Welcome to brain Stuff, a production of I Heart Radio, Hey brain Stuff, Lauren Boba bam here. In most wars, bullets and bombs tend to steal the show. But knitting is also a weapon, and a wiley one at that. And no, it's not because of the sharp needles. For centuries, wartime knitting has conjured shadowy powers in secret knitted codes, encrypted messages crafted directly into the stitches of garments that were passed along to allies who decrypted the strands and
then planned their responses accordingly. The practice, which is technically called stagonography, has actually been around for thousands of years. It refers to the act of hiding secret messages in ordinary items so as not to arouse suspicion. With enough expertise and calm nerves, a clever person could pass along detailed messages right under the noses of even the most intelligent adversary. To under and how codes are crafted into knitting,
you need a bit of handicraft background. We spoke with Melissa Camerer, co creator of Nomadic Knits, knitting and Culture magazine. She said knitting is made up of different stitches, the most common of which are the knit and pearl. At its simplest relatable to binary code, knit stitches are flat and resemble the letter V, while pearl stitches are horizontal bumps. In essence, that means anyone with the right skills and knitting prowess could learn to hide messages in fabric, and
there are infinite ways to do so. For example, you could conceal numbers or text as Morse code, which uses a series of basic dashes and dots to relay information. By alternating these two stitches to produce Morse code, the knitter could send encrypted messages through something like an innocent looking sweater. The message sender could pass along the garment to an undercover agent who would interpret the code and
send along the message to headquarters. Non knitting, as many soldiers have tended to be, would likely not notice anything unusual about a piece of knitting. Camera explained, Knit and pearl stitches are regularly used together in patterns to create a variety of common textures. A picture. The ribbing on the hems and cuffs of a sweater and the odd pearl bump hidden in a pattern of knit stitches could easily be overlooked, or, if noticed, assumed to be part
of the intended patterning. Even when more noticeable stitches were used to encode a message into the garment, it would appear to the uneducated eye to simply be a mistake. Experienced knitters can spot any variation in stitches right away, especially when knowing where to look. But even though knitting was seemingly an easy way to create a secret message,
why bother? After all, the early twentieth century saw a boom in long distance communications technologies well because knitting was a common sight during many wars during this time, and so it was the perfect cover. Women could thus conduct their intelligence activities in broad daylight without raising suspicion. For example, as World War One dragged on, Belgian intelligence agents made
friends with elderly women who lived near railway stations. Conveniently, these women had windows in their homes that overlooked train tracks. They surreptitiously asked these women, who perhaps looked too old and innocent to be suspected as spies, to monitor passing
Imperial Germany's train movements. Those who agreed to help followed a system that required them to diligently watch for passing trains as they knitted throughout the day that pearl a stitch when they saw an artillery train, or if a troop railcar passed, they'd drop a stitch, a meaning they'd leave a hole in the pattern. A generation later, during World War Two, those themes continued, Kemmer said, along with
victory gardens and scrap metal drives. Knitting warm clothing for the men and boys was a way to lift morale on the home front, while contry beating to the war effort. Resources were scarce around the world. Countless supplies and factories were destroyed, leaving soldiers to rely on donations for precious basic necessities like socks and hats. And once again, that meant that knitting was a way for spies to hide
in plain sight. So prolific was this sort of conspiratorial knitting during World War One that during World War Two authorities took action to slow the spread of knitting patterns. Kemmer said, while hundreds of thousands of knitters were tasked with practical knitting, dozens of brave women used their knitting to discreetly smuggle military intelligence in secrets. If caught, these
brave women faced imprisonment or execution. During World War Two, both the United States and the UK banned the printing and posting of written knitting patterns as their repetitive abbreviations could easily be ciphered into codes, but they could hardly ban the act of knitting itself. Codes aside. Knitting was also just a wildly bit of subterfuge. After all, who suspects an innocent knitter of nefarious deeds? As it turns out, one of the most famous characters of World War Two
posed as a crafty type. On May one four, a British spy by the name of Phyllis Littore Doyle parachuted into Normandy. She was a highly trained agent taking part in a clandestine Special Operations executive plan to develop resistance against the Nazi forces that were occupying France. Her weapon of choice not daggers or bullets, but knitting, more specifically, the detailed secret codes that she hid in her knitting.
She roamed the countryside, pretending to be a teenager, Always helpful and talkative with German troops, she managed to gather many bits of information, ultimately sending a hundred and thirty five coded messages before the Allies finally liberated the country. She told New Zealand Army News in two thousand nine. I always carried knitting because my codes were on a piece of silk. I had about two thousand I could use. When I used a code, I would just pinprick it
to indicate it had gone. I wrapped the piece of silk around a knitting needle and put it in a flat shoelace, which I used to tie my hair up. Even when she was shaken down by suspicious German intelligence officers, her system was perfect. They never found her coded evidence. Given the long history of whip smart knitters and knitted codes, it's safe to say, if you're ever in a war,
never trust anyone carrying a bag of yarn. Today's episode was written by Nathan Chandler and produced by Tyler Clang. For more on this and lots of other pearls of wisdom, visit how Stuff works dot com. Brain Stuff is a production of I Heart Radio or more podcasts. My Heart Radio visit the iHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows.