Our Story

Edmund Fell, Cap Maker

I never planned to make caps. I planned to leave the Dales as fast as my legs would carry me. But the summer I turned twenty-two, my uncle sat me down at his bench, put a pair of shears in my hand, and said, “Cut slow.” I've been cutting slow ever since.

I named every cap for a village I can see from my window — Kendal, Malham, Settle. Places that made cloth long before I made caps.

Now my hands and eyes have had enough, and there's no lad to take the workshop on. So rather than crate up the last of my caps, I'd sooner they went to good heads than sat in a dark box. What's left is what you see — the last caps I'll ever cut.

When they're gone, they're gone.

— Edmund