above we have the ladies of the village out blackberrying -- Pat on the right (Claire Rushbrook) has a fairly typical cardy in a basketweave stitch.  Each of the women has a different yet very typically-1940s apron, Erica (Frances Grey) a wrap-around, Frances (Samantha Bond) a scoop-neck, and Pat a full one, probably H-back but we can't see this.

 An apparently favorite slipover worn by the butcher's son with the overprotective mother (Will Attenborough and Claire Price respectively), who has presumably knitted it herself.  Don't get me wrong, I completely understand not wanting to send your son off to shoot and be shot at, but she's a bit mad about it at the same time.  She herself has an interesting raglan-sleeved cardigan in a rather lovely sea-foam green.

Curiously, Frances's apron seems to have no ties, which I think would be fairly annoying, with it dragging in things.

An absolutely bang-on perfect 1940s pullover in chevron stripes on the blind Isobel (Gillian Dean).  If looks could kill, the entire Luftwaffe would have simply dropped stone-dead from the skies at this glare from Mrs. Cameron (Francesca Annis).

A very pretty green lacy cardigan worn by Kate (Rachel Hurd-Wood).  I think her sister Laura (Leila Mimmack) is also wearing a knitted cardigan of some sort, but in this picture it isn't quite clear.

The man we love to hate, the thoroughly-nasty Bob Simms (Mark Bazeley) in another perfectly-period slipover, this one a classic faded Fair Isle.

Sarah (Ruth Gemmell) has this very pretty cardigan in the famous King Charles brocade stitch, accented presumably with embroidered flowers inside lines of the diamonds at the front.

The wardrobe for this series is really excellent -- full marks, especially for including lots of period-looking knits!

And if you like the soundtrack, it was composed by Samuel Sim, with the haunting title track sung by Synergy Vocals, and for the time being at least, you can listen to the whole album on YouTube --

Knitting in the Movies: "Testament of Youth"

I found out only yesterday that there is a new movie of Vera Brittain's Testament of Youth, her memoir of her experiences as a VAD in the Great War, and the devastating repercussions of that war on women's lives.  I was one of those who was deeply moved by the 1979 television serial with Cheryl Campbell as Brittain, so that I was interested to learn more about the new film. 

It was a pleasant surprise, and rather a relief after writing so recently about the "Outlander" knitwear, to see immediately -- since the above still was the very first thing I saw when I Googled the film -- that there are a number of historically-accurate knitted garments worn by Brittain (played by Alicia Vikander) in the film.  Perhaps the designer's task was made a bit easier, since there is much more available in the way of fashion plates, photographs, and actual patterns, but there it is.  Brittain herself was very interested in clothing, despite her bluestocking air, so it is good to see that the costumes for the film reflect this -- in fact, the blue outfit below is apparently intentionally rather like her description of what she wore when arriving at Oxford, “a flimsy lace frock under a pale blue and grey reversible satin cloak, and an unsubstantial little pair of high-heeled white suede shoes.”

A lovely ensemble, with the high-waisted skirt and the Edwardian-but-not-too-much-so details.  This cardigan would hardly be out-of-place in any period in the subsequent century.

I think that Vera should perhaps be wearing some, er, undergarments here, but this silky jumper is lovely.  (Curious, that Roland's trousers have buttons for his braces, and yet he has none ... but he is apparently going for the louche Rupert-Brooke effect.)

Two more images of the garter-stitch beret, though rather less of that fancifully-embroidered slipover:

Harper's Bazaar has an interesting article about the film's costumes, including many photos.  I must admit that I rather lust after that black velvet hat ...

Knitting in the Movies (and TV): "Outlander"

There is a thread currently running in the Historic-Knitting Yahoo group, prompted when someone asked, "So, the 'Outlander' series -- is the knitting accurate?" and the numerous replies came back with a resounding "No!" 

The first photo (above) is a lovely look, with all of the soft greys, and the gown is pretty accurate, historically speaking, except that it probably should have a separate stomacher (instead of what is apparently all one piece), as well as at least a lace or linen "tuck" peeking out from the neckline. But knitted shawls didn't appear until the early 1800s (Shetland shawls in the 1830s) -- even though it seems not a far leap to us now, knitted garments remained pretty firmly in the region of caps, stockings, undershirts, and gloves until some decades into the 19th century.

Part of the problem here seems to be that the designer of the "Outlander" costumes, Terry Dresbach, quickly became self-defensive (and sarcastic) when others started questioning the historical accuracy of the knitted garments, and seemed to want to have it both ways when she said that her work is extensively researched and plausible if not authentic (e.g. the gowns are not hand-sewn, certain French fashions are apparently not documented in Scotland at the time but could have been there because of the close Franco-Scottish relationship, etc.), and that leeway was taken due to budget and time constrictions.  Those who are sticklers for historical accuracy -- which admittedly isn't always possible with costumes for either theatre or movies, for different reasons -- feel that Dresbach can't have it both ways.  It seems to me that with the sewn garments Dresbach has done a wonderful job in synthesizing the requirements of film and the historical record, but, surprisingly, then dropped the ball as to the knitwear.

The gist of the rebuttals on the Historic-Knitting list seems to be that the knitted garments are in styles that are not appropriate to the period, and far too coarse, when most knitting of the period was done on fine needles with fine wool, or by machine, except for a few items such as sailors' caps and seaboot stockings.

This garment, for example, is a fairly logical jump from "worn-out cloak cut down to a shoulder-warmer" to "knitted version of that", but I don't think there is any documentation that anything like this was ever knitted, in Scotland or anywhere, in the 18th century.  Claire is, however, obviously wearing appropriate stays, so kudos for that.

This looks very good on the face of it, especially because she is wearing a kerchief over her neck and bosom, and there is a lot of evidence for fingerless mitts of this kind -- just none of them knitted.  Again, it seems a short jump to us, especially when you know that knitted stockings were common, but at this period fingerless gloves were sewn out of fabric.

No, no, no.  The gown is very good, and is an excellent choice of colors, fabrics, and patterns (though I think the stomacher is too long), but the chunky knitted cowl practically shouts "late 20th-century!"

This cowl puzzles me, as I suspect that it is knitted, since fur wouldn't drape quite so beautifully (but then, I don't wear much fur, perhaps someone else could offer an opinion?).  This simplest kind of tubular knitted wrist-warmer did not make its first appearance until the beginning of the 19th century, and then was knitted with fine wool on small needles, not chunky stuff like this.  (We tend to think that Aran knitting, for example, has been around for centuries, but Aran jumpers were in fact invented around 1900.)  Again, the gown is very good -- and closes with pins, or perhaps hooks-and-eyes -- but not the knitting.

This is so obviously a modern shrug that I don't need to say anything.  Again, this gown is good, but she needs a kerchief over her bosom.

I'm a little perplexed by the fichu -- which to my eye looks exactly like a worn-out high-necked smock cut off and used as a fichu, an excellent and frugal use of worn-out garments.  Did it happen?  Maybe -- probably.  Is it accurate?  I don't know.  But the muffatees -- no.  The earliest known reference to knitted muffatees that I can find is 1813, when an officer in Wellington's Foot Guard wrote home asking for some; they were obviously being home-knitted by then, but again, that's at least fifty years after the "Outlander" series is set, and they would have been worked with finer wool on smaller needles than these, comfy and warm though these doubtless are.

Too chunky, and it's apparently not a flat piece of knitting, but shaped?

This looks so much like the shawl worn by Mrs. Forrester in "Cranford" that it's hard to believe it isn't the same one reused, but either way, "Cranford" was set in the 1840s when knitted shawls were starting to become more widely made at home.  The mitts almost work for this period.

Now if I were a cook wearing thick knitted wristwarmers, I would certainly do what Mrs. Fitz has done here, and turn them up out of the way, or they would look like the dog's breakfast after only a few minutes' of work, but if I really was a cook in the 1740s I would far more likely be wearing sewn woollen wristwarmers.

This is the only knitted garment I've seen that works in its historical period -- Claire in the 1940s wears a knitted slipover.  Lots of documentation for this, and any number of patterns still available.

I think, actually, that the problem resides not in Dresbach's choices as a costume designer, but in her insistence that the costumes -- that is, the costumes as a whole -- are historically accurate.  If she had said, which as far as I can tell she has not, that the "leeway" is specifically with the knitwear, then it would not be so jarring to those who never saw a Moebius cowl before Elizabeth Zimmermann's in 1983.