The Shooting Star: Snowy in his “best bib and tucker.”
Chemisette or tucker? By the time The Shooting Star was published in 1941-42, “bib and tucker” had wandered away from their original meanings. Tuckers were worn under women’s and girl’s bodices, taking on the role of neck handerchiefs or fichus, and what some people like to call “modesty pieces,” though the phrase always makes me think of the front panel of desks.
Turns out you probably can. Scrolling through the miniatures gallery, there was Hannah Weaver Peckham in her best tucker, and Miss Rhodes, while later, is also sports a chemisette or tucker. (Mrs Peckham looks a bit cranky, doesn’t she? Perhaps her busk is poking her.)
What you’d call it remains an open question.
The 1933 Oxford dictionary we have in the office defines “tucker” as “A piece of lace or the like, worn by women within or around the top of the bodice of the 17-18th C.”
Phoebe Smith Rhodes, RIHS 1918.3.6
The same dictionary tells me “chemisette” is 1807, from the French, diminutive of chemise. “1. A bodice, more or less like the upper part of a chemise. 2. An article, usually of lace or muslin, made to fill in the open front of a woman’s dress 1844.”
While I think that one could, in Rhode Island in 1800, wear a garment that filled in the upper part of a bodice, I’m not sure what one wold call that garment. The simplest thing to do is to wear a white kerchief like Phoebe Smith Rhodes. Have I ever settled for the simplest thing? Not if I can help it.
I started on the HSF#15 Color Challlenge: White, but haven’t finished the white petticoat yet. It’s a bit short, and pieced in the back, but having seen Sew18thCentury’s curtain along petticoat online, I wanted a bordered petticoat. (There are extant examples in museum collections, and one in Fitting and Proper, if you’re keeping score.) Now that I’ve seen the petticoat in person, I will definitely stick it out for a border….all in good time.
Native Meltons: she’s out there in plain and colored lithographs
I did originally think that I might get this gown completed for HSF # 15, but I did not. I came close, became disheartened, and stopped work on it for a time. Not only did I think I could not adequately document the fabric, I worried about style, fit, and fabrication. At some point, though, I rallied, and finished the gown. Yes, it looks a lot like Emily’s, because it is based on the same print.
Finished! Another garment in the “Am I Blue” Ocean State Line
Fabric:
Indigo Cross Bar Light-Weight Check Irish Linen from Burnley & Trowbridge.
I collected images of checks and “plaids” on a Pinterest board. Remember that plaid doesn’t mean the same thing in the 18th century, but I used the term to help people know what the board included.
Pattern:
My own, based on a fitted lining and draped to the dummy, tried on and tweaked. You can see some construction progress here. Yes, that’s a center-finding ruler. Yes, it has extra pleats. Call it bling for the linen-wearing.
Matching crossbars is crazy, but fun.
Year: Let’s call it 1760. It’s an open robe with robings and cuffs suitable for 1765, but I’m old enough to keep wearing that style. Actually, the double-lapped robings (which I really like the look of) are earlier– see this Pinterest board–but I like the way the fold creates a decorative element in linen and wool. The probable 1750s date for the double lapped robing caused another round of heartache in the documentation land. Oh, well. Carrying on wearing the older style…
Notions:
Does thread count? That’s all this takes.
Newport Mercury, 7/11/1774Boston Post Boy, 3/11/1771
How historically accurate is it?
Well…In the right circles, one could argue that for some time. Is that not the circle one wishes to be in? Consider this, then: The gown is hand-sewn using period techniques as much as I can muster. It is based on pictorial examples from the 1750s through the 1760s. I have found newspaper advertisements for “CHECKS” in Newport (Newport Mercury, July 11, 1774) and “checks of all wedths” in Boston (Boston post Boy, March 11, 1771). Wedths means of fabric in all likelihood, not widths of the checks, so while one can find evidence of people wearing what we’d call plaid, mostly silk but the oyster seller is likely linen or cotton…we don’t know exactly what every “checks of all wedths” fabric looked like. I’ll go with 75% accurate and 25% conjecture and choose my wearing venue with care. Yes, I can over-think and rationalize anything.
Hours to complete:
I did this many, many times. It’s like being a carpenter with fabric and pins.
Actual sewing? 16 to 18 hours, I think; it’s a lot of hemming. The body of the gown, the draping and the lining were constructed in about a day while the guys were out doing musket-related things. The agonizing and over-thinking consumed more time. Documentation took, on the whole, perhaps 2 or 3 hours of museum collections and newspaper searching.
First worn:
Not yet! I’m not sure when I will, now that the weather has turned. I meant to have this done for Sturbridge but despaired of the design and fabric. It’ll be wool for Saratoga, so who knows? I’d like a photo, though.
You know this guy: the reluctant drummer and avid ensign who wants to be in uniform but struggles with the fact that he might be seen by someone. (14 is complicated.) I’ve been mulling over several upcoming events and the comments that swirl around on the Interwebs after any large event, and, as I often do, find my clarity in writing. That means you’ll have to wait till the end of this post or a series to get “answers,” or what pass for them.
One of the things I struggle with is that the kid is not a mannequin. He has stated quite plainly that he feels like I fuss too much over his appearance, when he has nothing to do at events, which leads him to believe that I am fussing over nothing. There’s some truth in that, right: while God and authenticity may be in the details, all is for nought if there’s nothing to do or interpret.
This means I cannot simply dress him up as I see fit, I have to negotiate with him, and keep on eye on what he’ll be doing. And I don’t have the time to make all the lovely things I’d like to make (or not all at once, anyway) so it’s a matter of choosing.
Connecticut Courant, June 21, 1774
Let’s start with what the kid has already: the blue jacket, checked shirt, neck cloth, breeches, stockings and shoes. I went to the newspapers (the lower sorts’ Vogue) looking for examples of runaways, and found some good ones. On June 21, 1774, an ad was published in the Connecticut Courant for a boy who had run away in a “check linen shirt, pair of striped linen trousers, one pair brown plain cloth breeches…” but the Young Mr wants no part of striped linen trousers, and his breeches are linen, not wool.
Essex Gazette, January 10, 1775
On January 3, 1775, the Essex Gazette ran an ad for a boy in a “short blue jacket, snuff colored breeches and long trousers.” Now that’s more like it!
Long trousers sound good to the kid, more “normal” than breeches, but there’s a jacket in there that would satisfy my stripey love. For the short run, even if I don’t get the trousers made up in the next couple of weeks, he’s reasonably well documented, or at least within the realm of plausible appearances, even if he should be in wool and not linen, and even if one of the best reasons for making trousers is to replace the poorly-fitted breeches.
Kids shouldn’t just get a pass for inauthentic clothing, and children in what are really costumes do make me crazy–probably because I’m hand-sewing clothing for a wily teenager to grow out of, and looking for sources to make sure the choices I make have some form of documentation.
I debated with myself about whether or not it was OK to piece the lining, and then I figured that it was what I had, so I would make do. It was a hot mess, all freehand, and I was convinced of total failure until I started stitching the lining down just over the millinery wire. Then the shape began to pull tightly and behave better. If I were to do this again, and if I were to make recommendations to another hat fiend, here’s are two changes I’d suggest:
1. Make an actual tidy pattern of your hat circle on a large piece of paper (newspaper, wrapping paper, whatever).
2. Trim and tidy edges so you are piecing straight, radial lines and not curves or tangents; better yet, buy a new remnant and don’t piece. I was too afraid of ‘wasting’ my scraps, so I pieced on the tangent. It’s OK, but I could have made this a bit easier for myself.
Happy birthday, Mr S!
Beyond those minor points, this is easy; piecing and fitting on the fly got a little wonky. Also, though your mileage may vary, 4:00 AM may not be the best time to start new projects. Wait till 5:00, when your coffee has kicked in.
We had real, not printed fabric, flowers in the house on Tuesday, which was Mr S’s birthday. I chose peonies because they looked so Dutch, though you cannot see the little variegated petals here.
Kitty wishes to know if you are getting all your leafy greens, because he is.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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