Lady Francis Scott and Lady Eliot, watercolor by Paul Sandy ca. 1770. YCBA, B1977.14.4410
Why a Riding or Shooting Coat Must be Made. A Diversion to take place in Several Acts, with Entertainments for All.
There was a bit of drama chez Calash following the March 23 inspection at Hartwell Tavern. There was a sense that a certain hat was not quite all it could be. There was a feeling that the hat might have been sat upon by the horse employed by the Captain to make the Regimental Garments. (Why else do they smell the way they do?)
The Matt Hat
So the favorite hat maker was contacted, and after negotiations, a hat was ordered. It was thought it would fit Mr S.
It does not.
It does, however, fit me, which means that in order to make use of the hat, I shall have to make myself a riding habit or shooting coat (the more likely item). Poor me, a tailoring exercise.
We could send the hat back, but instead I’ll knit another Monmouth cap, and put “civilian hat” on the birthday or Christmas list.
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.
‘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,
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.
He’s hard to miss, the 8th Duke of Hamilton, in his red coat. I’d hazard it wool, because of the contrast with the sheen of the blue coat his physician, Dr John Moore (at right), is wearing. Dr Moore’s coat gleams like silk; the Duke’s looks dull and woolen. (Look at the way the light strikes the Dr’s shoulder; another clue is the way the button holes are worked.)
The coat below is a simpler, provincial relative of the Duke’s coat. This is the Amos King coat, owned by Colonial Williamsburg. I love the description:
“Wool plain weave fulled and napped “broadcloth”; twill worsted “shalloon” lining; tabby linen lining center back. Pocket flap lined with twill worsted; sleeves lined with tabby linen; right lower pocket is linen; left pocket is leather; inside pocket on left breast is linen, with broadcloth welt.”
Man’s Coat, red broadcloth ca. 1770, CW 1953-59
Shalloon. Tabby. Pocket leather. That paragraph is comprised of many of my favorite fabric and clothing words. And fabrics. And a leather pocket. As you may recall, I have a thing for fabric that is not at all about hoarding, and but rather about establishing reserves. When I see two yards of quality material at discount and purchase it, that yardage becomes part of the Strategic Fabric Reserve so vital to this nation’s safety. (We are all unsafe when a fabric addict is deprived of his or her fix. I’ve got a threaded needle, and I’m not afraid to use it!)
Part of this household’s Strategic Fabric Reserve.
Yardage arrived in the patriotic red, white and blue “if it fits, it ships” box on Wednesday, and when opened, we all proceeded to pet the lovely nap of the wool. Mr S wrapped himself in it, and I knew then that I would be making a red broadcloth coat of one kind or another.
It probably won’t be the “Quemans Pattern” coat John Buss mentions, not when I’ve got silk fabric for a waistcoat. The silk is from the remnant table at Artee Fabrics in Pawtucket. With careful cutting and a plain back for at least one waistcoat, there should be just enough to make both a 1770s and a 1790s waistcoat. We’ll get fancy around here eventually.
I wish I had this workshop to help me! Instead, I have the “assistant” who tends to howl and a room full of garments to finish and alter. The skirts of the brown gown are done and want only tape at the hems, so I can, in theory, move onward to sleeves. I’ll have to scrap plans for an HSF petticoat this weekend, as I have really fallen behind.
Menswear, to finish and to alter
Battle Road inspection/walk through is Saturday, and second hand reports of the reactions to letters received have me thinking about authenticity, standards, and communication. Last Saturday, I went to see Sew18thCentury and had a lovely time. Not only did we have a delicious late lunch and tea, an interesting chat about ideas and sewing and all sorts of things, I also got to get outta town on my own. (For growing up in a city, I am very happy to spend time in open spaces with grass, trees, and cows.)
I mentioned to Sew18thCentury that we’d wrestled with Fort Ti and chosen not to go because we did not, in our estimation, meet standards, and she was surprised that we didn’t. In truth, we did not. The guys clothes weren’t right, and I know our blankets aren’t right…heck, our tent’s not right.
What makes it all worse is that I know these things aren’t right. So I’ve tracked down blankets and just need to order them, and the tent–well, not this year, but maybe next, I can get around to sewing a linen bell-back tent. Mr S has learned back-stitching and whip stitching this week, so in a year we could tackle a tent together. It’s a process, and this year, unless there was a miracle of increased speed in sewing, I still wouldn’t go to Fort Ti in September.
But what about Battle Road? This inspection is not just for safety, it’s also for dress and appearance. This has thrown me into a tizzy: the jacket’s not done and the coat’s not altered. If the guys don’t pass inspection, they can’t be part of Battle Road, and I’ll feel bad that I didn’t put alterations first. But realistically, I can’t imagine getting their things done by Saturday morning. At least the coat will have the alteration marks made by the master… the road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but the road to Battle Road is paved with pins and linen thread.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
You must be logged in to post a comment.