“For 57 years I sewed Christmas into every bag. This is the last December my hands will do it.” – Why a 71-year-old quilter in north-east Victoria is selling her last Christmas tote sets at a special price

In a little tin dairy shed behind her weatherboard house, Lurline Treloar has quilted close to 5,000 Christmas tote sets – a big tote and its matching zip pouch, always together. On 18 December she closes the door for good. Only 34 sets are left.

Out past the end of a gravel road off the Stanley road, behind a weatherboard house and a stand of old gums, there is a little tin shed that used to be the dairy. For the past five decades it has held something else: bolts of cranberry, pine green and navy fabric, an old cast-iron wood heater, and a woman who has spent most of her life quilting Christmas into bags. Now Lurline Treloar, 71, is putting her needle down – and letting her final sets go.

Beechworth, north-east Victoria. The first hot week of the summer, the cicadas going in the gums. The shed smells of fabric, tea and dry grass through the open door. On the worktable lies a half-finished panel – two snowmen in navy scarves, waiting for their last row of stitches. Lurline pulls her chair up to the 1978 Singer her late husband Ron bought at a clearing sale in Myrtleford the summer they married. She has sat down at it almost every morning since. This summer is the last time.

“I’m seventy-one,” she says, flexing her right hand slowly. “My wrist starts to ache after about two hours at the machine now, and some mornings I have to hold a cup of tea before my fingers do what I tell them.” She smiles. “But it isn’t only my hands. People don’t really buy things that are made slowly any more. Everything comes in a box from the other side of the world.”

57 years, close to 5,000 sets – and always two pieces

Lurline has done the sums on the back of an old envelope. In 57 years she has cut, layered, quilted and finished close to 5,000 Christmas tote sets. Never more than a hundred or so a year. Every one through her own two hands.

“I started at fourteen, sewing bags for the CWA Christmas stall with my mother,” she says. “I made the big totes. Mum couldn’t stand to throw the scraps out, so she sewed a little zip pouch from whatever was left of the same panel.” She laughs. “The ladies at the stall wouldn’t take one without the other. So I’ve never made a tote without its little sister. Not once.”

That’s how the set was born: a sturdy, quilted, everyday tote with a whole little Christmas scene across the front – and a matching pouch for the things that always sink to the bottom. Car keys, lipstick, reading glasses, the raffle tickets. For most of her life Lurline sold them at the Beechworth Christmas market and by word of mouth. “It was never meant to be a business,” she says. “Then women started sending me photos. My tote on a church pew in Ballarat. On a train to Sydney. Under a tree in Perth in forty degrees. That’s when I knew they’d found their people.”

What makes Lurline’s sets different

It isn’t only the pictures on the front – the cardinal on a snowy branch, the gingerbread house, the snowmen in their knitted beanies. It’s how the bags are made: as practical as a good shopping bag and as carefully finished as a proper quilt.

Every piece is three layers – a sturdy printed outer fabric, a soft layer of batting and an inner lining – and Lurline runs all three through the machine together. The stitching goes all the way through, which is why the tote stands up on its own and keeps its shape even when it’s packed full. The lines of the Christmas scene are traced with quilting stitches, so the snowman’s scarf and the cardinal’s feathers rise up off the fabric – you can feel the picture with your fingertips. The padded handles are sewn in twice at the top edge. “That’s where a bag gives up first,” Lurline says. “So that’s where I don’t.”

The tote is about 43 centimetres wide and 38 centimetres tall, with a flat base about 14 centimetres deep – room for an armful of wrapped presents, two biscuit tins, a pavlova dish for the family lunch or a laptop and a book. The pouch is about 25 centimetres long and 13 centimetres high and deep, with a zip across the top. Plenty of customers say the set never went back in the cupboard after New Year. It just became the bag by the door.

“Some of my ladies bring the same tote out every December for twenty years”

Lurline lifts a dented red biscuit tin from the top shelf. There are no biscuits in it – only cards and letters, a few hundred of them. “Thank-you notes,” she says. “Some of these women have written every Christmas since the eighties.” She unfolds one, dated 2009:

That kind of staying power is no accident. It is care instead of speed. A factory makes thousands of bags a day. Lurline makes one set at a time – from the first cut of the panel to the batting, to quilting every line of the picture, all the way to the last stitch on the handles and the zip of the pouch.

The end of an era – Lurline’s final Christmas

On 18 December, after the last market of the year, Lurline closes the shed for good. “I haven’t got an apprentice,” she says. “Nobody wants to spend ten years learning to do this properly any more.” On her shelves sit the last 34 finished sets from her final run, sewn over the last two years. The last ones that will ever leave the little shed behind the house.

To make sure they go to people who will actually use them, she has set one flat closing-down price: A$99 for the set – the tote and its matching pouch – down from the A$198 she has asked at the market. “I’m not doing this for the money any more,” Lurline says. “I want them out there, full of presents on somebody’s back seat, hanging on a chair at the church lunch. That’s what they were made for.” Her grandkids Tayla (24) and Brodie (27) are selling the last of them online for her. “I wouldn’t know where to start with the computer,” she adds with a laugh.

Brodie is the one who gave the sets their nickname. “Every Christmas Eve he watched me load the car with them, full of presents for the whole family,” Lurline says. “The big one was Nan’s ute, and the little one was the trailer. He was five. Everybody still calls them that.”

What sets Lurline’s Christmas tote sets apart:

• Made in Lurline’s sewing room: Every set is cut, layered, quilted, finished and checked by Lurline herself – no production line.
• Always a set of two: A roomy tote and a matching zip pouch from the same design – for the keys, the lipstick and everything that usually gets lost at the bottom.
• Real three-layer quilting: Outer fabric, soft batting and lining, stitched together all the way through – so the tote stands on its own, even packed full.
• A picture you can feel: The lines of the Christmas scene are traced with quilting stitches, so they rise off the fabric instead of lying flat.
• Handles that hold: Padded, quilted handles sewn in twice where bags usually tear – comfortable on the shoulder, even with a full load of presents.
• Final collection: Only 34 sets remain from Lurline’s last run before the sewing room closes on 18 December.

What customers are saying about Lurline’s sets

The present they’ll carry out every December

Her customer Simone K. (47) from Bright puts it best: “I gave Mum the gingerbread set for her birthday in early December. She filled the tote with biscuit tins for the whole street the very next day and tucked her church things into the little pouch. Now she says it isn’t Christmas until that set comes out of the hall cupboard.”

Where you can get one of Lurline’s sets

Lurline’s Christmas tote sets are only available through Backroad Goods – a small online shop for real handwork from selected makers. Tayla and Brodie look after Lurline’s corner of the shop there. It’s the only place to get the real, quilted sets straight from her sewing room.

Why the A$20 “quilted” totes on Temu and Amazon aren’t the same bag

Since last Christmas, look-alike “quilted” Christmas totes have flooded Temu, Amazon and the big discount sites for A$15 to A$25. In the photos they look almost the same. In your hands, they don’t. Lurline showed us how to tell in two seconds – she calls it the fingertip test.

Run your fingertips slowly across the front of the bag. On one of Lurline’s, you feel every quilted line rise under your fingers – the snowman’s scarf, the cardinal’s wing, the soft batting puffing up between the stitches. Many of the cheap ones are a single thin sheet of polyester with a photo of quilting printed on it. The “stitches” are just ink. Run your fingers over it and it feels as flat as a tea towel. That’s why they slump the moment you put something in them, and why the handles pull loose by the second trip. And a matching pouch? “You won’t find one,” Lurline says. “It looks like a quilt in the picture. But it’s a picture of a quilt.”

Lurline’s final collection – available until 18 December

Lurline plans to close her sewing room on 18 December. “I want every last set in a good home by then,” she says. “Fifty-seven years. It’s been a good run.”

This is her final Christmas collection. Once the remaining sets are gone, there won’t be any more. Tayla and Brodie will keep sending them out after 18 December for as long as sets are left on the shelves – but at this price, and with this much interest, they aren’t expected to last long.

Payment & shipping: The shop accepts all major credit and debit cards, PayPal, Apple Pay and Google Pay. Orders are dispatched within 1–2 business days. Free returns within 90 days.

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