Townspeople, 1763

I have this friend, DC: I can call him a friend now, but when we worked together, he was more of a nemesis, mostly because of his OCD tendencies, intense perfectionism, and complete inability to meet deadlines. It was a classic example of Mr Failure-to-Plan working poorly with Miss Contingency-Plan-Required. We literally knocked heads installing an exhibition, and I can still feel the hollow ringing pain. But it’s been six years, and with that distance, friendship is possible.

I'm only in this for the cannon.
I’m only in this for the artillery.

But he’s got this idea.  In August 1763, Boston celebrated the Treaty of Peace ending the Seven Years War (known here as the French and Indian War). There are fantastic descriptions of the celebrations and Thanksgiving Proclamations issued by the colonies, and you can read more about it in the Boston Gazette 8-15-1763.

My friend’s idea is to re-create this celebration, complete with cannons and volleys, and to that end he has enlisted local re-enactors, including a unit he didn’t realize I was part of when he asked me if I had a 1763 impression. True to form, we are asking questions he’s not yet prepared to answer… including, what sort of people do you want these townspeople to be? With the calendar as packed as it is, stitching up militia and my own clothes needs to start now, what with the regular regimental requirements due in June and again in August, and oh yes, actually maintaining life and a tolerable standard of cleanliness in the home.  (DC is moving to Europe in the Fall. After this event, when he leaves North America, I expect we’ll be better friends.)

Jean-Etienne Liotard (1702-1789) Portrait of a Woman called Lady Fawkener circa 1760
Jean-Etienne Liotard (1702-1789) Portrait of a Woman called Lady Fawkener circa 1760

The reason I want an answer now is simple: I want a hat. After steaming and cramming The Hat onto Mr S’s head, I deeply desire my own Hat. I don’t covet much, really, and a hand-made piece of headwear made by someone you know and respect seems a very innocent thing to covet, even if coveting is wrong.  But to give the Favorite Hatmaker time to create a hat like the one at left, and me time to trim same, I need to know rather soon if I should be a lady or a cherry-seller.

I started a Pinterest board (when all else fails, collect images) of 1763 ideas. It’s a pretty simple thing, really, gown with robings, cap, blah blah petticoats blah blah, but: isn’t it all about the fabric? And the trims? And, lest we forget, the coveted hat!

Paul Sandby, London Cries: Black Heart cherries... ca. 1759. YCBA,  B1975.3.206
Paul Sandby, London Cries: Black Heart cherries… ca. 1759. YCBA, B1975.3.206

The Sandby cherry seller can probably be replicated with an open gown with robings made from B&T’s Virginia cloth; the question is merely of color, drape, and patience waiting for swatches. (Wish Wm Booth still had that yellow and blue striped linen, but my blue and white linsey-substitute would have to do.) This is simple enough, really; I have a cap like the cherry-seller’s cut out, somewhere, or linen to make one, anyway.

Paul Sandby, London Cries: The Fishmonger (detail), 1759. YCBA B1975.3.210
Paul Sandby, London Cries: The Fishmonger (detail), ca. 1759. YCBA B1975.3.210

Maybe the compromise is this, yellow, with a black hat. I suspect this hat is straw, but perhaps I could combine the hat above with this idea. The black hat and black cape are very appealing. The answer, of course, is all in research: find out about the men in Thomas Marshall’s Boston Militia, and from there I can find out about, or make intelligent surmises, about the women. But that’s irritating, as military/militia-based history often is–to be dependent on the men. Perhaps the less annoying route lies through JSTOR…. and following up on the memory of a Boston widow-businesswoman.

In the end, I’m realistic enough to know that I shall be lucky to get a new hat trimmed at all, given all the menswear there is to complete between now and August. Even my plans for chitzy sewing this week turned late yesterday into, “Oh, but I thought you liked the Adjutant. We’re going up Saturday for fitting.” I suppose that means they think I’ll finish something enough for fitting.

Notes on a Brown Gown

The Brown Gown, which I do actually like
The Brown Gown, which I do actually like

So after twelve hours in it, what do I think? Did I learn anything?

Yes! I need new pins. My friend had some from At The Eastern Door (their website is down today, but you can find them on Facebook) and I’ll be placing an order pronto. The stomacher and the robings do not wish to stay married, they have irreconcilable differences and need space. Space to flash the bodice lining, from what I can tell. I am less and less convinced that working women put up with stomachers and pins on a daily basis, and more convinced that I need to spend time looking at images of working (i.e. moving around, bending, twisting and reaching) women. There must be clues to this. Also, the popularity of closed front gowns makes a lot of very real sense now.

What else? Bonnets are distracting. They’re disorienting, a bit, but hide your face nicely. I have not had the full-on experience described and cautioned about elsewhere, but I will aver that bonnets do disorient you and you must be cautious. Especially around horses and crowds.

Run away! He got garters, too, which helped.

Garters! I was warned about them falling down, and they did, each one, once. The first went down in a wet tunnel (It’s like walking into a whale, Brian said) as some British officers passed. My short-jacketed farm laborer may not be able to maintain my sartorial splendors, you know…but he recovered the garter and I re-tied it. The other slipped down at the National Heritage Museum; both, after retying, remained in place. The first one took 6 hours to come down, so I’d say we did alright.

The mitts worked out well, too, and now have nice grime and grass stains, so they’ll need a little hand washing. It’s time to go back into the stash for another, longer pair, but even the linen blocked the wind and kept me warmer.

Meow! This kitten never loses his mittens.

From the soreness of my ribs, I’d say a new set of stays are in my future. I’m too tired to think about it now, but the soreness makes me realize the boning must not be running in the right direction in the right place now that the size isn’t right (they stretched). But that’s a winter’s project…for now, two paws lazy-way-up for good lessons learned and good, if long, day in Lexington.

How Now, Brown Gown?

Finished. Hope it fits, right?

Finished, that’s how, with holes in my fingers and a split in my thumb.

Sure hope it fits…I have tried it on along the way, and it is an open robe, so chances are good it will fit. But after I dressed Cassandra, I did have that “What if…?” moment of dread. There’s a lot of this that’s like art school. Hours laboring alone, hours of studying precedent, craft/technique and theory, and then you have a presentation, i.e. you wear the thing in public. I try not to think about it too much.

I could take this apart for you (the sleeve is more ‘modern’ than the cuff; gowns are not known to have been bound at the hem, though petticoats were; didn’t finish the matching petticoat; did I use the fabric the wrong side out?) but Gentle Reader, I suspect you can supply your own quantity of anxiety, and need not borrow a cup or quart from me.

Let’s talk about the fun parts:

For a while, I hated this gown. Seriously. The closer I got to being done with it, the more I flat-out despised it and found it ugly. Why? Too nice. That’s a respectable gown, that is. It’s the gown your mother would tell you to wear, or the one she thought you ought to change into when she said, “You’re going out in that?” As if you were planning to run away in a red and black calico gown… And I hated the color. Then I thought the wool was too heavy.

Mrs Sylvanus Bourne, JS Copley, 1766. MMA, 24.79

I am not this old. My impression is not this wealthy. My dress is not silk. But when I look at what I’ve managed to make, and I look at this (my own white apron is coming; I almost finished it yesterday, but the alarm company called and I had to go deal with an early-morning bat) I feel better. I have white mitts, a white kerchief, and there will be a white apron, bats or no bats.

It’s a neat presentation, the brown and white will look well together, and with a black hat or black bonnet. And by the time I’ve sat on dirt and ground some soil into the skirt, and burned a hole into the hem, I’ll probably like this gown.

But it seems so…proper…and that just doesn’t seem like me.

Hat, Rescued

Really, the power of the interwebs. Not that I shouldn’t have contacted the hat maker, but the hat is soft and lovely and looks just like one in a painting at work. And I so readily saw it ornamented with ostrich plumes that would have made it twice as pettable.

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But the hat maker emailed and recommended a technique I will call “steam and cram” but which involves the judicious application of steam followed by placing the hat on the head. So I pulsed steam into the crown of the hat, avoiding a) the neat label pasted on the top and b) the sides, which have such a lovely feel and verticality. And then hat was then placed firmly on Mr S’s head.

Felt is such amazing stuff: I love the way the wool changes as you felt knitting. There is a moment when the fibers change– it’s hard to describe, exactly, but there’s a feeling of release, and then the knitting as a whole becomes more plastic and malleable.

The same thing happened with this hat: while atop Mr S’s head, he felt it relax, and voila! Hat! Fitting!

He looks pretty happy about it, doesn’t he?

I did find an article comparing Concord and Lexington in the pre-Revolutionary period which included a statistical analysis of the Lexington Militia with a small number of non-tax payers and men with small holdings, justifying the appearance of the two this household will provide. Apparently they do not have my same need for fully-researched, found-it-on-JSTOR fantasies.