Good Enough Coat

The great coat is nice, but how ’bout them gaiters?

Winter is firmly here, with the snow, fog and ice that marks the season in the Ocean State. It’s not fun weather for living in the past, though there’s not a lot of that happening right now. Even so, there’s a February program on the horizon and what better excuse for fastening on a garment and making it?

Even if I’ll likely spend the day in a kitchen interpreting life below stairs in 1820 (while the light infantry occupies my living room and denudes my kitchen), an early 19th century event on a winter weekend seemed a worthwhile excuse for making a greatcoat, and, eventually, gaiters.

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With no pattern, and only 2 and 3/4 yards of thick, soft, grey double faced wool*,  I’m adapting my standard Spencer pattern. I didn’t upsize this too much, because women didn’t have frock coats and waistcoats to wear under their greatcoats or Carrick [carriage?] coats or Reding cotes. (I’m too engrossed with sewing to parse garment names.) The skirts will be attached at the waist, with a belt to hide the seam. At my height, cutting a back in one piece takes yardage I do not possess. Happily, the Taylor’s Instructor describes Redingcoats or Habits for women with attached skirts.

The collar shape diverges from my usual 1790s collar, and is based on another fashion plate, this time from 1815. The program I’ll be doing with Sew 18th Century is set in 1820. As a maid, I think an 1815 coat is pushing it a bit, since red wool cloaks hold up well, but I’ll take any excuse for some tailoring, I suppose.

1815, with a round collar that can stand up.

I plan to use this button arrangement, too, stylish as it is in not-quite-double breasted. Bring on the button-making– we all have to go death’s head sometime, and this wool is too thick for covered buttons without much heartbreak.

The lower front pins are there from the moment when I realized the front was hanging strangely — because I had neither marked nor sewn the bust darts. That oversight, and the pain in my ear, do suggest that the delightful cold I’ve had for weeks may be affecting me more than I think– but that’s just another argument in favor of a cozy wool coat.

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The sleeve pattern (again, not upsized) is once again the old standby two-piece sleeve from Henry Cooke’s 1770s unlined man’s frock coat, so of course it fits well.

I’m hoping to stitch up the sleeves this evening, and set them later this week. I’m still pondering lining materials– there’s just enough silk “persian” to do the body and sleeves–but I have some twilled wool that would increase the warmth and still provide some ‘slip’ in the sleeves.

And those blue gaiters? They’ll come in time, from the scraps of blue wool a friend is making his first ditto suit from. I’ll spot him some remnant table chintz for a summer waistcoat, and expect greater sartorial splendor will grace the spitting stamp inspector in Newport this August in exchange for my blue wool ankles.

*Holy burned hair smell, Batman! Mr Cooke’s right when he says this almost feels like foam, but put a flame to it, and you might as well be smoking sheep.

One Coat Two Coat Red Coat Green Coat

I cannot manage to find the button I need to sew onto my real-world everyday winter coat, but I’m pondering and plotting how much broadcloth a Redingote (Redingcoat or Redingcote) would require, and internally debating the merits of red versus green.

Greatcoats have their attractions, and while Mr S would undoubtedly enjoy the warmth of a greatcoat, with a February 14 program in the offing, I am pondering a greatcoat of my own.

I can rationalize [almost] anything, but a Redingcote is a stretch even for me, despite that February program (indoors). I suppose the real appeal of one of these coats, aside from the pleasure of handling delicious green or red wool, is the challenge of making one. I have even found a front view to aid in the patterning.

1813 Hat of velvet and broadcloth coat

What stops me? Some unfinished projects, and a certain feeling of unease about buying quantities of expensive wool. I have two yards of dark green broadcloth, but I’m pretty certain that I will need three to make even the shorter red coat. Without making a firm resolution, I had determined that I wanted to sew down my stash–and I suppose the answer is to sew it down, or put it on Etsy. Or to buy the wool, make the coat, and wear it in the winter. It would be a spur to winter program ideas, after all.

Now, if only I could find the missing button from my winter coat…

The Very Specific Spencer, Finished!

Ta da!
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Yes, finished! And just in time, too! The braid arrived in the mail three days before the Spencer was wanted, and fortunately I had finished the garment by then, and the baking could take care of itself after a while, and I managed not to get eggs beaten with sugar on any lovely wool or mohair.

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I think it looks well enough with the gown and bonnet, though I am fairly certain the darts are too far to the sides in this iteration. How that happens when you use the same pattern twice I do not know.

You may recall that this is the Spencer where I demonstrated an uncanny ability to sew a collar on upside down. The braid went on pretty quickly, again proving that good materials make good sewing.

As mentioned previously, the cuffs are pieced, but this is a perfectly accurate way to deal with a shortage of material and/or cuffs.

I’m fairly pleased with how it turned out, and very pleased with how warm it is.  Over the cotton gown, the Spencer was plenty warm– and I certainly wished I had it after we left the house and went down to the river!

On the whole, I suppose I’m pleased…as pleased as I ever am …which means you can expect pattern revisions in the future!

 

 

Miss Juniper Fox

Miss Juniper Fox. [London] : Pub. by MDarly 39 Strand, Mar. 2, 1777. Lewis Walpole Library , 777.03.02.01.
Miss Juniper Fox. [London] : Pub. by MDarly 39 Strand, Mar. 2, 1777.
Lewis Walpole Library , 777.03.02.01.

If you’re not wearing an inverted rooster held down by two foxes on your head, you’re not living 1777.

I have no idea what, beyond extreme hairstyles, this print is satirizing. It’s not the Wedding of Mrs Fox (as interesting a read as that is), and it’s really 100 years too late to be about Quakers.

The thing about those foxes is that at first glance on my phone, I thought they were the muscular lycanthropic squirrels of historic house wallpaper, but what two squirrels would be doing with a rooster– supporting him in illness? holding him hostage for an acorn ransom?– was beyond me.

At least as roosters, this headdress makes a bit more (morbid) sense, but it’s still a satirical engraving that makes less sense to us in 2014 than it did in 1777.