Historical Disney - Ariel

The blog has moved, and this post can now be found here:  https://peculiarseamstress.blog/2018/01/19/historical-disney-ariel/

Making an 1840's Straw Bonnet

About eleven years ago, when I lived in my first flat, I picked up a straw hat in a charity shop, stitched with cotton thread. I’m afraid I don’t have a picture of how it looked, but imagine something closely akin to a “dixie cup” sailors cap. I realised that when unfolded it would form a good base for a 19^th century bonnet, but I didn’t yet know if I wanted an Empire/Regency one or an 1840’s one. So, like many other “someday I’m going to make something really nice from this” items, it ended up in my stash. I took it out from time to time, but never felt brave enough to get started.

And then I had an event coming up, the opening of an exhibition of women’s fashion from the 18^th century to today. I was, with some others, invited to the opening and asked to come in clothing from any of the periods represented in the exhibition. I decided on the 1840’s maternity dress I made three years ago. The dress is nice, but I felt I needed a bonnet to look properly attired, so I finally got to work on transforming the straw hat into a bonnet.

First I unpicked the stitches holding the straw braid for a few feet, so I could use that to edge the finished bonnet with. You can see the crease where the brim was originally folded upwards.

Then I dunked the bonnet in water to make it less brittle and cut out a piece for the neck. I had a plan for the cut-off pieces of braid, but later I thought I should have curved the brim down towards the chin instead of cutting it straight. You live and learn.

The pieces of braid just mentioned I used to make a sort of bavolet at the neck.

When the shape of the bonnet was what I wanted it to I started stitching the braid I removed previously to the edge. It turned out I didn’t have quite enough, so I took another braid I had in my stash for the inside. I stitched them both on simultaneously, making sure the straw was wet the whole time.

This is how the bonnet looked when I’d finished the sewing, but before blocking. I shaped it while wet and set it to dry, with a pot of honey at the bottom of the crown to make it flatter.

Then it was time for trimming. This was an all-stash project, so I picked out a scrap of green silk dupioni. Taffeta would have been better, and taffeta ribbons best of all, but I didn’t have any. I hemmed strips of the silk for ties and trim. I wasn’t quite happy with the straw bavolet, so decided to cover it with a silk one that I gathered to the proper length using whipped gathers.

I wrapped a long strip of silk round the bonnet, arranging artful creases here and there. Silk ties were also attached.

The silk was attached with very untidy stitches on the inside, as seen in period bonnets. Makes it easy to change the trim if wanted.

Then I was a bit unsure if I should leave it as was – after all, it looked very pretty that way – or add ostrich plumes. As I was dressing as a close to middle aged, married bourgeoise woman, I decided more was more in this case. I had some ostrich feathers that had fallen out of my feather duster and been saved for a moment like this. I picked out four, and stitched them together two-and-two with silk thread to make them fuller.

Then I attached them to the bonnet, again using long stitches on the inside. They turned out looking pleasantly fluffy, adding just the right oomph to the bonnet.

But the bonnet snagged my hair, so after consulting knowledgeable people I made a half lining using a thin cotton fabric. Not the most historically accurate fabric for this, but it had to do.

And that was that, all finished. I hadn’t added cheek ruffles to the inside, so I wore a cap under the bonnet instead to give a similar effect. It might be an old-fashioned thing to do for the 1840’s, but it looked nice enough. I felt very Cranford.

But woe! I wasn’t quite happy with the size! 1840’s bonnets usually hide the profile completely from view when seen from the side, and mine doesn’t. It annoys me no end, even though I love how the bonnet turned out over all. So disappointing…

Maybe I’ll just sell it - without the plumes it would look lovely on a girl - and try again.

Sources:
My Pinterest board of extant 1840's bonnets.

Hankasärk II - A Swedish Folk Costume Shift

Some years ago I made a hankasärk, a sleeveless shift from the very South of Sweden, to wear with my folk costume. Now I’m working on a Ca 1810 everyday version of that folk costume for an event I hope to attend in a few weeks, and need a new hankasärk. The old one is a bit too loosely woven for my taste, and a smidge tight. In the beginning of March I made a new one, but I never got round to blogging about it until now.

I had the cover of an old mattress, probably used in the early/mid 20^th century in a military or hospital setting. It was made from a very sturdy, handwoven linen, and though it was stained here and there and had a few unsightly mends, I thought I could get a hankasärk from it. The densely woven fabric, with nice selvedges, was too good to pass up.

I had a 1:10 scale pattern, taken from an extant hankasärk, that I used as a guide when making my first one, so I knew what the pattern pieces should look like, and I looked at pictures of extant hankasärkar to see what similarities and variations there were. I then decided on the measurements for mine, measured on the fabric, and cut to a thread. All the pieces are rectangles of various sizes: one for the front and back (there are no shoulder seams), one in each side, two narrow ones to form the waistband, and four to make up the skirt. In the originals there are usually three skirt panels, but my fabric was a bit narrower than the ones originally used, so I chose to use four to get a similar width in the finished garment.

The bodice part is made up with back stitches, with all seams neatly felled to one side. I then hemmed the sides, that would be arm openings. After doing this I discovered that I’d sewn one side inside out – oops. Several friends advised me to let it be; similar mistakes are seen in extant shifts. I pondered what to do while working on the skirt part, and then unpicked the armhole hem that was inside out, and stitched it again, to the right side this time. I left the side seams be though: they were discreet enough not to bug me. All seams and hems were made as narrow as the fabric would allow.

The skirt panels had neat selvedges, so to make maximum use of the width, I whip stitched them together. This made almost completely flat seams when pressed. As I have upcycled the material, there are holes from the previous seams, but hopefully they’ll mostly go away in the wash. 

The skirt is attached to the waistband with stroked gathers. They turned out a bit less tight than I’d wanted (I might be  bit wider than the original wearers, or I didn't do the gathers fine enough), but it’s acceptable. 

The waistband and bodice (with all edges, including the bottom, hemmed) were then joined by whip stitching.

I managed to avoid the worst stains when cutting out the hankasärk, but there are still a few fainter ones. I decided not to let them bother me though. There were also the few holes that had been mended by machine. Though reasonably well done, machine mending on a shift I intend to be from well before a proper sewing machine was invented just wouldn’t do. I unpicked the mending, and redid it by mending a larger hole with a patch, and two smaller ones by sewing/weaving linen thread over them. These flaws make the shift look well worn and cared for, something I don’t mind at all. There’s no fun in looking all sparkling new, like you wore a fancy costume instead of proper clothes, especially not in a lower class living history setting.

For all sewing I used linen thread that I strengthened with bees wax. For the monogram – common in large households in a time were all linens looked more or less the same – I used cotton embroidery floss. Most people in early 19^th century Sweden used patronymic surnames, so the first letter stood for the person’s first name, the second for their father’s first name, and the third for son/daughter. It’s a practice still used in folk costumes. You can also see the seam that ended up wrong side out.

This will be my first entry in this years’ Historical Sew Monthly. It could have fit under February’s 'Re-Make, Re-Use, Re-Fashion', but obviously it was too late for that, so instead I’ll put it under April’s ’Circles, Squares and Rectangles’.

The Challenge: #4 Circles, Squares and Rectangles.

Material: Handwoven linen.

Pattern: Based off of period examples.

Year: Ca 1800-1850.

Notions: Linen thread, bee's wax, cotton floss.

How historically accurate is it? Pretty close in both material,construction and sewing.

Hours to complete: No idea.

First worn: Hopefully at an event in a few weeks.

Total cost: About 50 SEK (5,25 Euro, £4,49, $5,6), not counting the work.

A Plain Empire Petticoat

I’ve been meaning to make an early 19th century petticoat for some time, and now I finally have! It’s a plain, unadorned petticoat held up with shoulder straps, simple but serviceable. I mean to primarily wear it with my heavily pieced lower class dress.

Now, it took some courage for me to post this picture, 

as my heavy upper arms are a sore spot with me. Be kind.

The petticoat is made from bleached linen, a bit on the coarse side, and a bit too loosely woven to be perfectly period, but it’s what I had in my stash. I didn’t have very much of it, so the petticoat ended up slightly shorter than I’d have wished, but still within what’s acceptable for the period, and it does the job. I made it with the measure and cut method, as it’s so simple it doesn’t require an actual pattern. The front is cut as a shaped panel to fit the raised waist from side to side and widens towards the hem.

The back is cut in two straight panels with a seam down the back. It would have been more period to have the back cut in one, with a slit cut in the fabric for the back opening, but I had to piece the back to make it wide enough. 

I used the books Kvinnligt Mode Under Två Sekel by Britta Hammar and Pernilla Rasmussen and Skräddaren, Sömmerskan och Modet by Pernilla Rasmussen to decide what stitches to use, as they describe several Swedish extant garments and seam methods in great detail. The skirt is stitched together with running stitches and a back stitch every inch or so. The seam allowances are folded over and stitched to the joining seam, as seen in several extant dresses in these books. As I didn’t want to lose any more skirt length than necessary, I decided to use the selvedge of the fabric for this. The selvedge sticks out a little bit, compensating for the narrow hem I had to fold back, and hemstitched to it. The selvedge is then folded down on the inside and hemstitched in place. It gives a very neat look, almost like a woven tape being used. There are examples of cut off selvedges being used to hem skirts among the lower sorts on the Swedish countryside though, so it’s not completely taken from my own head.

I folded the upper part of the skirt down about a centimetre, and made two rows of gathering stitches in the back. I then pinned the skirt to a waistband (a straight piece of linen folded in half), putting a pleat in each side to give room for the hips, and drawing up the gathering threads to make shallow cartridge pleats. Skirt and waistband where then whip stitched together. I finished the waistband with running stitches along the upper edge. The waistband is almost on the wide side, but that was a conscious choice to add that extra little bit of length.

 

For shoulder straps I cut two straight pieces of linen, folded them in half and sewed a row of running stitches along each side. I pinned them in place, tried the petticoat over the proper underpinnings, and adjusted them until I was happy with the fit. After taking it off, I made sure both sides matched, and stitched the shoulder straps to the inside of the waistband.

For closure I decided on ties. I had cotton tape at home, so that is what I used. Silly enough, the waistband turned out too large (the result of me being lazy and not putting on the stays before measuring for it), and I didn’t feel like unpicking it, so I made an eyelet for one of the ties to go through, and I can let the ties wrap around to tie in front instead, making the petticoat adjustable in size. A dress in Costume in Detail by Nancy Bradfield has that feature, so I decided it was acceptable.

In the pictures I have tied the tapes under the petticoat, but if I put the tape through the eyelet from the inside and out I could tie the tapes on the outside instead. 
I'm wearing the petticoat over a linen shift and 1810's style stays.

So, while it’s no fancy sewing, at least it’s historical. I’m back, people!

1840s Cap Lace Trimmed and Starched

Almost six years ago I experimented with making an 1840s woman’s cap, and the result turned out quite well. I’ve since used the same pattern as a base for a more posh cap. This is a picture of when I'd first made it - look how young I was.

A while ago I thought that I’d push that first one, which was very plain, up a notch, and started trimming it with narrow cotton lace, taken from a baby sheet and pillow case I picked up at the charity shop. I didn’t want it too fancy; think lower middle class wife and mother.Then, as so often happens, other things got in the way and it lay forgotten in the accessories box, but the other week I finally finished it. Actually it came about because I wanted to take sewing related baby announcement pictures, and needed a pretty project for it. Once I started attaching the lace, I thought I might just as well finish it :) Meanwhile, it took ages for people on Facebook to get the hint in the picture. EDIT: five days after publishing this post I miscarried :'( END OF EDIT

I then starched the cap. Starch does wonders to many historical items of clothing, making them look (and sound - starched petticoats rustle in a special way) much more like their very often starched original counterparts. It takes a bit of time and effort, but is worth it if you want to add that extra little something to your impression. Also, starched items get a protective surface that will make it more difficult for dirt and grime to get hold. Of course, if it’s too wet or humid when you venture outside, the starch will lose its oomph quickly. Here's what my cap looked like before and after starching: all limp before, and holding up well after.

This is how I did the starching:

I used 300 millilitres of water and 1 teaspoon of potato starch. This produce a light starch that I rather like. If you want a stronger starch, add more potato starch.

I put a little bit of the water aside, and brought the rest to the boil in a pot. I then poured the potato starch mixed with the water I’d saved into it, mixing hard to avoid the forming of jelly lumps. I let is boil for a couple of minutes, stirring all the time, and then set it aside to cool.

I took the cap and pot of starch out into the garden, and dunked the cap in the slippery goo until it was saturated.

I wringed it carefully and then smoothed it out as well as I could. I hung it on a line to dry in the wind.

When it began to dry it a slightly stiff, papery feel to it, holding up quite well on its own. 

 After it had dried I ironed it, and it looked beautiful. I look a bit tired though, having pregnancy related iron deficiency.

 While this is a totally lame entry, I treat it as a UFO and submit it just the same, as it will make me feel better – I’ve just managed one other challenge this year.

The Challenge: # 7 Monochrome

Fabric/Materials: Striped cotton (recycled from a worn out blouse) and cotton lace from an old set of baby sheets.

Pattern: My own

Year: 1840s

Notions: Cotton thread

How historically accurate is it? It looks all right, and the techniques I’ve used are documented, but I’ve never had the opportunity to look closer at an original, so… who knows?

Hours to complete: Originally – no idea. Trimming it – an hour or two.

First worn: For the pictures – I need a dress to go with it.

Total cost: The blouse the fabric came from was an old one of mine that wasn’t fit to use any more, so I’ll count that as free. The baby sheet and pillowcase where the lace came from was picked up in a charity shop, so not much. They will likely be used for a 19^th century infant’s dress eventually.

A Simple 1920's Dress

I have never really liked the fashions of the 1920’s, having mostly seen the latter half of the decade, with its severe, skinny, almost masculine lines and boyish hair. Though some women make it look smashing, it’s not “me”. I like soft lines, traditionally feminine hair, and longer skirts. At the same time, I remember when I was given a low waisted dress as a girl, and feeling like the girls in Astrid Lindgren’s “Alla vi barn i Bullerbyn” (“The children of Noisy Village”), with all of the perceived romance of history, though of course I had no words for my feelings then.  But as we are invited to a 1920’s themed birthday party this summer, my imagination was caught. After looking at lots of fashion plates and photos of real women of the early 1920’s, I’ve come to appreciate that part of the decade. Not sure if the unfitted, low-waisted silhouette would work for me, but at the same time feeling it would most likely make a very comfortable dress for the days when my usual dresses with their tightly fitted bodices doesn’t feel tempting, I decided to make a very simple one, working both as a trial run and an everyday house dress.

Inspired by the dresses worn by the farm wives of Bullerbyn, I used a checked cotton fabric that my mum gave to me many years ago. I used the sketch by Jen Thompson as a starting point, but changed it to my measurements. I also made it all in one piece by removing the shoulder seams (inspired by several dresses in period photos), and made darts at the shoulders for a little bit of shaping. I made it front opening, and made the sleeves longer. 

I trimmed it with the dress fabric cut on the bias, and added pockets to the side seams, because having pockets is a good thing. The pockets are easily hidden in the pleats on the sides of the skirt

 The bias trim at the waistline continues as ties in the back, as I wanted something to take focus away from my too-big-for-the-1920’s behind. 

  Most of this project went smoothly, but for one thing. I was ready to start on the buttonholes late one night, but very wisely decided I was too tired to safely begin such a project. You can imagine I was a bit annoyed when I still managed to mess up the top buttonhole the next morning. After some thinking I managed to mend it tolerably well, but it’s still visible if you know what to look for. Ah well. The buttons were scavenged from an old, worn out cardigan.

 The whole dress was hand sewn, as my sewing machine is still out of order. I doubt we’ll have the funds to repair it this year, so The Greatness of Hand Sewing is the working theme for 2016.

I did not make a period appropriate brassiere at this time, but might do so in future, as it would greatly improve the look. Not that I look particularly wrong; there are plenty of pictures of ordinary 1920’s women with visible curves and a non-flattened bust. It would seem not everyone could afford or be bothered with being that fashionable.

  

Getting my hair in an acceptable style for the early 1920’s took lots of looking at period photos, some thinking and experimenting. My hair reaches past my tail bone at the moment, so it had to be one of the long-hair-posing-as-a-bob kind of styles. These are also abundant in period pictures, and noticing the similarities and differences was fun. I tried to comb the front of my hair really far down my forehead, but it would slip back again. Over all, I think it turned out all right, though I might need some styling product to make it stay longer than for a short photo shoot in my garden. The shoes was an old charity shop find, probably from the 1990’s, but a decent mimic of 1920’s styles.

  Having seen how it looks on me, I’ve decided that I sort of like the early 1920’s. Even though it’s so loose and completely unfitted, not something I usually find flattering on me, I did feel nice in this dress. There just might be more 1920’s for me in the future.

Medieval Winter

Last week we had cold and snow all over Sweden, even here in the south, where winter more often than not mean a damp and chilly wind that quickly seeps into your very bones in a way that dry, frozen cold don’t. It was perfect weather for taking pictures of your historical winter clothes, if you had them. I didn’t, but I never got good pictures of the green kyrtilI made for Tobias a few years ago. 

When he got dressed our four year old said he wanted clothes like that too when we went out. I hadn’t planned for that, not wanting to force my hobby on him more than necessary, but I’m not one to say no when he requests it himself. 

Wearing two wool kyrtils, a buttoned wool hood, woollen nalbound socks and mittens (really little brother’s socks) he was ready to face winter with his dad. 

 We don’t have all that much in the way of medieval looking nature where we live, so we had to make do with what little there is: a small copse and a corner of the playground.

Tobias commented that there were a lot of green in their clothes - and there is too much, really. The child’s kyrtil is made from the leftover fabric from his hose, and that his buttoned kyrtil is also green is just bad luck. He wore two kyrtils, a pair of hose with nalbound socks over them, a hood and a cap, all in wool. A belt, purse and shoes were the finishing touches.

It’s interesting how clothes you were very proud of when you made them looks a bit meh a few years later, when you’ve deepened your knowledge and raised your own standards. I’d really want to make Tobias a whole new wardrobe, but time and money is a factor as always, so it will have to happen little by little. None of it is bad; I just have higher demands on our stuff now, and likely will have again in a few years. It's the good and bad of this hobby.

 

 After a quick photoshoot and some sledding for the children, we went home. 

 

The snow is gone now, and today it almost feels like spring, even if that is still several weeks away. Hopefully we’ll be able to attend a weekend event or two this summer. We’d also love to go to the 25 year anniversary of Middelaldercentret, so fingers crossed that it works out!

18th/19th Century Stockings

In the winter of 2008/09 I began knitting a pair of plain Ca 18^th century wool stockings, using the tutorial on Mara Riley’s page. Progress was pretty good, until I ran out of yarn just after I had made the heels. I had got this yarn for free, and it wasn’t available in the shops. Now, I did have an in-progress nalbinding project where I had used this yarn, so I set out to unpick it. Those of you who ever unpicked nalbinding knows how much time that takes, so when I had enough to keep knitting, I was rather fed up with the whole thing. I put the almost finished stockings away, and though I looked at them once a year or so, I never quite felt like picking up the work again until a couple of weeks ago. I knitted a lot over a few days, and they were finally done.

The yarn is a two ply (lace weight) natural grey wool, knitted on 2 mm (UK 14/US 0) double ended needles. The gauge is ten stitches per inch. If it's any help, the pair weighed 136 grams when finished.

They are not the prettiest stockings seen – I wasn’t very good at knitting when I started out, so the tension between needles differed too much.  Still, a finished project is always nice, and not many will look at my legs up close – yay for long skirts! I took careful notes throughout the knitting process, and have become a better knitter, so hopefully the next pair (whenever I get round to them) will look better.

  

I feel mortified when looking at the stockings laid flat – my stocky legs and heavy ankles have been a sore spot with me since I was in my teens. At the same time I feel guilty for feeling like that – my legs serve their primary function well, which naturally is more important than how they look. Also, the uneven knitting is seen more clearly this way.

This will be my first challenge of the Historical Sew Monthly 2016.

The Challenge: #1 – Procrastination

Material: 2 ply (lace weight) wool yarn.

Pattern: Based on the tutorial on the Mara Riley page.

Year: According to the Mara Riley webpage, 17^th/18^th century. Mine will likely be worn mostly for early 19^th, they seem to be close enough to Swedish lower class stockings of that period.

Notions: None.

How historically accurate is it? The techniques and material are all right, but execution is not too nice. I won’t rank it higher than tolerable because of that.

Hours to complete: No idea.

First worn: For the pictures.

Total cost: Nothing at this time, as I got the yarn for free.