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.

20130410-054451.jpg
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.

Getting My Mitts On: HSF #7

Mitts, 18th Century. MMA, C.I.44.8.9a, b

I got in a lather about not having mitts. I have been trying to knit a pair from the Mara Riley pattern for some time, as in well over a year. It’s just an unfortunate thing. I understand the pattern, I like the yarn I have, the needles are authentic enough for events, and yet: I cannot get these things done. As a result, I get cold. (I don’t mean that to sound whiny.)

There’s debate in some circles about whether or not knitted mitts were worn in New England, though there is a nice pair of black frame-knit mitts at the MFA, with a history of use in Lexington, MA. That’s a long way from what I can knit, a fair distance from what lower-middling Kitty would wear, and vastly unsuitable for a woman following the army. Still, I want mitts.

In the Fall, I tried to make myself a pair. It did not go well.

‘Camblet’ lined with linen, linen lined with cotton. More pix on flickr.

Fortunately I have developed more patience or bloody-mindedness since then. This allowed me to spend the time scaling up the pattern in Costume Close-Up. That’s where I started in the Fall, but things went better this time, and I actually have a pair of mitts.

Two pairs. I have problems, I try to solve them with sewing.

The Challenge: HSF # 7: Accessorize.

Fabric:
Left: Silk and wool “camblet,” lined with light-weight linen, both from Burnley & Trowbridge
Right: White linen from Fabric-Store.com, lined with printed cotton from Wm Booth Draper.

Pattern:
My own, scaled up from Costume Close-Up, available here for you if you have large hands,  print it at 100% on 11 x 17 paper. You will need to tweak the thumb placement. Make a muslin. Make two muslins. It’s worth the effort.

Year:
1750-1800. Narrower than that I cannot get, yet.

Notions:
None.

Mittens, 1790-1800. V&A,
Mittens, 1790-1800. V&A,

How historically accurate is it?
Say 8/10, since I have never examined a pair and don’t know exactly how they were made. Yes, I’ve read the descriptions in Costume Close-Up and Fitting and Proper, but at this foggy insomniac moment, I couldn’t tell you much about those descriptions.

Hours to complete:
The bulk of the time was in the patterning, which took a couple of evenings and 4 muslins. But once you have a pattern that works for you, finishing a pair from cutting to wearing is about 3 hours all by hand. You could cut that significantly using a machine instead of hand back-stitching, and add decorative embroidery, which I really cannot do. Really. Photos to come.

First worn:
To be worn April 13…probably the white linen pair.

Total cost:
Nothing, really, as all fabric was left over in the stash. The pretty printed scraps came in handy.

Garters! Jo-Ann plus Wm Booth Draper, but so far no implosion

Oh, I made some garters, too. Easy-peasy. Use the Pragmatic Costumer’s Ten Minute Tutorial. Completely makes up for whatever project you think you just screwed up. The main lilac ribbon is silk, the decorative ribbon is so not silk. These are better than no garters, but I expect my stockings will still droop around my ankles, as required by the laws of physics and reenacting.

Over(h)alls, Trousers, & Breeches, oh, my!

Trousers, ca 1793. MMA,1988.342.3

Gentleman can agree to disagree on the attributed date of this garment, just as gentlemen might agree to differ on whether to call these trousers or overalls. It’s all in the crotch length, friends, and we’ll just back away.

But before I return a book of letters to the lender, I wanted to record some of the details that struck me.

Right from the start, the John Buss Letters, edited by Ed Nash, are filled with details. I got excited because, in a slightly random and not at all fabric-hoarding way, I purchased a remnant of grey striped woolen goods from Wm Booth, with the intention of making a jacket or trousers from the fabric.

This notion was rejected by my resident tenant farmer, who has particular ideas about his appearance and the quality of goods which should encase his limbs. Rebuffed from my historic fashion fantasy, I turned for solace to the John Buss letters, determined to make it all up by learning the history of the tenant farmer’s new regiment.

And lo, on page 9, in the very second letter, John writes home to his parents in Leominster, MA on October 1, 1776, saying that “my trowis has got very thin, I should be very glad if mother would make me a pare of striped wooling trowis as son as you can…” My tenant farmer was not impressed by my excitement.

Yes, all my fantasies are documented. But look: John Buss’s trousers are thin, not his breeches. And he’s clear about the difference between trousers, overhalls and breeches. In a February 22, 1778 letter from Valley Forge, Buss tells how he drawd from stores in Bennington “one frock, one Jacket, one Pare overhalls, one of stockings, one Pare of shoes and one shirt. Albany, October 25th., 1777, I drawd a  Red Jacket Quemans Pattern. November 5th., I drawd a pare of Braches and a pare of fresh shoes that was not worth tow shillings.”

Later, Buss requests lining (linen) to make breeches, as he is hot. So he draws clear distinctions between these garment forms. This is a costumer’s dream, really, and for me–oh, those striped wooling trowis! Now I have to make them. Look out, Young Mr…they’re headed your way. And lucky me, I have documentation for that red broadcloth remnant I bought in a random and utterly non-fabric-hoarding way.