"The landlord's son wants the building back."
Margaret Ainsworth has been cutting glass at the same workbench in the Eden Valley since 1979. Forty-seven years. Over four thousand songbirds. Every single one passed through her hands in the back room of the converted blacksmith's forge that she rented for nine pounds a week when she was twenty-two.
She never planned to stop. The trio had simply become what she made — what she had always made — and the rhythm of her year was fixed by the angle of the south-facing window, the seasons in the dale, and the shipping calendar of the German glassworks that supplied her sheets of cathedral glass.
Then this spring the letter arrived from the landlord's solicitor.
"The landlord's son is taking the building back for storage. He's well within his rights — I always knew the day would come. You just don't really expect it, do you, until the letter arrives. I have decided not to start any more after the lease ends. I'd rather finish properly than be still cutting glass on the last weekend." Margaret Ainsworth · 18 May 2026
She isn't the type to make a fuss about it. There's no documentary, no campaign. Just a small workshop in the Eden Valley, a hundred and twenty finished trios on the oak shelves, and a deadline at the end of August when the lease ends for good.
Margaret tried three apprentices over the years. None stayed. She tried evening classes; two students finished the term. When the workshop closes on the 31st of August, the curators at Latest Finds will help her find good homes for the last batch.
The first cohort have already begun shipping. One hundred and twenty trios remain.