Make do and mend weekend

It’s been a make do and mend sort of weekend.

I spent Saturday morning at a darning workshop with Tom van Deijnen (better known as Tom of Holland) at the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford.

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Tom of Holland is a textiles practitioner who specialises in mending and in visible repair. He talked to the group about his practice and his decision to repair things, not because of a need to ‘make do’ but because of a desire to engage more deeply with the things we use and consume. As makers, we grow to love the things we have made. Every time we pull on a pair of hand-knit socks or wrap ourselves in a hand-made blanket, we are reminded of the story of the item – the hours put into making it, the materials within it, its flaws, its beauties. It’s all too easy to overlook the stories behind the objects we buy from the high street, or to see these stories as less valuable. Repair can help us to re-engage with these items and add new strands to the story.

In the workshop, we learned two darning techniques: Swiss darning (which is a bit like embroidering on knitted fabric) and stocking darning (for repairing holes in knitted fabric). Tom showed us some beautiful examples of decorative darning and encouraged us to try things out, to make mistakes, and to be brave with our new skills.

I found Swiss darning sort of relaxing. There’s a nice rhythm to the needle swinging in and out of the fabric, following the path of the original yarn.  After about ten minutes I was totally addicted. I want to Swiss darn everything. Cushions. Jumpers. Socks. The backs of other people’s coats on the bus. I could be like a darning Zorro, leaving my mark on everyone that comes within reach of my needle.

zorro

Obviously, my hat will be much nicer than his

Thankfully, just before I got completely carried away, we had a break from the darning and were taken on a little tour of repaired items in the Pitt Rivers museum. There’s a special exhibition on at the moment – Preserving What is Valued – and a museum trail of repaired objects. The tour added a different dimension to the workshop. There’s a tradition of mending that extends across the world, to every community and it was interesting to see where our own practices and habits fit into this tradition.

After the tour, we came back to the workshop space and learned stocking darning (also called web darning) which I found trickier because knitted fabric just wants to stretch and filling in the holes feels a little like working against, rather than with, the fabric. I wasn’t so enthusiastic about stocking darning – I didn’t want to mob people on the bus – but I can see how functional it is and how useful it will be. I can think of at least four things in the house that need to be darned and now I sort of know how to do it.*

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My first attempts at Swiss darning and a stocking darn

So, Sunday came round and I was keen to try out my new darning skills. I settled in with a pair of very holey socks (so holey they could belong in a shrine), a cup of tea, and A Playful Day’s podcast which, serendipitously, was an interview with Jen Gale of Make do and Mendable.

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And then I REALLY started to think about mending…

Jen’s No New Clothes for a Year challenge seems tough. I love the idea of the slow wardrobe and I’m more likely to buy wool or fabric than new clothes from the high street but I feel that a total ban would be hard. There are things I just don’t know how to make – like shoes and waterproof coats and jeans – and I don’t know if I can really do without them. Am I cheating on my slow wardrobe if I go out to buy quick fixes? Is saying “I don’t buy things from the high street except for X” really hypocritical? Kate and Jen discussed the fears and the stumbling blocks that stand in the way of embracing this sort of sustainable living. For me, I worry about the feeling of denial (insert the long shadow of an Irish childhood here) Would it feel like a year-long Lent? How does this feeling of denial tally with the inspired, happy feelings I want to associate with my crafting? I find myself strangely reminded of Jeanette Winterson’s discussion of fasting – and I’m thinking about how greed and consumption apply to fashion and material culture, just as much as they do to food.

I’ve been thinking about sustainable and fashion and my own practices as a consumer a lot more recently. Some of this was sparked by teaching war-time texts and discussing rationing in Britain with students. When I teach C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch, and the Unicorn, I bring in rationing books and get the students to ‘add up’ how many coupons they would need to purchase the outfits they are wearing to class. We normally find that very few people could ‘afford’ their outfits under the strict rules around the clothing-ration in 1940s Britain.** Recently, I found my conscience piqued by the 2015 documentary The True Cost.  The documentary is sober and sobering – it talks about the problems of consumption in the western world and, particularly, our problem of confusing the things we use (like clothes and furniture) with things we use up (like food and fuel). The idea of throwing something out because it has gone out of fashion is crazy. And our appetite for endless things is getting out of hand. We have a consumption crisis. Our wardrobes are obese.

And so I’m having a make do and mend weekend. I’ve just book marked Felicity Ford’s wonderful post about gathering a Slow Wardrobe so I can go back and read it. I need to think about how making and buying work together and what role mending can play in my own life. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this too. Do you mend things? Do you have a slow wardrobe? What are the stumbling blocks you’ve found on the way? How did you over come them? And what advice can you give me?

~

*I was always warned that “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing”. But, if something’s broken anyway, how much worse can I really make it by trying to fix it? It’s not like knitted things will suddenly burst into flames if my darning is a little crappy, right?

**Students are always surprised to find that Lucy’s feast with Mr Tumnus breaks all the rules of rationing. They have real butter and eggs and toast – a huge indulgence for an afternoon snack – and this excess marks Mr Tumnus out as a strange and perhaps slightly dodgy character.

Sneaky peeks….jackets and skirts and shawls oh joy!

Today is rainy and miserable so I thought I’d cheer myself up with some crafting updates.

First up – progress on my Victorian walking jacket.

It’s slow going – I’m finding it hard to get the back of the neck to sit right and the problem with pinning something on myself is that every time I reach up to put in a pin I either stab myself or the whole thing moves around and I’m left taking random tucks. My method has been:  *try it on, squint critically, take it off, baste like my life depends on it, try it back on, wince, take it back off, unpick. Repeat from *.

I’m happy with bits of it. My embroidery has improved no end (considering I had zero embroidery skills at the start of the project, that’s not really very hard).  And the sleeves bring me joy. This may not look like very much to you but to me it is the pouffy sleeve of dreams (and of the late 1880s).

Authentic 1880s style

Authentic 1880s style – with a hint of my Mimi blouse by Tilly and the Buttons underneath

If I can persuade someone to take better pictures I’ll post better pictures soon. Once I’ve finished wrestling with the lining anyhow. At the moment, the lining looks like it’s making a mad dash for freedom. I had a mad idea of wearing it to the Roehampton graduation ceremony next week but I’m not sure if it’s going to happen…maybe the elves will finish it if I leave it out overnight?

Next Up: Vintage find of the week is this skirt kit.

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Yorkshire Fine Woollens & Tweeds Skirt Kit

That’s right, a skirt kit, complete with lining and a zip and its own little sew-in label.

It cost me the princely sum of eight English pounds in a charity shop in Putney.  It’s a thing of wonder – mostly wondering where the hell it came from.  I haven’t been able to find out when Yorkshire Fine Woollens & Tweeds were producing these sort of kits or if there was a wide range of them.  There’s no company trading under that name now so I’ll have to do a but more investigating.  If anyone has any leads on skirt kits, please let me know!

This is definitely going to become a skirt though – I’m thinking a sort of Miss Jean Brodie style thing. The kind of skirt you can wear on a sit-up-and-beg bicycle with a basket of fresh bread and terriers on the front. Or the kind of skirt that you wear with thick boots and a scowl.

This past month, I’ve been taking part in a Terry Pratchett themed swap organised by Louise Hunt of Caithness Craft Collective and I’ve been busy getting a little package together for my swap partner.  I like listening to podcasts and audiobooks but I find I can’t use the sewing machine if I want to listen at the same time.[1] So over the last few weeks I’ve been doing a fair bit of knitting too – well, designing really. I’ve designed my first ever lace shawl.

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Blocking the shawl…

I’m ridiculously pleased with myself about this – it brings elements of Estonian lace and English mesh lace together and it’s inspired by…well, I can’t reveal that just yet.  This is just a sneaky peek after all. I’m in the process of writing up my scrawls into an actual pattern that I will publish on this blog soon.

***

[1] My friend Jess once said my sewing machine makes a sound like a drunk person rearranging furniture – there might be something wrong with it but then again it’s ALWAYS made that noise so it might be OK.

All Things Alice: What has she got in her pockets?

Everyone’s gone Alice mad! It’s been 150 years since Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was first published.  And on Saturday July 4th it’s Alice’s Day in Oxford. In honour of this frabjous occasion I’m doing a series of posts about all things Alice…

“The time has come,” the Walrus said, “to talk of many things:

Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax —

of cabbages — and kings –“

I’ve always loved the story of the Walrus and the Carpenter. It was funny and sad and appealed to a sense of what I now know is called Schadenfreude – the gleeful delight in someone else’s misery (in this case, the oysters).  Now that I’ve started researching material culture in children’s literature the litany of objects “shoes, and ships, and sealing-wax” is fascinating all over again.

There are a lot of objects mentioned in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland – from the jam jar she finds as she falls down the rabbit hole to the gloves the White Rabbit sends her to fetch.  But of all the things in the story, I find Alice’s thimble the most intriguing.

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At the end of the Caucus Race, Alice is tasked with given out the prizes. She has a box of comfits and a thimble in her pocket (the only items she carries from the real world into Wonderland). She gives each of the creatures a comfit and she is awarded the thimble:

“At last the Dodo said, ‘Everybody has won, and all must have prizes.’

But who is to give the prizes?’ quite a chorus of voices asked.

‘Why, she, of course,’ said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one finger; and the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out in a confused way, ‘Prizes! Prizes!’

Alice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in her pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits, (luckily the salt water had not got into it), and handed them round as prizes. There was exactly one a-piece all round.

‘But she must have a prize herself, you know,’ said the Mouse.

‘Of course,’ the Dodo replied very gravely. ‘What else have you got in your pocket?’ he went on, turning to Alice.

‘Only a thimble,’ said Alice sadly.

‘Hand it over here,’ said the Dodo.

Then they all crowded round her once more, while the Dodo solemnly presented the thimble, saying ‘We beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble’; and, when it had finished this short speech, they all cheered.

Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh; and, as she could not think of anything to say, she simply bowed, and took the thimble, looking as solemn as she could.”

Lewis Carroll Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865)

But what is Alice doing with a thimble? Unless Alice has stolen it – and let’s assume she hasn’t because nothing in the text suggests it – we must conclude that this is indeed her thimble.

Perhaps it isn’t really surprising that Alice has a thimble. After all, in the 19th century girls were taught to sew at a very young age. Asa Briggs notes that 19th century manufactures made thimbles especially for children and that thimbles could even be considered toys for little girls.[1]

Needlework – both plain and fancy was a key element of a Victorian girl’s education. Children’s homes and orphanages focused on teaching needlework with the expectation that whether the children gained employment in private homes or in factories, needlework was an essential skill.

The V&A’s collection includes a number of samplers produced by working-class and middle-class children.

The sampler was the way to practice techniques and to show off the sewist’s repertoire, showing ‘samples’ of each stitch.

Samplers were also a way of inculcating ‘feminine’ virtues in the young girl – the patience and attention to detail needed to produce a sampler were cultivated through the production of samplers. Many samplers include images of houses and gardens – ensuring a clear focus on the virtues of domesticity and the centrality of domestic life. Many other samplers, like the ones shown below, include didactic or moral verses that celebrate hard work, self-sacrifice, loyalty, diligence, piety, grace and, often, silence.

But not all girls willingly parroted these verses. Some, like Elizabeth Parker, used their needles to record their true feelings.

Detail of sampler, Elizabeth Parker, after 1830. Museum no. T.6-1956

Detail of sampler, Elizabeth Parker, after 1830. Museum no. T.6-1956 “As I cannot write I put this down simply and freely…”

As Rozsika Parker argues, in The Subversive Stitch: Embroidery and the Making of the Feminine the sampler can become a site of subversion, of rebellion and self-determination.

There is no mention of sewing or samplers in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland – Alice does absolutely no needlework at all and when she picks up knitting-needles in Through the Looking-Glass they turn into oars in her hands.

However, Carroll does make reference to a moral verse: Isaac Watt’s insipid “How doth the little Busy bee” which is exactly the kind of thing that young girls were encouraged to stitch into their samplers.

Here’s the original:

How doth the little busy Bee 
     Improve each shining Hour, 
And gather Honey all the day 
     From every opening Flower!

How skilfully she builds her Cell! 
     How neat she spreads the Wax! 
And labours hard to store it well 
     With the sweet Food she makes.

In Works of Labour or of Skill 
     I would be busy too:
For Satan finds some Mischief still 
     For idle Hands to do.

In Books, or Work, or healthful Play 
     Let my first Years be past, 
That I may give for every Day
     Some good Account at last.

And Carroll’s gleeful, subversive parody:

How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail,

And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale!

 

‘How cheerfully he seems to grin,

How neatly spread his claws,

And welcome little fishes in

With gently smiling jaws!’

I have never really thought about producing a sampler. I don’t think I have the patience necessary. If I ever do, I think I will stitch Carroll’s “How doth the little Crocodile”…

Nevertheless, I have been practicing my embroidery lately because I’m embroidering the collar and lapels of the Victorian Walking Jacket

Next week will bring updates on the jacket and other works in progress…

***

You can find the first post in my series of All Things Alice here – the second, all about tea in Alice here – and the third, all about Alice’s Day right here.

If you want to find out more about Victorian needlework, Caulfield and Saward’s Dictionary of Needlework gives you an idea of the range of needlework produced by the home-crafter in the 19th century.  Flora Klickmann’s The Little Girl’s Sewing Book (though published in 1915) is a good indication of how little girls were taught to sew and what kind of things they were encouraged to make (aprons and boxes for ribbons and pukey cushion covers with lambs on them)

***

Check out the V&A’s collection of samplers here

[1] Asa Briggs, Victorian Things (Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1990), p.209.

Me Made May – the halfway line & the fabric dreams are made on…

So, I’ve passed the halfway mark of my very first Me Made May.  I know this veers away slightly from the old books and vintage crafts remit of the blog but, trust me, by the end of the post we’ll be back in familiar territory.

I’m not one for instagram or millions of photos of myself so I haven’t been recording the day-by-day stuff online.  I’ve made some discoveries though:

  • I have only two pairs of hand-made socks. I make a lot of socks. All the socks I make are for Karl. This is probably an injustice.
  • Me Made November would be kinder for knitters. Many of the sewn items I’ve made are very summery and I haven’t been able to wear any of the tops because the weather is stupid.
  • I have made a lot of things that don’t suit me. Why did I make them? What was I thinking? Some genius put me on to Wardrobe Architect which might actually lead to me sorting out what I actually want to wear and planning projects properly.
  • I buy a lot of fat quarters.
  • Fat quarters are not as useful as I often believe them to be.
  • I have a lot of buttons.

But so far it’s been an interesting and oddly productive month.

First off – I won something! East London Knits were holding a May Day giveaway.  And I made out like a bandit.  Look at all this!

There are seven skeins of yarn – two laceweight in pale yellow, two laceweight in blue, and three DK-weight skeins of undyed silky lovely stuff. I’m not sure what it will become yet but I am thinking about lace projects and I’m toying around with a new design…

And on May 1st I started working on the Ginny cardigan which has been in my Ravelry queue since the dawn of time. Or at least since it was published. Same thing.

And so…to vintage crafts….

Yesterday I went on a lardy-cake eating, fabric-buying adventure to Witney where I found this:

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I know it doesn’t look like much but it is the fabric for my Victorian Walking Jacket.  I first blogged about the jacket months and months ago and since then I’ve been looking for the right fabric. This purpley-auberginey stripey fabric is the stuff dreams, or at least Victorian jackets, are made of. I was restrained through. I even made myself soak it first.  Which was a good thing because huge amounts of dye came out of it.

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The next step is to get hold of lining, piping, nerves of steel and huge amounts of tea and start making. That might be next weekend’s project…

And so to old books….

Tomorrow, I’m taking part in a short film about the University of Roehampton’s brand new collection of very old children’s books. The film will be part of our big announcement about the collection and I’ve a blog piece all about it ready to post as soon as I get the go-ahead!

In the meantime, here’s a sneaky peek of the collection:

Some day I will sit in the archive wearing my Victorian jacket and telling everyone who strays within earshot about my research. And because of my mighty sleeves and exquisite piping details, they won’t be able to get away.  It will happen. Soon.

***

#loveyourblog challenge: Gratitude and Me-Made-May

love your blog creativity challenge with A Playful Day 1

It’s taken me a couple of days to get my head around exactly what it is I wanted to say in response to this week’s Love Your Blog prompt: gratitude.

There are a lot of things I am grateful for but there are a lot of things I take for granted.  The recent fashion revolution day and the #whomademyclothes discussion and Tom of Holland’s post about the need to appreciate and love and repair garments, even ‘cheap’ garments, has really made me think about whether I really appreciate where my clothes come from. And whether I really appreciate them at all.

So much of my focus as a crafter is on making new things that very often the old things just get pushed to the back of the wardrobe and forgotten about.

Gaston Bachelard writes in The Poetics of Space that the wardrobe is the centre of order in the home. Those of us who don’t know how to organise a wardrobe, can’t hope to find order in other aspects of our lives.[1]  I have to admit to being wholly unorganised. At the moment, my wardrobe is a jumbled assortment of all kinds of things; shawls and jumpers piled in together, scarves and belts writhed up like a bag of snakes.  Summer clothes, winter clothes, clothes I love, clothes I loathe…

I need to get my act together.  So I’ve decided to participate in Me-Made-May and, as much as possible, wear something made by me, or something that I have refashioned or visibly mended, every day for a month.  And in this month I’m going to sort out the wardrobe.  I swears it on the precious.

Here’s my pledge: ‘I, Jane Suzanne Carroll from http://www.archivesandoldlace.wordpress.com sign up as a participant of Me-Made-May ’15. I endeavour to wear 1 self-stitched, refashioned, or visibly-mended garment each day for the duration of May 2015’

You can sign up here if you’re interested!

 ***

[1] Ian Sansom reflected on this beautifully in his essay for BBC Radio 3 http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0400lrb

Making a Victorian Jacket: a full size toile and a lesson in sleeves…

So…I promised to show you how I got on with the full-sized toile for the Ladies’ Street Jacket from the National Garment Cutter Book of Diagrams.

Ladies' Street Jacket from the National Garment Cutter Book of Diagrams

Ladies’ Street Jacket from the National Garment Cutter Book of Diagrams

In January I made a tiny toile as a test-run which was really helpful but I’m really glad I made a full-sized toile to get a sense of how the garment fits and hangs.

I learned a lot from making this.

THE FIRST THING I learned is that the pattern wasn’t as hard to draft as I expected.  Once you started with a right-angle at the ‘A’ point on each pattern piece – usually found in the top right corner – all you have to do is follow the measurements down the sides of the pattern and measure everything in relation to the A point.

'A' point on each pattern piece

‘A’ point on the front pattern piece

Once you have the basic pattern drawn out, it’s time to start adjusting.

I have a long torso.  Like a dog, I am taller when sitting down, so I added 3 inches to the waist length all around (so on the front pattern piece above, the 16 ½ measurement is moved to 19½ and then the shaping is put in as usual.  I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do but it seemed to work).

Width-wise, I was lucky in that the pattern seemed to be made for a 34”(ish) chest so I planned to take slightly deeper tucks in the back panel than the pattern suggested to bring it a little closer to my size.

So I cut everything out.

All the pattern pieces (except the collar.  Because there was no pattern for that.  Scunners.)

All the pattern pieces (except the collar. Because there was no pattern for that. Scunners.)

And then cut the pieces out of scrap canvas.  And then I basted.  And basted.

And tried it on.

That’s when I learned THE SECOND THING.

The second thing I learned is that Victorian ladies had tiny arms.  Like T-Rex tiny.

Either that or I have arms like a spider-monkey.

Maybe it’s a bit of both.

So the sleeves had to be adjusted.

And the armscyes.

And the shoulders.

The shoulder was a joke…it just slumped off the sides like a bad cat.

So back to the drawing board and the cutting table.

And I consulted with the hallowed oracle….Vogue’s book of Smart Dressmaking from 1936.

Vogue's Book of Smart Dressmaking (1936)

Vogue’s Book of Smart Dressmaking (1936)

The book is brilliant – it has everything an amateur like me needs, including very prim advice about ‘developed’ figures.

I’m sure the author didn’t mean ‘developed’ in the sense of ‘more highly evolved’ but that’s what I’m taking it as.  I have much more developed arms than the Victorian lady who wore this jacket.

Using their handy guide to fixing dodgy sleeves

I did a combination of 1 and 5…

Cut the sleeves horizontally to add length

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And cut the sleeves vertically to add width.

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I re-cut, re-basted and did a second fit on the left-hand side of the jacket.  I wanted to leave the right side as it was at the first fit so I could compare and if worse came to worst, go back a few steps.

I shortened the shoulder line and deepened the armscye by taking an inch off the arm-hole edge on the front and back pieces.  I also shorted the top of the side-back piece by an inch but kept the original shape as much as possible.

Here’s the second fit.

The shorter shoulder sits much more naturally and the extra width in the sleeve makes a huge difference to the way the sleeve sits overall.

However, because the shoulder is shorter, the sleeves sit higher and they are even shorter than I thought they were.  Even after I added 3 inches to the sleeve length they are still ridiculously short so the next version (the final version) will have to add at least another 4 inches to the lower part of the sleeve and the wrist section.  I won’t do another series of horizontal cuts because I think the elbow is sitting pretty close to where I want it.

I also added the rever on the left side and made a collar (the pattern somehow neglected to include a collar so I had to draft one…basically a long rectangle) to see how they sat.

I’ve shaped the bottom hem of the jacket a little more than the original pattern so that it follows the line of the rever and curves up and around to meet the flare at the back.  It’s a strange shape but I like it.

The next stage is to get some fabric for the finished thing.[1]  And make hard decisions about colour and trimmings.  I think this jacket could very easily go too pirate.  Much as I love the weird medallions in the original pattern I’m not sure I want to stick eighteen doubloons to myself.   Does it need piping?  Maybe some embroidery?  Contrasting or complimentary lining? Do I want to go full-on steampunk?  These decisions are harder than basting.  I’ll be going back to Ripper Street and the V&A catalogue for some inspiration.

[1] Woo!  Best bit of sewing.

Resolutions, Ripper Street and Tiny Toiles

This year’s new year’s resolution is to learn how to sew better.  I want to get to grips with hand-quilting, embroidery and dress-making.  In particular, I want to make some vintage clothes from old patterns.

This year sees the start of a new research project on material culture in children’s literature.  I’m taking a semester’s research leave to get started on a monograph and I’m surrounded by all things Victorian at the moment…books, catalogues, advertisements, cartoons…and so I decided that my first project of the new year should be something Victorian that ties in with my research.

Outside of the library,  I’ve been getting a regular fix of rollicking, romping, ripping Victorian entertainment through Ripper Street.  I know people complain because it’s not historically accurate.  I know that while it’s theoretically set in the late 1880s, there are all sorts of anachronisms and some things (like Jackson’s gun) appear WAY ahead of their time whereas other things (like some of the slang words used) are more than a little archaic.[1]

But I don’t care.

I don’t care because the whole thing is filmed in Dublin and I love watching to see if I can spot bits of the sets – Trinity College[2], the Dead Zoo[3], Dublin Castle[4]

I don’t care because the dialogue has a rhythm and a register all of its own that makes the world of the story unique.

I don’t care because even the small characters are brilliant and have their own little lives to get on with.

And mostly I don’t care because I adore the clothes.

The sleeves! The standy-up collars!  The skirts! The mad turquoise and orange palette that the third season rocked!  Everything Long Susan wears!

Behold her mighty sleeves. And those hats.

Hats!

Hats!

How I want to get a hat like that and stick it to the front of my head like a mad Victorian unicorn…I want to sit in a room wallpapered with gold and teal peacocks and snark at anyone that comes near me in an inferior get-up…

And so when the latest (and maybe last?) season of Ripper Street came to an end I decided that what my little heart desired most was a jacket like Long Susan’s.  Preferably one that I could actually get away with wearing in real life without small children pointing at me on the street.

So – to research!

My recent searches of late 19th century periodicals turned up some beautiful pictures but sadly no practical patterns.  I found some nice modern patterns that are based on old designs but that felt a little bit like cheating (bear in mind that I will cheat heavily when it comes to actually making this this…there’s no way I’m going without interfacing or my sewing machine so cheating at the pattern stage too makes the whole thing dishonest).

Then I found The National garment Cutting Book of Diagrams from 1888.  It’s from exactly the right period and it is a many-splendored thing.  It’s full of wonderful, strange, outfits with big bustles and enormous sleeves.  I love sleeves.

I was tempted by some of the coats and the dresses – even the aprons looked like fun.

But I loved this jacket the best.

Ladies’ Street Jacket, The National Garment Cutter Book of Diagrams 1888

The pattern is…not what I’m used to.

Here it is in its entirety.

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That’s it.  One page.  There’s no indication of how any of these bits fit together and the only advice for sizing is “use scale corresponding with bust measure”.  The description says ‘in ten pieces’ but only nine are drafted here.  Thanks Anonymous.  That’s so helpful.

After some serious moping, Karl suggested that I make a miniature version as a sort of tiny mock-up toile.  And so I did.

I traced over the pattern pieces as they are printed and cut the pieces out of some left-over quilting cotton (bad choice in retrospect because it frayed so much). It was a bit strange to sew sleeves that only had space for one or two pins.

Here it is.

Apart from the woejeous[5] stitching and the gammy[6] bits under the armscye I’m rather pleased with it. I did eventually (after some swearing) figure out where all the bits went and how the pieces fit together.

So, this weekend’s project is to make a full-size toile.  I have some canvas, a lot of pins and a heap of enthusiasm. And I’ll be following the (anachronistic) advice from Singer the whole time.

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I’ll let you know where it gets me.

[1] Vanessa Heggie has an excellent blog post that points out that it’s not as far-fetched as it seems initially http://www.theguardian.com/global/the-h-word/2013/feb/03/victorian-science-of-ripper-street?CMP=twt_gu

[2] My alma mater…it doubles as a surprising number of buildings.

[3] For non-Dubliners, the Dead Zoo is like the normal Zoo but it’s full of taxidermied animals rather than living ones. It’s a fantastic place and there are many wondrous things to see, including a lion who obviously died of natural causes.  Probably the mange.  It’s the saddest looking lion in the whole world. He’s gone all baldy and sideways in his case and the moths have been at him but he’s kind of brilliant because you won’t see a manky old dead lion so proudly displayed anywhere else.

[4] Also where they filmed The Tudors.  That’s less exciting to watch because history has already given out the spoilers.

[5] A word I learned from my mother which means very bad, worthy of woe, grief-inducing

[6] Unable to function normally due to chronic injury or pain (in this case, pain caused to my fingers)