A Plaid Skirt

The blog has moved, and this post can now be found here:
https://peculiarseamstress.blog/2018/01/05/a-plaid-skirt/

Baby Quilt III

The blog has moved;this post can now be found HERE.

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.

The Red Riding Hood Winter Coat

Way back in 2009 I picked up a piece of cheery wine red wool at a good price in a fabric shop that was closing. I wanted to make a winter coat from it, but there wasn’t enough for what I had in mind. Soon afterwards I stumbled on a piece of wool in the same quality, but a shade or two darker, in a charity shop, at an even better price. This could work, and I quickly cut out some of the pieces for it. And then life happened. And happened again, and again. I would pick it up, do some work on it, and then it would creep back into the UFO pile.

When I got it out this summer, seven years and two children later, it didn’t fit very well. I had to do some hard thinking, and then, with the help of piecing and added panels, will it to do as I wanted it to. In the end, the finished result turned out all right, if not perfect. The style had changed a little since I cut out the first pieces, but overall for the better, I think. The coat itself is made from the lighter red wool, which also lines the hood and pelerine collar made from the darker red wool – the winters here are mostly wet and windy, and the cold goes straight through you. Extra layers of wool are a good thing. The coat is also piped here and there in the darker red wool. In the pictures, the contrast between the lighter and darker fabrics show best in the hood.

For the construction of the hood I took my inspiration from 18^th century hoods, with the pleats radiating out in the back. Since mine was made from double layers of thick wool, the centre of the pleats wouldn’t quite close, so I covered a button in a scrap of wool and stitched it over the hole.

When it was time to line the pelerine collar, I didn’t have any piece of fabric large enough, so I ended up piecing it together from twelve smaller scraps. The facings in the front is also pieced together from four pieces each, and both the sleeves and the lining of the hood ended up being pieced from two pieces each. I wanted a long row of buttons down the front, and luckily I’d salvaged a dozen buttons from an old, worn-out coat I’d made, which would do quite well. I put two of them in the back, and the remaining ten down the front. Even the lining was reused from something else. All in all, the coat looks nice, maybe even expensive, but it’s all clever scrimping and recycling. Elegant economy, as they say in Cranford.

One morning about a week ago it was snowing, and of course I’d have to take the opportunity to get pictures of the coat. After all, a backdrop of snow is much prettier than a backdrop of mud and sad looking, beat down grass.

 Ever had to completely remodel a project after taking it from an extended time in the UFO pile? 

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!

A Classic Witch Hat in Green Wool

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, but, well, things happened. I’ll post it now anyway, as I’m emotionally recovered enough to begin to find my usual pursuits interesting again.

I’ve always been a master of beginning new projects, but not as good at finishing them. I have worked hard at fixing this flaw of character, and I’m getting better. Still, I sometimes stumble on sewing projects that have been in the Limbo of Unfinished Objects for years and years. One such I now saved from its sad state. I had, when I was in my very early 20s, made what I intended to be a 16^th Century German flat hat. It didn’t work out as well as I’d hoped, so a few years later, after having seen the wonderful scene of Diagon Alley in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, I cut out pieces to make the crown of a witch hat, intending the failed flat hat to become the brim. And then life distracted me.

But now that witch hat is done! It took only a couple of days’ worth of sewing now and then to finish it, using only stash materials. It’s made from a beautiful deep green wool, stiffened with ironed on interfacing. It’s lined with a cotton fabric checked in white and greens. 

The brim is decorated with quilting in a swirling pattern, which also adds stability. A wire (two overlapping wires actually – I didn’t have one long enough) stiffens the edge of the brim. 

The crown is stitched down in permanent creases, to give it that iconic witchy look. It’s decorated with a strip of lighter green wool and a simple buckle. I had hoped to trim it with plumes and feathers for the photo shoot, but they all seemed to have got lost in my stash. Ah well. A couple of ostrich feathers fell out of my feather duster when the kids were playing with it a week or so later, so I took them to temporarily trim the hat with for an additional photo. Sadly, the hat came out just a bit too small, so I’m going to sell it on, and let the new owner add trim, if they wish it. 

This was such a fun project, and I’d love to make more hats for witches and wizards. They would look great for our annual Harry Potter Halloween party. Only problem will be to fit the making of them in between everything else… The boys have already requested wizard’s hats for their dress up box – they loved wearing this one. But any hats I make for them will be in a simpler, more easily washed, materials.

My Old New Sewing Machine

I’ve mentioned that my sewing machine died so many times these past months, that I thought I’d let you know that I have a new one! Well, I’ve actually had it for several years, as my parents gave it to me, and my Gran had given it to them before, and she’d got it from an aunt or something… As you can guess it’s not exactly new in any sense of the word. It’s a Singer treadle from 1924 by the serial number, and though it hasn’t been in use for a very long time, it only took a new driving belt and some oiling to make it run perfectly.

 I actually love sewing on this machine much more than I’ve ever done with any electrical machine I ever tried. True, it only sews straight seams, but I can work around that problem. It comes with the instruction manual, several types of presser foots (including ruffler, binder and tucker) that I have to learn, and even a one year repair guarantee slip, dated 1 September 1936, that I suppose was included when it was bought – family history claims it came into the family around that time.

Sewing on a treadle is a bit different from sewing on an electrical machine, but I find that in some ways – like speed - I have more control with the treadle, and the other things, like coordinating the turning of the balance wheel with starting to treadle, are soon learned. I’ve started sewing a patchwork quilt for the new baby, and I sat at the machine for much longer than I would have had the patience for with an electrical machine. The breaking of my old Husqvarna, which I never really got along with, might have been a blessing in disguise.

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.

Hogwarts House Banners

As all regular readers know by now, hubby and I are massive nerds in so many areas. One of my nerdy loves is the magical world created by J. K. Rowling. It’s so extensive, so complex and full of fun things. Our wizardingworld-themed Halloween party has become an annual thing, and I continue to add to and improve the decorations from year to year. We even have a sort of back story of who we are supposed to be, so that the decorations will make sense: just your ordinary wizarding family, so magical cookbooks, the more common potion ingredients, wands, Pepperup Potion and weird plants abound, while Polyjuice Potion, Time Turners and Marauder's Maps are absent.

Last week I really felt like knitting a Hufflepuff scarf for myself (because according to Pottermore, my knowledge of myself, and our backstory I was in Hufflepuff), but as I didn’t have the yarn, and this is a work from stash-year, that project had to be put off indefinitely. Then the designs for the House banners in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child showed up in my Facebook feed, and I was intrigued by the Hufflepuff banner. For some unfathomable reason the colours seem to have been changed from yellow/black to yellow/brown, but that would never do, even if I’m still not quite over having to look like a bee if I want to wear house colours. I looked through my stash of wool scraps and soon found some mustard yellow and black pieces that were big enough. I copied the design off of the picture of the banner, scaled it to a size that would work with the scraps I had, and set to work.

 I ironed on a piece of interfacing to the black wool, drew the design on the interfacing, cut it out, pinned it down carefully, and began attaching it with small blanket stitches, with black cotton at the back of the banner for stability. When that was done I completed the design with wool embroidery. I cut out the banner, bound the edges with more of the black wool, and made a channel at the top so I could hang the banner from a rod. 

 

 Then I set about making a banner for hubby’s old house Ravenclaw, also sorted by Pottermore, and fitting his personality brilliantly. That banner had even more issues than the Hufflepuff banner. For one, it was made in the pretty and since the films often used, but wrong colours of blue/silver, when in the books it’s described as blue/bronze. I asked hubby what he’d prefer and his response was that the books wins every time. Good man. So I looked through my stash for blue wool, and a nuance of brown that could pass for bronze.

Then I had to make some adjustments to the banner design. According to the books, the Ravenclaw mascot is an eagle, but by more casual fans it’s often believed to be a raven – that the films made it so didn’t exactly help either. On the design of the Ravenlaw banner I thought it was a bit unclear – it might have been supposed to be a raven, but it didn’t look much like any raven I ever saw. Still, the eagle I tried to make didn’t end up looking much like one either - served me right for being a snob. 

 For the embroidery I had to pull threads from the blue fabric, as I didn’t have any yarn in the right nuance. 

 Once the banners were finished, I began making the rods they would hang from. The banners are quite small (27x19 cm), of a size you’d hang over your bed while in school, so the rods holding them didn’t have to be all that sturdy, more for looks than anything else, really, as I’ll probably pin the banners discretely to the wall, making them look like they were attached with a Sticking Charm. I had thin round rods I got at the craft store last year, and wooden beads with big enough holes to fit the rods. I just cut the rods so length, and glued the beads to the ends.

There, finished House banners!