Packing Meat

If it bleeds, it leads.
If it bleeds, it leads. Waistband pinning is surprisingly dangerous.

Sometimes you end up doing things for reasons you don’t entirely understand. Remember that brief flirtation with the 1830s? Well… we met again, and this time, I said yes to the dress.

Several friends are on the “shoot meat, win a target” program at OSV this weekend, and I agreed to go along. Yes, it’s a gun show. Yes, I’m compromising again.

Gentle reader, it gets worse. While I had not planned to dress, I rethought this choice last week. Awake in the early morning hours of November 11, I thought about dress patterns, wool petticoats, and the contents of the Strategic Fabric Reserve. One of my wool petticoats fit the waistline of my 1820s dress better than the 1800 dress I made it for, so I figured I was on my way towards being warm outdoors in November.

Spot the error. It's the dyslexic '30s.
Spot the error. It’s the dyslexic ’30s.

I have 1830s patterns, and a muslin was quick to make. Worse yet, once the muslin was made up and tried on over stays, it needed no alteration beyond a slight shoulder seam adjustment. Can you imagine? That hideous decade fits me? Doom or destiny, you be the judge: I had enough striped wool blend to cut a dress and a pelerine… so I did.

The other sleeve's stripes are just slightly off.
The other sleeve’s stripes are just slightly off.

The bodice went together quickly, and the sleeves were fairly easy at the shoulder and arm scye (I really enjoy setting sleeves). It was the length and width along the forearm that threw me, and I ended up having to piece on the lower sleeve. Twice.

The sleeves are where the meat comes in: you say pork chop, I say leg of lamb, the fashion plate says gigot. I did reduce the arc a bit, which makes this a more late-1820s style than firmly mid-1830s. Since some of the folks I’m going with will be wearing a mix of late 1820s and 1830s styles, slimmer sleeves seemed reasonable.

Rustic Dance After a Sleigh Ride, 1830. William Sidney Mount MFA Boston 48.458
Rustic Dance After a Sleigh Ride, 1830.
William Sidney Mount MFA Boston 48.458

More seriously, I’m taking cues from the William Sidney Mount painting I’m so fond of. The women in this 1830 painting have less flamboyant sleeves and possibly achievable hair. Honestly, the things I get into when I lie awake and think. I ought to know better by now…but every decade is a new adventure.

What remains to be done? Backstitching the waistband and waistband lining, hooks and bars at the back closing, the ever-popular hem of enormity, and a final pressing. Achievable, I think, with focus and some lunchtime sewing.

Cold Comfort Compromises

"Henrietta Diana, Dowager Countess of Stafford", Allan Ramsay, 1759; Glasgow Museums 3026 (c) Glasgow Museums; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
Henrietta Diana, Dowager Countess of Stafford, Allan Ramsay, 1759(c) Glasgow Museums. Fur: cozy, but not for me. Also too early.

Winter is bearing down upon us, and while I was not in Connecticut last weekend, nor will I be in New Jersey two weekends hence, I do have winter history plans, barring the proverbial 50 feet of snow, which even a Subaru cannot handle. The Noble Train: I could not resist, for, as regular readers know, I prefer my history to hurt.

Still, I try to avoid cold-related illness and extreme discomfort, so I’m making sensible preparations. Of course, I have not finished my quilted petticoat, and lack the time to make a proper hand-quilted silk under-waistcoat. Reader, I have done a terrible thing: I have compromised.

The saddest part of all of this is that the waistcoat I’m making is the most feminine and luxurious item, and the only item even close to lingerie (aside from shifts) that I have ever made myself, or even own, no matter its inaccuracies. There is a kind of irony built into this project, hence a post while the irony is hot.

Waistcoat. Silk quilted and bound with silk grosgrain ribbon. ca. 1745. V&A Museum, T.87-1978
Waistcoat. Silk quilted and bound with silk grosgrain ribbon. ca. 1745. V&A Museum, T.87-1978

The waistcoat: an item of occasional debate, these are not the most common beast in museum collections. Fortunately, Sharon Burnston has a handy article and pattern posted on her website. To be clear, I am not recreating the Atwater-Kent waistcoat. I am cobbling together my own inappropriate but satisfying item. I am also using the absolutely inexcusable excuse that no one will see this garment, as well as previous bouts of pleurisy after long, cold events in stays when I had the merest hint of a cold. (My boss kindly offered to cup me for a cure when I had to take time off work, but I declined. The look on her face suggested a lack of appreciation for my historic ailment.)

But here we are, “confessions of a known bonnet-wearer” and all that, so onward to the project. I started with Sharon Burnston’s scaled diagram of the Atwater-Kent woman’s waistcoat. The shapes are very similar to a basic woman’s jacket of the period, bonus: loose fitting, no sleeves. It was easy enough to pattern up in an afternoon, with limited fitting (I did test it over stays, just in case.)

overview

The compromises I made are in the materials: pre-quilted silk (with a cotton backing), lined with wool-cashmere, and bound in silk grosgrain ribbon. The size of the diamonds and the machine quilting, plus the wool lining, make this an inauthentic, inaccurate garment. The shape, construction, and binding are at least correct, as far as they go. But the lusciousness of that remnant table cashmere and the soft colors please me immensely, and I do expect to be warm.

corner

This has been a quick project, with the majority of time spent on the binding. As in the Atwater-Kent waistcoat, I’m top stitching with a running stitch on the inside, folding the ribbon over, and hem stitching on the outside.

Will this feel like a hair shirt of shame under my gown, compromise as it is? Maybe, but at least it’s cashmere.

Good Grief

1803 dress and hair
Pre-sweat melted hair

I had my doubts about this event, since we were interpreting the death and mourning of John Brown a full month after it actually happened, and initially resisted somewhat strenuously. But people change, and by the time I was operating a motor vehicle at high speed on I-90 six months later, I could be– and was– convinced. Knowing little, if anything, about early Federal mourning customs mattered not at all. There’s always time to learn, right? Well… if you read fast enough, you can do anything.

Esther and Kitty draping the mirrors
Esther and Kitty draping the mirrors

Despite the bustle, Esther and I found time to cover many of the mirrors with sheets, and the portraits with black crepe; this is a time of reflection, not vanity. It gave our rooms a gloomy mien, and reminded us of our short span on this earth.

Visitors in the front hall of the John Brown House, Providence RI
We had many callers

We did have many callers Saturday afternoon, as John Brown was such a significant figure in Providence. He accumulated significant wealth, as Mr and Mrs Thurber attested when they came to inquire about the profits from the voyage Mr T had invested in– $30,000!

Callers pay respects to Mr Brown
Mr and Mrs Thurber pay their respects to Mr Brown

Thirty thousand is a fine sum indeed, though one wonders where Mrs Thurber might spend those proceeds. While a generally refined person, she made many inquiries about sherry, so I was relieved I’d had the foresight to lock away the decanters. So many people call during a time of grief that you cannot be too careful.

1803 ladies ponder fashion plates
Considering mourning dress options

The mantua maker came to call, bringing black silks and plates for the ladies to choose from. We have had a mix of joy and sorrow in this house, and it is only of late that Mrs Francis (on the left, in blue), has left behind her more matronly garb following the death of her beloved husband John Francis in 1796. It was a crushing blow for her, but she does seem to have recovered now.

1803 woman and baby
Mrs H and her darling daughter, Anna

Mrs Herreshoff was with us, visiting from Point Pleasant in Bristol, and her mother found baby Anna, now just more than five months old, a great consolation indeed. Anna was dressed in mourning for her grand-papa, though she will not remember him. Despite the many callers, baby Anna was truly an angel.

Historical minister and coffin
The Congregational minister called.

The ladies upstairs were a respite for us servants, though we were comforted by the visiting minister from the Congregational church. They cannot make up their minds to a new minister, now that their beloved Dr Hitchcock has left them for heaven. They try on new ones for size nearly every week, and while that is not my congregation, I do think the Reverend Cooke is an excellent choice, combining devotion with humor.

costumed interpreters
The sexton’s son came to inquire if Mrs B wished rent the hearse

A more troublesome caller was Mr Richard Hoppin, son of the sexton at First Baptist church. They do possess the sole hearse in our town, and kindly (for a fee) provide it in times of need. I’m not certain of Mr Hoppin’s stability, for he was inclined to– well, to hop!– in our hallway, a most inappropriate action. The widow did seem to cause him fright (she is a formidable personage, as one would be, after so many years married to Mr Brown), so perhaps he was merely addled by his encounter with her. She wisely inquired after the solidity and soundness of the hearse, for Mr Brown was a substantial figure.

1803 widow and coffin
The widow Mrs Brown reflects upon her late husband

Mr Brown was a great support to us all, and his absence will truly be noted in our household and in our town. I do expect the house will feel empty without his presence, and that Esther, Goody and I will much remark upon the quiet as we go about our tasks.

costumed interpreters on the steps of the John Brown House
The obligatory group photo finale.

From an administrative and managerial stance, this What Cheer Day was different: we cut the interpreted day in half, running the event from 1:00 till 4:00, but still saw about the same number of visitors as we had in a six-hour day. A shorter day meant interpreters were somewhat less exhausted by the close of the day (costumed staff who started their day at 5:00 AM excepted), and the schedule did not have to be as detailed as in previous years. We also reprised a “make your own miniature” activity from the August George Washington 1790 event, and brought in period musicians, who played in the Washington Wallpaper room while people colored miniatures. We also put out an exhibit of memorial art and mourning jewelry, to help contextualize the miniature activity. Since we’ll be leaving the coffin on display and the mirrors and portraits draped through next weekend, a small display (three cases, labels finally finished at 11 AM on the day of the event) seemed like a good idea and opportunity. Upsides: chance to show off the collection, engage people in a hands-on activity, multi-sensory experiences. Downsides: Slightly more to accomplish than hands to do the work, still short a servant, always a little rough the first time you change topics. Unexpected bonus: slightly bumpy transitions in personal life make a suitably sad housekeeper. Score!

A Day in Time

You know what’s wrong with most reenactments and living history events?

They’re not actual days. They’re fragments of many days jammed together like a fractured mosaic.

It’s tough and tiring to imagine and script and play out a whole day—all the simultaneous pieces—but if living history or reenacting events were run as A Day In Time, there would more likely be:

• Roles for More [kinds of] People
• Contextualization of Events
• Boring Bits like Paper Work
• No Time for Spinning
• Moar Drilling
• Rations & Messes, Actually
• Moar Drilling
• Courts Martial
• Small Acts of Drama Amid the Quotidian

Of course, y’all would have to work together…but imagine the power if an entire event ran the way a military camp should be, would have been, run. Orderly books provide plenty of ideas, entire days of stuff to do and get in trouble for.

Stop splitting, start lumping, and these events will, at last, become truly engaging on both sides of the rope line.