What’s In a Wardrobe?

Ann Bamford & unreadable (below ground) Luke Exall Bamford?
Ann Bamford & unreadable (below ground) Luke Exall Bamford?

Like Mary Cooley, Mrs. Ann Bamford provides a look into what a woman wore in the 18th century. Born in 1735, Mrs. Bamford’s estate inventory was created after her death at the age of 64 in May, 1799. (She is buried in the St. John the Baptist Churchyard, Borough of Harrow, Greater London. Her gravestone notes she was “An anxious wife and mother,” and records that she was married state to Luke Exall Bamford for 35 years and 17 days. That tells us that the Bamfords married in 1764, when she was 29. I love this detail of the late-20s marriage, actually reasonably typical for women of the period. When Anne Pearson and James Sparks married in 1772, they were roughly 43 and 50, respectively. Older, certainly than Mrs. Bamford when she married (James Sparks’ first marriage was in 1751, when he was 25; and early marriage, but he was by then already a Captain and ship’s master). 

Six years, at most, separate the Ann(e)s, Bamford and Sparks. In 1799, Anne Pearson Sparks is 70 or nearly so, married to a former Captain now gentleman and living in England, so the Bamford probate inventory provides a window into what the fashionable and well-to-lady of a certain age might have owned.

lwlacq000090The inventory, taken by a man,  and now in the collection of the Lewis Walpole Library, may suffer from a lack of feminine insight when it comes to descriptions, but it is comprehensive, listing at least 399 items. It begins: 

  • A Brocaded Sik Nightgown
  • A Gold Laced Jacket and Pettycoat silk grosgrain
  • A pair of pocket hoops
  • Two white petticoats worked at the bottom
  • A Black velvet bonnet
  • A Black Bombazine Negligee and Pettycoat
  • A piece of Printed Muslin for a Gown
  • One sprigged muslin nightgown
  • One Brocaded silk gown unmadeup

In the entire list, there are (among other things):

  • 3 jackets and petticoats, probably riding habits
  • 15 gowns and nightgowns
  • 5 negligees or sacque-back gowns
  • 20 petticoats
  • 14 shifts
  • 28 pairs of sleeve ruffles (various sizes, some worked, some laced)
  • 8 pairs of shoes
  • 3 waistcoats; 2 white, 1 fustian
  • 45 aprons, cloth, muslin, net, worked and embroidered
  • 33 caps, including wired caps and caps “with ribands”
  • 4 bonnets, including one in black velvet and one white
  • 11 hats
  • 26 pairs of stockings, including a pair in green silk
  • 3 stomachers
  • 12 cloaks
  • 58 handkerchiefs of various kinds, some “for wearing,” some worked (embroidered) in gold and silver
  • 5 entries described as“gown unmade up”

    a stack of 18th century hats and patterned handkerchiefs sit on a check blanket
    I love a stack of hats and handkerchiefs, too! Hats & hankies from Burnley & Trowbridge

There’s no reliable way to know when the gowns were made, or what exact style they are. We cannot know the state of all 45 aprons, the styles of all 33 caps, or 4 bonnets. There’s hope in the five gowns “unmade up.” There’s frivolity and impulse purchasing in 58 handkerchiefs. Fifty-eight! 26 pairs of stockings, one pair of green silk, and one pair of thread with clocks, but the majority seem to be worsted. 

What does Ann Bamford not have? There are no quilted or matelasse petticoats; this may be a function of the list being made in 1799 when the fashionable shape shifted away from the round bell provided by quilted petticoats, but Ann retains a pair of pocket hoops and has no rumps or pads. The infrastructure of a fashionable shape for the 1780s and 1790s seems missing. 

Screen Shot 2024-01-23 at 6.11.36 PM
Cabinet des Modes, August 1, 1786.

It’s likely that the inventory contains clothing from a range of years, possibly dating back to Ann’s marriage. The brocade gowns may well have been reworked from earlier styles, and the jacket-and-petticoat combination in silk grosgrain with lace sounds like the laced and decorated riding habits of the 1760s when Ann was married. As styles changed in the 1770s and 1780s, she might have had additional riding habits made, since they were worn as traveling and visiting costumes and even at home. There are other clues: the black bombazine nightgown and petticoat and the black silk negligee and petticoat suggest mourning, as do the silver silk negligee and petticoat (there is a second silver silk petticoat as well). These would provide stages of mourning, deepest in black and half in silver. English, Ann’s mourning garb might have been worn for deaths in the royal family (like Barbara Johnson) as well as for her own family. (In this context, negligee describes an informal gown, that is, one worn at home, during the day. Nightgowns, or English gowns, were slightly more formal, for day or evening wear. There are subtle distinctions lost to us, but not entirely dissimilar from our “work to evening” outfits where accessories can change an outfit’s meaning.

A Pelisse for Emma Smith

This was an interesting project that only needed to fit my small mannequin, which was a relief since the ultimate client was in Ohio.
It started with a conversation in the summer of 2022 about 1830s pelisses. I have an interest in the decade because we spend time at Old Sturbridge Village, and it’s a weird time period. I like the way that sleeves get smaller after the crash of 1837, and the various ways you can connect fashion and style to economics and politics. (See American Fancy, by Sumpter Priddy.)

Pelisses were worn in the United States (and Europe) from the 1810s onward, though the bright scarlet wool cloak also persisted in use. The durability and water-resistance of the cloak, and the forgivingly loose fit, recommended them for continued use, Pelisses and cloaks were eventually superseded by sacques, dolmans, paletotes, and shawls, all of which accommodated the larger skirts and crinolines of the 1850s and 1860s. Many of these forms evolve but persist– think of the opera coat of the 1920s through 1960s, with its short sleeves, working over a range of silhouettes from shift dresses to tent dresses to bubble skirts.

The typical colors seem to have been green or brown, with some stripes appearing as well. For this garment, I selected a range of green-brown silks for the client to choose from and, eventually, we settled on Silk Baron’s Ardennes green silk taffeta and I ordered the yardage. The lining was made of Renaissance Fabric’s polished cotton-poly blend, as the closest material I could find to the polished or glazed cotton linings seen in period garments.

The pattern was scaled down from my own Spencer pattern, and draped to fit the mannequin. The sleeve pattern was a bit of kit-bashing, working between the Past Patterns Lowell Mill Girl’s dress sleeve and my own 1820s sleeve. I chose to err on the side of less enormous, trying to walk a line between fashionable but not too outre. For Boston, I’d make enormous sleeves; for the shore of Lake Erie, northeast of Cleveland, I went a little smaller.

The bodice, sleeves, pelerine, collar, and skirt were all constructed with padded laters of woo batting between the silk exterior and the cotton lining. This was not a fun project to quilt, given the taught weave of both the silk and cotton layers, but the quilting and piping add snazzy details to the edges– and both were typical in pelisses, Spencers, and gowns of the period. 

The sleeve puff is achieved in part through tiny pleating inside, a technique copied from the 1820s original gown in my collection, which was handy resource to have on hand, if a bit of splurge.

If I were to make one of these for myself, I would look for a lighter-weight silk taffeta, and I would consider a striped fabric. Some pelisses are less shaped– that is, they’re made more like a bathrobe, without a separate bodice and skirt (see Jane Austen’s pelisse, patterned and recreated by Hilary Davidson), but I prefer the shaped silhouette.

Three Simple Tricks to Change Your (Sewing) Life…

Practice will make you as happy as this cat.

Yesterday was #difference day in Pinsent Tailoring’s #modernlessmarch challenge, and while I’m not participating, finishing up a cap order yesterday got me thinking about what makes a difference in what I make.

I fished out the very first cap ever made, and here’s what’s made a difference:

1. Practice. Make more things. Make practice pieces. The more you sew, the better you get. That is the only way to get better.

As with writing, “butt in chair” is what will make a difference, and there is no short cut.  But the more you sew, the better you get.

2. Materials. Buy the best materials you can afford. This first cap was made of linen from JoAnn’s, while the most recent cap is made of linen cambric from Burley & Trowbridge.

Selecting the right material for the task is critical, and higher quality materials will give you a better result. Silk and linen will give you very different results (yes, silk caps are a thing. They show up in inventories and ledgers in the Carolinas). Even poor and working-class women’s caps were made of finer materials than we can typically get today, so for caps, you are looking for a fabric that combines fineness of weave and thread with crispness.

Cap the First was made nine years ago, while Cap the Recent was finished this week. The first real cap breakthrough I had was in 2016, with the Cap of Floof, made with a finer material that allowed me to make smaller seams and successful whip gathers for what felt like the first time.

Lance needles: the best I’ve used.

3. Tools. The smaller the needle, the smaller the stitch. You want to use the smallest needle you can (different sizes are appropriate for different fabrics; thicker fabrics need longer needles). It can take time to get used to using a smaller needle, but the practice (see point 1) will pay off. Appropriate thread (finer for finer fabrics), a thimble, and sharp thread snips will make your work easier. A good iron is another necessity, and while you can substitute a rolled towel for some pressing forms, tailor’s hams and sleeve boards also make life easier and sewing smoother.

All of these things take resources, whether time or money, but the rewards are worth the investment.

Suffrage Wardrobe

The weekly newspaper of the Congressional Union and National Woman’s Party

2020 is the Centennial of the 19th Amendment granting women in the United States the right to vote. Oddly enough, I am currently on a contract with the National Woman’s Party, founded by Alice Paul and Lucy Burns as an offshoot of the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA), and originally called the Congressional Union. The split was largely over tactics and splits continued over the years, again, mostly about tactics and mission. (In the post-suffrage years, splits continued, largely over how to pass the Equal Rights Amendment.)

I’m waiting to find out if the site has been awarded a grant I applied for in December so that I can produce a collections open house and living history event in late April designed to explore the material culture of the NWP’s protests. On the off chance that I’ll get the grant, and on the basis of a life-long obsession with the 1910s formed when I watched Testament of Youth on Masterpiece Theatre and promptly demanded the book, I have begun to consider the component parts of a suffragist’s wardrobe. (You gotta have something to think about on the Metro.)

Capes in violet and yellow were part of the costumes worn in suffrage parades and pageants

Here’s the preliminary list:

Chemise
Drawers
Corset
Stockings
Petticoat
Corset cover
Skirt
Blouse
Jacket or sweater (we’ll be indoors)
Boots or shoes
Votes for Women button

I am incredibly lucky to have found (separately) a silk blouse and a wool skirt that both fit me! I also have a wool skirt that is too small, but could be patterned, and a cotton blouse, that could also be patterned. But given what I have to accomplish by the end of April, I think it’s most likely I’ll need to wear the antiques.

Stylish suffragists in the capitol for a meeting

What do I have to make, if I get this grant and decide to be one of the costumed interpreters?

At a minimum:

Chemise
Drawers
Corset

Now, I could opt for a union suit of the kind Our Girl History made, but I’m not super convinced by my abilities to sew knits. Before she posted the union suit, I was planning to use the Dreamstress’s guide to 1910s underwear.

The Suffragist was funded in part by ads.

I have the Scroop pattern, and if I finish my projects and I get the grant, I’ll dive into this decade sometime in March. It’s hard to say whether I’d like to get it or not: there is always the “Oh crap, now we have to pull off this project!” factor with any grant award. It’s daunting, but at the same time, once those projects are finished, thinking about the who, how, and where of the making of suffrage banners and capes is pretty appealing for a material culture person.

In the meantime, while I’m at work, inventory projects provide lots of exposure to inspiration.