Nine years ago, I made a pair of hip pads to go under the unfinished cross-barred sacque. This time around, I thought I should make the more common hoops or pocket panniers. I used the Dreamstress’s Pannier-Along pattern and instructions but failed in a few respects.
My panniers are crushed by petticoats, and fold in on themselves. The canes (I used synthetic whalebone) are both too soft and probably too long. The extra length allows them to curl in at the ends so that they migrate a bit to the rear even as they squish down. The linen I selected is too lightweight for this task; I erred by choosing based on color and not weight. Of course, I had (and have) enough mid-to-heavy-weight white linen in hand, but I was afraid I wouldn’t have enough for the gown lining. (Never mind the fact that I could have purchased fabric at the workshop, I was focused on the goal and not thinking things through as thoroughly as I might have.)
Side One with Tapes and pocket slit sewn
I started this project on Monday and finished by 10:00 PM on Tuesday, with full workdays in between start and finish. The panniers are sewn entirely by hand which makes it even more sad that they’re not all they could be. They’re supposed to be collapsible for travel, and they certainly are. That means that the solutions I try should not prevent these from folding flat.
First side all finished
It makes sense to start by pulling out the bones and trimming them a bit to prevent the curling. Another step might be cutting a pasteboard bottom insert to maintain the silhouette. This will require undoing some stitching to slip the bottom piece in but it still seems worth a try. I could double the bones (if I have enough) or supplement what’s there with canes (I do have that).
All finished, but a little squished
That’s three ideas before I need to start over with heavier linen. Even then, I can salvage and re-use the tape channels and bones to use again.
Once upon a time, I fell in love with cross-barred sacques. The style appealed to me for the way it combined a high-style 18th-century feminine form (the sacque, worn over hoops) with a tailored, streamlined look (the cross-barred fabric). That was 2013. Ten years elapsed before I tried again, without success (i.e. finishing the gown).
After a workshop at Burnley & Trowbridge led by Brooke Wellborn, I realized how little thought I’d given sacques in the past decade, and how little I actually knew. Workshops tend to produce that effect in me, which I why I sign up for them. When, in 2023, I looked back at what I’d been doing in 2013, I thought only of trying to complete the project. Now when I look back, I see so many things I need to change. So long, bodice fronts. So long, pleat stitching. I’m almost sure I have enough fabric left to make those changes. The width of the back pleats on the 2013 sacque suggest a style from a period earlier than I typically represent, but not impossibly early. Still, they are stitched too far down my back– the pleats should release where the armscye starts its descent to the underarm. Deeper than that, the pleats look clumsy.
As I look even more closely, I begin to wonder if, instead, I need to make that gown over completely, possibly into an English or nightgown. The side pleats are not where I want them; the back pulls in the wrong direction; and I don’t like where the side seam lands. There is so much to change.
Back pleats! Finding the rhythm– but also, notice the direction of the grain. Opposite gown # 1.
The gown I started at Burnley & Trowbridge was made differently from the start. The largest difference was setting a baseline from which to generate the rest of the gown. It’s a different process entirely, which is not to say that one is better than another, only that I understand the results of one better than the other.
Screenshot of the gown at the end of the workshop
There are points of fitting to correct in this new cross-barred sacque, all focused on smoothing the bodice. Whether that can be done while maintaining the initial sleeve set remains to be seen. I can imagine ways to manage that, but it’s definitely sewing without a safety net.
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.
The 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”
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.
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.
Among the things I ponder about Anne Pearson Sparks is what she wore, and how much clothing she had. She would have seen the latest fashions and fabrics when she traveled to England to buy millinery goods. How did she translate those styles for her Philadelphia customers, like Mrs. Cadwalader, and how did she interpret them for herself? It’s largely unknowable since there are no known images of Anne. Probate inventories provide insights into the quantity and type of clothing women had in the 1770s. They skew higher income since people without wealth had so much less to leave, but given that Anne Pearson owned her own house, and had a £2700 marriage settlement, she certainly had means.
The February 1778 inventory of Mary Cooley’s estate, digitized by Colonial Williamsburg, provides an extensive list of clothing and other items owned by a York County (VA) midwife, including 10 gowns, 6 petticoats, 9 shifts, 5 pairs of shoes (4 leather and one black satin), 15 caps, 9 “chex” (checked) aprons, and 4 other aprons, presumably white. The type of gown is not specified, that is, they are not itemized as “nightgowns,” “sacks,” or “negligees,” though there is an additional wrapper. No bedgowns appear on the list, and there is only one pair of stays. Since only items with value (i.e. sale value) were listed, Mary Cooley’s total inventory probably included bedgowns. The clothing worn by the enslaved woman Bett and her child Peter was also probably not on the list. Bett and Peter appear at the end of the list after items typically found in a kitchen, where they probably worked, lived, and slept; it is likely their clothes were few and had no value.
What does Mary Cooley’s list suggest for Anne Pearson?
Linen, wool, silk. Living in Philadelphia, Anne Pearson probably had more wool than Mary Cooley; how many more? Would we swap one linen and cotton for two woolen (stuff or worsted or calamanco) gowns? Would we swap a cotton gown for a riding habit? Anne traveled back and forth between Philadelphia and London for years, and a riding habit or (and?) a Brunswick would make sense for travel. With appearance a key part of advertising her trade and reputation, Anne probably had more than 10 gowns, but call it 10 and add at least a riding habit.
Then we add petticoats. Petticoats expand a wardrobe by matching or contrasting with open robe gowns. Six petticoats! That’s a good number of options, but remember, they need to balance the seasons.
The pink Persian (silk) quilted petticoat certainly came from a milliner’s shop, and was likely made in England; it could easily be worn with those silk gowns. Having the color here helps us begin to imagine the combinations. Pink Persian and brown damask? Black shalloon and black calamanco? Black calamanco and blue calamanco? The India cotton petticoat was probably worn with one of the calico gowns, and we can contemplate striped stuff with a striped Holland gown. In any case, Mary Cooley’s two, possibly three, quilted petticoats helped her keep warm in silk, calico, or linen. The blue calamanco petticoat might also have been quilted; there are many calamanco whole-cloth quilts, and I like to imagine one as vibrant and shining as this quilt or perhaps this one. Quilted or not, under candlelight both gown and petticoat would glisten.
After a workshop at 
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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