Mad for Plaid and Patches

Yesterday, I went to visit another collection, this time at the University of Rhode Island. I don’t have thoughts about replicating coats- they didn’t ask me any hard questions about making coats, they just let me work– but I did see a lot of amazing garments.

I’m focused primarily on men’s clothing at the moment, largely because I’m stumbling towards an exhibit or a paper or maybe a better blog post, and because thus far I have not found any examples of women’s garments made from locallly-woven checks or stripes in local collections.*

What I concentrated on at URI were two very lovely examples of the kinds of clothing worn by everyday people in Rhode Island and Southeastern Connecticut, both collected by a woman who lived in the village of Lafayette on the Victory Highway. Mrs Muriel Buckley was born in Exeter, RI in 1884, and started collecting clothing of all kinds in 1900, when she married; by the mid-1950s, she was known as a “one woman historical society,” according to a Providence Journal article, and hosted parties where she and her guests dressed up in the clothes and cooked colonial recipes in early ironware. **

As my late landlady’s husband used to say, “Cut the cackle, let’s eat some grub.”***

Blue and white striped linen fall-front trousers ca. 1830, URI 1967.13.16

11967.13.16, trousers ca 1830. Gift of Mrs Muriel Buckley, URI Textile Collection.
1967.13.16, trousers ca 1830. Gift of Mrs Muriel Buckley, URI Textile Collection.

These are pretty interesting, with about a dozen patches of various sizes and fabrics. The main fabric is a blue and white stripe linen of 42 threads per inch. The fall-fronts have pockets built into the bearers, with a welt cut on the grain but set on the bias for a snazzy little graphic moment. The button holes appear to be slightly rounded at the ends in a way that siuggests intent and helps confirm the date. The buttons are not all the same design, but are all four-holed bone buttons. The trousers have a 31″ waistband, a 19.5″ rise, and a 26″ inseam.

The other truly fabulous piece I saw was a coat in a blue, white and orange check “Stonington Plaid” ca. 1800, URI 1967.13.17.

This is a double-breasted, self-faced tail coat with self-covered buttons and notch collar lapels, false pocket flaps on coat body and pockets in the tails and left breast. The unlined, folded-back cuffs are tacked to the sleeve and may have been shortened. The overall length at CB is 36″, sleeve length is 25.5″ and the chest is about 34″.

1967.13.17, "Stonington Plaid" linen check coat, 1800-1810. Gift of Mrs Muriel Buckley, URI Textiles Collection.
1967.13.17, “Stonington Plaid” linen check coat, 1800-1810. Gift of Mrs Muriel Buckley, URI Textiles Collection.

When I opened this coat and looked at the seams, I was struck by the construction method, not because it was different, but because it was so typical. (I also peeked inside two wool broadcloth coats in the cupboard: same construction as the woolen coats I’d seen before.) It;’s nice to see conventions in action, and recognize what you’re seeing.

The collar on this coat has some little anomalies suggesting a less-experienced hand, or perhaps a foray into a new type of collar; judging by the pad stitching, I’m more inclined to guess less experienced hand, though not home manufacture. Someday I’ll track down the South County and eastern CT tailor’s books…

1967.13.17, back view of "Stonington Plaid" checked linen coat. Gift of Mrs Muriel Buckley, URI Textiles Collection.
1967.13.17, back view of “Stonington Plaid” checked linen coat. Gift of Mrs Muriel Buckley, URI Textiles Collection.

In the meantime, what amazing clothes and fabulous fabrics! The past looks nothing like what we imagine unless we can look past fashion plate elegance to the riot of stripes and checks and prints that must have existed in almost every village and town in Rhode Island.

*With the exception of a pocket at Mystic Seaport and a gown at the Smithsonian: accessory in the first case and very not local in the second case, making in hard to study in a day trip.

**Having palpitations yet? Your heart will really race if I can track down the photos to prove all this. In other news, I know a couple of gentlemen who are currently “one person historical societies.” The collecting instinct in wired into some folks.

***Jack and Harriet: she survived the 1938 Hurricane, and their overweight black-and-white polydactyl cat, Bonnie, followed them around the corner to church every Sunday.

Woolen Woes

imageOn Saturday, I got a very nice piece of wool from Mr C’s Strategic Fabric Reserve, just the color and weight I’d been looking for to make a Very Specific Spencer. The VSS is not a replica, but rather specific to a gown: I want it to go with a 1797 V&A print.

Did women wear Spencers in 1797-1800 Providence? At least one tailor, Joseph Taber, advertised that he made Habits and Spencers, but as far as I know, there are no extant Rhode Island Spencers. Given how few collections are fully online here, and how few Spencers survive anywhere, I’m not too surprised. Julia Bowen’s diary covers Spring and Summer, when she’s quilting (mighty lazy work, she says), but she doesn’t say much about outerwear.

Providence Journal, 11-13-1799
Providence Journal, 11-13-1799

I’ve been on the fence about how common Spencers were– after all, the drawings in Mrs Hurst Dancing show women clearly wearing red cloaks– but might a Spencer and cloak combination have been just the thing to keep warm on a raw October day? With a wool petticoat and long wool stockings, you could be fashionable and warm.

There’s no firm documentation of any of that– which does not mean, as I once muttered in the general direction of some recalcitrant docents, that rich people in Providence hunkered naked in cold corners of curtain-less rooms gnawing on raw meat.** What it does mean is that much of what we make and wear is conjecture, based on examples from the same time period in other geographic areas.

Can I have a Spencer in New England? I’m not sure, but I’ve made another one anyway, and here it is, still underway. (The thing about Cassandra is that while she is a very patient model, she has terrible posture. I can verify the back fits me a great deal better than it fits her.)

Cassandra's posture is very different from mine. She will not pull her shoulders back!
Cassandra’s posture is very different from mine. She will not pull her shoulders back!

This wool is buttery and soft, and takes the needle well. Waxed thread glides through it and grips. It does have a tendency to fray a bit at the cut edges, but has a good pinked edge, and there are examples of pinked-edge facings in extant men’s wear. Sweet, right?

I’m not showing you this to boast about my skills, but to show off an dandy mistake. In working the folded edge of the collar, I trimmed a bit too much at the neck edge, and found the collar a bit small when I basted it in. Of course I removed it, and started again, easing a bit more as I went: Huzzay! It fit!

Really, I'm not sure how this happened. But there it is: upside down.
Really, I’m not sure how this happened. But there it is: upside down.

Oh, reader: rejoice not. I backstitched that bad boy on upside down. Expletive deleted! Mad Skillz: I even managed that bit of genius before my pre-work panic attack.

I took the garment in to work to seek council from my tailoring-class-educated friend who possesses native common sense and Yankee practicality. It came down to this: is it worse to have the collar upside down, or to have it not fit as well right side up? Decide with the knowledge that working the fabric more will affect the cut edge badly. My friend suggested stitching in the ditch with contrasting thread to make this flaw an Intentional Design Element.

Black trim on a Spencer?

That is a good idea, but I thought the flaw will still be too noticeable. Then it came to me: trim. Just as the construction guys are spreading drywall mud in the chinks around the window frames, I can spread some wool braid love around this collar. There’s certainly evidence for trim use on Spencers in fashion plates, and trim would push the men’s wear aspect of this garment even farther. As soon as I got home, I double-checked extant garments and fashion plates, Roy Najecki’s lace page, and measured my edges.

Four yards of quarter-inch black mohair braid should do the job, stitched around the edge of the collar and lapels, the cuffs and possibly the hem edge.

Do I run the chance of looking like a black-outlined cartoon drawing? Yes.

Did I just buy endless hours of tiny stitching? Yes.

This is a crazy, work-making solution that may leave me with a garment not suited to my class in early Federal Providence. But I think it’s going to look amazing when it’s finished.

**(The docents argued that textiles were SO RARE and SO PRICY in late 18th century RI that NO ONE in Providence had curtains. NO ONE. The lack of fire was my own bitterness coming out at this Great Curtain Kerfluffle which took place at a public lecture I gave explaining what we knew about the use of textiles to furnish Providence homes of people who would be as rich as Bill Gates today.)

Malaise or Ennui?

image Hard to say which, but I am ill at ease and dissatisfied with my costuming. You might even call it bratty. But I don’t wanna be like Bridget Connor!

It started the week of the Stamp Act protest, when I felt quite tired of being the shabby, unrefined woman of the regiment and street vendor, and wanted a nice cozy shop like the milliner had. I was also looking forward to being a housekeeper again, and several weeks of moving boxes and volumes with red rot at work had me feeling generally filthy and unappreciated. Bratty.

When in doubt, sew. A new dress can’t help but cheer you up, right?

Well… sort of…

Last Thursday, we did a reprise of the Williams family letters program at the Newport Historical Society. The Williams family were Quakers, and the letters were from the early part of the 19th century, so for the program in March, I made a green silk cross-front gown based on the Quaker gown in the back of Costume in Detail. (Check out the schematic on the 19thus.come page; I didn’t see this until I was mostly done with the dress, but thank goodness I got it right!)

But it’s September, and Thursday was expected to be quite warm, so I salved my bureaucratic wounds in the $1.99 loft at the local mill store, and made a new Quaker gown, also suitable for a maid.

I ask you! Even though it’s my very own pattern based on sketches of original drawings, even though it fits, even though it cost $10, even though every seam is overcast and the whole thing is made with period correct stitches, it still fails to make me happy and cheerful and delighted.

image

This brattiness has resulted in a reappraisal of my approach– and a trip to Sewfisticated in Framingham. What did I buy there? Yards and yards of pink taffeta? Gold taffeta? Blue taffeta?

No.

Because they didn’t have the right colors in the right weave– too slubby– or in enough yardage. Brace yourselves: I bought brown.

Many thanks to Sew 18th Century for taking the photos!
Many thanks to Sew 18th Century for taking the photos!

It appears I do not learn from my mistakes. When I think, “Gee, I’d like a pretty dress,” I end up buying fabric based on the texture as much as the color, and I have to tell you, that brown taffeta has the most wonderful l hand and sheen, and I will look much more like a Copley portrait than I ever have before, so that’s something.

It seems I have created a set of mental rules for myself, a mission, if you will, for the historic clothing I sew and the roles I take on, and I only play within those rules.

Coats and Cooking

And happy not to be walking to Walloomsac, since we can’t leave till Friday.

Before we leave, there’s plenty to done, of course, and most of it in men’s wear.*

The first piece on brown linen

The Young Mr needed a new jacket, a proper one, with pockets and everything, correct for a scalawag. So that meant patterns and muslins and fittings and questions, until neither of us could really stand the other and his father called me an ambush predator of fittings. The only way to fit these wily creatures is, as they amble through the room, to leap out and toile someone.

With the pattern more-or-less fitted to the wiggly Young Mr, I cast about for fabric: there was not enough of a striped piece for both waistcoat and jacket; waistcoat won, because matching stripes on a jacket seemed too risky in this great a hurry. Instead, I sacrificed the last yardage once meant for a gown.

The Stocking Seller, by Paul Sandby, 1759
The Stocking Seller, by Paul Sandby, 1759

This is the inspiration for the kid’s new garment, along with Sandby’s fish monger. It seems a plausible garment to work from, and the brown linen is in keeping with the brown linen jacket at Connecticut Historical Society and the unlined linen frock coat recently sold at auction. It will also match his trousers, but this is what happens when you sew from the stash.

One pair of breeches altered, one waistcoat wanting the last seven newly-made buttons, one waistcoat in production, one jacket in production: you’d think that would be enough to get done. But I’m also working to expand my cooking repertoire, as bread and cheese gets tiresome and scrounging broken ginger cakes from the Sugar Loafe Baking Co.— while potentially good theatre–is not a solid plan for sustenance.

half pint and spoon measures
Half-pint and spoon

Boiling food in summer- sounds awful, right? But it’s an easy and correct way to cook,once you translate recipe measures and control the amount you’re making. I like to use Amelia Simmons’ cookbook, because it is specifically American, and my more skillful friends cooked from it at the farm.

From Enos Hitchcock’s diary, I know that he ate a boiled flour pudding with some venison stew (near the Saratoga campaign, I think) so I consider this a plausible recipe for the field, pending eggs, of course.

A boiled Flour Pudding.

One quart milk, 9 eggs, 7 spoons flour, a little salt, put into a strong cloth and boiled three quarters of an hour.

Simple enough, though Simmons later corrected the receipt to 9 spoons of flour, and boil for an hour and a half. I got out the spoon, and looked online at modern boiled pudding recipes, and will give a modified version a whirl sometime this week (always better to fail at home than in the field). Boiling the pudding in a linen cloth in a stew would make a savory bread substitute…and I really liked the one we had at the farm. Will the gentlemen at Bennington like it? Perhaps we’ll find out. If we’re not cooking with hosewater, almost anything should be edible.

*Yes, it’s a terrible and terribly dated show, but I always hear  this in Mr Humphries‘ voice from Are You Being Served?