Citizens of Boston

John Collet, May Morning, 1761-1770. Museum of London
John Collet, May Morning, 1761-1770. Museum of London

I find myself involved in an event scheduled for August 10 in Boston, though I know this could go awry because I worked for a number of years with DC, the organizer of this extravaganza. He’s got a style all his own, and for a taste of the madness, you can see him here (~5:26) with unmistakable and inimitable mannerisms, at Louisbourg.

While the Adjutant is arranging and training the militia, the event still needs civilians, and as the interpretive consultant, my task is to create the context of the day and hammer into DC’s head that when organizing something like this, you can hardly over-communicate, though having been on the receiving end of his phone calls, actually, you can… but that’s where I come in with the editor’s sharpened pencil and cut, cut, cut.

Mr S has signed right up for this event, though he lacks suitable garb, and thus it will soon be time to break out the wool broadcloth. I really liked Sharon’s waistcoat-conversion suggestion, and happily Wm Booth had a lovely dark-green wool remnant of just enough yardage for a skinny man’s frock coat that very morning. Add the brass buttons in the stash, and I thought we were off and headed for 1770 with a regression to 1763.

Except… in doing more looking at 1760/1763 images, I began to wonder if it was better to beat the green linen into an earlier coat, consider it a lesson learned, and move on, since it is only a one-day event. (I saw some small remnants of that same green linen in the Adjutant’s stash, and perhaps I can get them for cuffs.)

My logic is this: it can be tricky to walk a coat backwards in time, especially in sleeve width, and Mr S is in serious need and want of a lovely coat for Battle Road. (Except yes, heh heh, he needs it by July 14 for an event at Washington’s HQ in Cambridge. There’s not even time for gnashing of teeth!) I don’t think it means more sewing, really, it only means penance with alterations and begging for fabric scraps. It also mean focusing, and letting the Monmouth-acquired cuts on my fingertips heal.

John Collet, Scene in a London Street, 1770. YCBA, B1981.25.110

Mr S will be just one of a number of men who will be militia in the morning and civilians in the afternoon. In thinking about the Boston street of 1763, I’m reading the Boston Gazette and Country Journal (which DC had not done beyond the main articles…) and looking at images from London. Maybe the scene won’t be as chaotic, since it is a happy celebration, but it needs to be busy, and populated with men, women, and children of various ages, races, and class levels. There’s a nice way to search for “street” at the Yale Center for British Art, and you get a sense of the crowds and busy-ness of the 18th century street.

To that end, I have asked my silk-gown friends, and I plan to be the cherry seller. (I should so like to have that done by Sturbridge to acquire some patina, but doubt I shall.) For the Young Mr, I see runaway apprentices as a possibility. In the Boston Gazette of August 8, 1763, There is a 16 year old mulatto fellow, “large of his age,” who had on “a brown camblet coat with red lining, a white linnen and a mixt colour’d flannel vest” as well as a blue great coat with yellow metal buttons and leather breeches. There won’t be leather breeches by August, but a camblet coat lined in red may be possible.

Monmouth Overview

Cricket!

Yes, I’m tired, but what a great weekend. Even Cricket seems to have been happy. (Yes, I know pugs don’t smile and I know brachycephalic dogs have a hard time breathing, and Cricket was hot, but he did also seem pretty happy to be out in a field under a tree.) The worst of it was getting there: what should have been a 4-5 hour trip took 7 and a quarter hours, thank you New Jersey Turnpike shore traffic. Even people who left New England at 10 had 6-hour journeys, so leaving earlier would not have helped. Also, we would not have been ready as there were very last-minute gear and food assemblies required. This lengthy journey did allow us the chance to play an extended game of “what the hell is that smell?” The unfortunate winner turned out to be Mr S, who guessed cat pee, but that’s a story for another post, or perhaps for Jackson Galaxy.

Mr S on “Chair” made from stacked firewood. It works.

After erecting tents in the gloaming, including one we’d not been able to check out at home due to heavy work schedules and slight matter of incessant rain, we crashed in our clothes on straw beds and made it to Saturday. Saturday brought coffee, thank goodness, and thanks to Tew’s Company’s willingness to share their fire. (Fire good.) I finally found the camp kitchens on the map, but never walked out to them—happy trails militia folks, but the earthen kitchens were too far from our part of the Continental camp to be really practical. So we made like light infantry and perched on firewood under a tree, ate cold rations and scammed off the hat regiment.

Coming off the field, Sunday

There were plenty of sutlers, but I did not buy 5 yards of the cross barred white and blue at Burnley & Trowbridge to replicate the oyster seller gown because really, first I have to make the black heart cherry gown. I did buy a new hat and ribbon, and pair of more appropriate shears, and most satisfying of all, shoes. I have Burnley and Trowbridge shoes, and while the width is fine and narrow, the length is not and arch support is absent. By the end of a day, my feet and I are miserable, which reduces my stamina and increases my hip pain. (I have arthritis, and had my right hip replaced 2-and-a-half years ago; I’m not that old, but my femoral heads have high mileage.) On the recommendation of several friends, and despite the rubber heels, I tried Flying Canoe shoes. Though a trifle wide, the length was right and I was sold. They vastly improved my outlook and stamina, so were worth the heel cap compromise, with many thanks to my mother for an early birthday present she doesn’t yet know she bought me.

Starting to pack

So, topics for this week in some form and combination:

  • 18th century sno-cones
  • A sense of belonging
  • Future menu plans
  • The public and the spectacle
  • Monmouth Battlefield State Park Visitor Center Design
  • Shopping & Visiting
  • Bed sacks
  • There will be laundry

In the meantime, pictures are on Flickr. Lesson for today: Do not turn your back after giving a man your camera.

Shoulders and Sleeves

Dante's Own Infernal Sleeve of Poof
Dante’s Own Infernal Sleeve of Poof

Twenty-four hours on, this is where we are: Poofy, shoulder-popping sleeve of doom. How can that be a uniform sleeve?

Well, Pilgrim, this is how:

Oh. They're all Infernal Sleeves of Doom.
Oh. They’re all Infernal Sleeves of Doom.

So glad I have that near-feral hunting shirt, because without it I would have ripped this out completely. Could the Poof of Doom be there to allow movement?

Subject was detained for photography.

Before school, even.
Before school, even.

Arm out, doubts remain. Arm down, less terrifying.

I do feel sorry for him, but at the same time, I have to fit it to him.
I do feel sorry for him, but at the same time, I have to fit it to him.

It’s possible that the poof at the apogee of the shoulder is due to the intense pressing I gave this to retain the center line, and the fact that, despite washing, the linen is still pretty stiff. When I compare the two– the completed shirt and the in-progress shirt, I can see that while both display a tendency to drift up, the gathers on the adjutant’s shirt are more evenly distributed. You know what that means…and that’s why the sleeve is only basted in. Might as well change it now as on Sunday, because it must be done. So in the end, I am ripping it out completely, but with the knowledge that 1) the upward angle seems to be correct as shown in the finished garment, and 2) evening out gathers may reduce the Poof of Doom.

I came, I saw, I sewed

The usual view: the backs of the bellowers.
My usual view: the backs of the bellowers.

Last weekend was the BAR School of Instruction at the New Windsor Cantonment in Vails Gate, NY. April is an interesting month for travel: changeable weather can land you in a serious fog/cloud, some places aren’t open yet, but the crowds are, mercifully, small.

The meetings and discussions were interesting, and I think its useful for reenactors to continue to ask themselves questions about what they do, and how they do it–questions beyond authenticity. I still think there are great unspoken truths in the Temple Building: in the 21st century, a male dominated, volunteer-run organization will not thrive in its current form.

Chase with sticks.
Chase with sticks. He needs drum instruction.

Movement towards demonstrations that make effective use of the actual numbers of soldier who turn out makes sense. as do roles for men retired from the field. More formal interpretive roles for women might strengthen the organization … but for now, I’ll try to learn as much as I can. Laundry: that’s something to work on.

Patina, not dirt.
Patina, not dirt.

Of course, they don’t want their clothes washed. That’s not dirt, that’s patina. I have this for a time to help me figure out how to put together one for the Young Mr, and eventually, for Mr S. It’s less crunchy now that it has hung up for a while, and I do understand the desire for patina. Mr S likes to get his overalls filthy, and his hunting frock. But where would that leave the washer woman?

Mending, I suppose, though I know women were employed by RI state troops to make shirts (there are receipts). We don’t need shirts right now, we need hunting shirts, which it turns out were probably actually hunting frocks, tied at the front with tapes.

Alterations ahead?

Alterations will be ahead for this, though can you call them alterations before the thing is even finished? I started on Wednesday with just the cut pieces, and got this far, plus a completed but not attached sleeve, by mid-day Sunday. (Photos here.) As one of the women at the SOI said, “Without us, they’d be naked and hungry. You think they’d learn to appreciate it.” Probably not until they are actually naked and hungry…

Les Fleur d' Inde
Les Fleur d’ Inde

For relief from the plain linen, I cut out a chintz jacket; the remnant was just enough to get a front-closing short jacket cut. It shouldn’t take too long to make, and will be a nice thing to have in warmer months. And it’s just enough pretty fabric that I might have been able to afford it.