There was once a handsome young man who came to be called Fanta. He was a surveyor who had a job making maps for the military during the Second World War. On five occasions his plane was shot down in the jungles of New Guinea.

After the war he became a bit of a clown and a problem drinker. His war experiences were rarely discussed. What is known is that he once sat with a dead friend for a day before making his way out of the jungle.

One day I started stitching a series of aeroplane shapes on a background of different patterns of bright green fabric. It took ages and when the squares were finished I felt dissatisfied and put them away for a year. I then cut these squares into strips. I still wasn’t sure what I was making.

I cut up lots different green fabric strips and randomly sewed in the sliced up plane shapes. Out of the sheet of fabric I had created I cut a big plane shape and tacked it into a three-layered quilt. Over many months I hand quilted small plane shapes over the whole quilt.

The finished aeroplane quilt is big, (2.1m x 2.1m) took three years to make and hangs on my ceiling. It shows scattered pieces of plane in the jungle. All these pieces are contained in a bigger plane that just keeps flying.

I think the quilt is a story about Fanta who just kept going in life. Back in the jungle the plane wreckage rusted. He went back to his job in an office; he paid bills, went camping and argued with his wife.

This quilt is about the extraordinary way ordinary people keep going. What takes the greatest courage for our soldiers? Is it the dangers of war or the challenge of fitting back into an everyday life when it’s all over?

You crash, you survive. That is what the quilt means to me. It is not practical, or useful, or even traditionally beautiful. The strange thing is that whenever I look at this quilt it gives me strength. Maybe you have had a mystery sewing project that evolved over time? I’d love to hear from you.

About six months ago I found a hole in my favourite quilt. My husband and I were hanging this big butterfly quilt on our bedroom wall. The quilt had lived several lives and now it was to be a wall hanging.

In the orange swirly border section was a thumb size hole that went right through all three layers. This is the first time I have had to deal with a major mend in a quilt. I felt daunted. How would I mend three layers?

I thought about matching it with exact fabric patches. I might just have some scraps somewhere. I considered finding some sewing guru to do it for me. The quilt was damaged now. It was spoiled. I didn’t really know how to fix it.

Months passed and every time I looked at the quilt I felt bad about that hole. The quilt was ruined I thought sadly to myself. Over six months the quilt mending job built up to be a bit of a problem.

Finally yesterday I took it down and inspected the damage. I considered what I could do. It was like looking at an old friend fallen in battle. After a few sad sighs I decided to give it my best shot. I found my coloured thread box and carefully matched the colours. Then I thought to myself - I can’t take this imperfection away I can only mend it with as much love as possible.

I took my time and I darned gentle stitches that I have seen my mother sew. Stitch by stitch I felt better. As I worked I thought about how my quilts are working quilts. There are carried around, snuggled under, picnicked on, laid over sleeping children or shivering pets. They have been children’s cubbies and hiding places. In all probability this hole started as the mark of some child’s jam covered finger. My family life had been here.

The mending slowly transformed from a loathsome fixing task to a gentle homage. I was honouring the site where some living had taken place. This was the place where the life of a perfect quilt ended and business of living just kept on going.

I smiled to myself as I surveyed the little ridges of the final mend. Not so much a fix but an outcrop of love. It is also a small milestone on my learning journey. In fixing this quilt hole I came to understand what really matters.