Heathen Peas - 14th Century Sweets

Tobias and I had a sort of lecture, for want of a better word, in our church last Wednesday, on the 14^th century, as there is a medieval fair in a neighbouring community this weekend, which many attend. To add interest we served “Heidenische Erweiz”, Heathen Peas, based on Peter’s interpretation of a German mid 14th century recipe - go there for more information.

"If you would like to make peas from Bohemia, take almond kernels 

and beat them very small and mix with a third as much honey. 

and mix well with good spice, so it is at its best. 

this food can you give cold or warm."

I made some slight alterations to the recipe. As I was tired and running out of time, I used almond meal instead of grinding almonds myself. I suppose the meal was a bit finer and drier than freshly ground almonds would have been, so I had to add a bit more honey than the recipe said. It turned out very well indeed, I think. I took a lesser amount of black pepper than of ginger, and it seemed to be a good mix – even little B loved it.

I spread the hot mixture on an oven paper and let cool. 

I had planned to do the simple version, and just cut squares, but I don’t think I’d boiled the mixture long enough, so it was still rather sticky. I decided to make “peas” from the soft mixture after all. To prevent them from sticking to each other I rolled them in almond meal. It both looked and tasted very nice, and was quite popular at the lecture.

 So there you go, 14^th century sweets.

From Blouse to Pillowcase

What with my pause from historical sewing (on which I’ve done very well indeed, though I say so myself: but my head is full of ideas and plans) I don’t really feel like I have a lot to write about… Sure, I’m working on a few contemporary things (and I use the word in it's broadest possible sense), but they’re not yet ready to be blogged. I do however have one tiny thing.

A couple of days ago I cleaned out my wardrobe; a few things I’ll give to my younger sisters, a number of things have gone to a charity shop. Some things were so worn and faded they were not fit to use at all. I scavenged the buttons and let the rest go the way of all the earth. A few old blouses were too small for me, or in a style I don’t really use, but had bought because I liked the fabric. These I put aside. Some of them will end up in quilts, some might be made into baby dresses if ever I have a daughter. And one I made into a pillow case, with a ready made, working buttoned opening and all. I ripped the dart seams, measured, sewed, cut and finished the edges. Simple as that. It's actually hand sewn as I did it while watching a movie.

You can still see the marks from the darts, but I hope most of them will go away in the laundry. Now, the pillow is not in it’s best element in our sofa – on a white bead spread in a bright summer room I believe it will look delightful. And it’s reused, which feels good. The scraps that are left will also be used, as with so many scraps in my home, in a quilt.

Researching Swedish Folk Costumes – a Short Guide

One of my most popular, and most commented, posts is A Long Post on Swedish Folk Costumes. A lot of those who ask for help researching Swedish folk costumes are Americans with Swedish ancestry. To help you I’ve put together a list of a few good search words.

Doll in costume from Skytts Härad in Skåne (Scania). 

Made in 1891, but the costume is from about 1800-60. Headdress missing.

Before I present the list I will first point out a few things. First, not every location in Sweden had a traditional costume, far from it. Actually, most places did not – the people there wore a local, simpler take on the current fashion. (During the late 19th and long into the 20th century, areas that had no documented folk costumes created their own, sometimes based on one piece of clothing, at other times based on nothing at all but what the comity thought would look nice. In those cases it will of course be impossible to find any solid documentation.) 

 Second, the costumes that did exist did not look the same through the centuries or even the decades – they may have evolved slower than the regular fashions (as a set of clothing - especially festive clothing - was often supposed to last your whole life, and was frequently inherited by your children), but they did evolve. When wanting to make a costume you have to decide on when and where (narrow it down as much as you possibly can) it’s supposed to be from, so that all the individual garments will make a proper outfit. 

To illustrate how a certain style changed over time while still retaining some of it's characteristics, the pictures in this post are of bodices from the same dräktområde (meaning an area where the costumes where much the same), under close to a hundred years, from about 1770 at the earliest to 1860 at the latest.

Liv (bodice) from Vemmenhögs Härad in Skåne (Scania), ca. 1770-99.

Maljor (buckles) for lacing, silk ribbon trim (very frayed) 

and a linen valk (the padded roll at the bottom) for the skirts to rest on.

Here’s a list of names on different garments:

Särk: shift

Strumpor: stockings

Skor: shoes

Liv, livstycke, snörliv: different names for a sleeveless bodice, laced, buttoned or hooked closed

Kjol, klocka, stubb: different words for skirt or petticoat

Livkjol: a bodice and skirt stitched together, often, but not always, made from different fabrics

Förkläde: apron

Tröja, kofta: jacket

Mössa, hätta: cap

Klut, huvudduk, huvudkläde: head kerchief

Halskläde: neckerchief

 

To complicate matters, Sweden has a lot of different dialects, and so the names of clothing often had local varieties. I do not have knowledge of them all.

Liv from Oxie Härad in Skåne, ca. 1800-25. Maljor missing.

Some words that might be useful regards the materials used in the clothing:

Lin, linne: linen

Bomull: cotton

Ull, ylle: wool

Halvylle, verken: a fabric woven on a linen or cotton warp with a wool weft

Silke, siden: silk

Sammet: velvet

Spets: lace

Läder, skinn: leather

 Liv from Oxie Härad in Skåne, 1820-40. Maljor missing.

Some useful words describing methods of closing are:

Snörning, snörhål: lacing, eyelets

Hyska, hyskor: eye, eyes

Hake, hakar: hook, hooks

Knapp, knappar: button, buttons

Liv from Vemmenhögs Härad in Skåne, ca. 1840-60.

A good place to start searching is DigitaltMuseum; a database used by several museums, most prominently Nordiska Museet. You can specify your search by period (tidsperiod) or location (ort).

I hope this quite short list of words may help you in your research. Google Translate will help you further, but some of the words listed here are a bit too specialized for that. If there’s a word you wonder about, please drop me a comment and I’ll include it in the list if I can.

A 14th Century Buttoned Cote

A few weeks ago I finished Tobias’ new cote. It’s made from a soft green wool fabric, and has 34 buttons down the front and 13 on each sleeve. That makes 60 hand made cloth buttons and hand stitched buttonholes in total. 
 

The cote is made to be worn as outerwear, so it’s a bit longer, and wider in the body and sleeves than his other one, but the look is rather fashionable for the late 14^th or early 15th century. I placed the buttons tight over the chest and more spaced from the waist down, as in this one from about 1360.

Walter de Heylon, died 1357 or so.

The most interesting feature of this garment is the tablet woven edges on the sleeves. I’ve been planning to tablet weave on clothing for a couple of years, but never got round to do more than a trial run until now. I used two tablets with all holes threaded, so a total of eight one ply wool threads. I don't recomend that; the weft tread kept breaking, which was very annoying.

In the end it turned out very nice indeed and was quite easy (apart from the breaking thread issue). I can’t believe I’ve not tried it before this. Well, actually I can: it’s down to the two facts that it’s a bit of a hassle setting up the warp and that “everyone” is putting tablet woven edges on “everything”. It’s beginning to feel like a reenactorism. At least there is plenty of evidence for woven edges next to sleeves’ buttonholes, so I don’t feel bad about that.

Don’t have much to add on this one. It’s hand sewn with unbleached linen thread, as most of our other medieval clothes. It’s one of those projects that caused some problems along the way (the sleeves just wouldn’t do what I wanted them to) but turns out acceptable in the end. It will do very well for cold weather wear.

I’m working on some body linens for a friends son (they will go in the HSF “white” challenge), but apart from that I’m taking a break from historic sewing. I have been feeling stretched thin by too many things to do; giving my family and home enough attention, a school paper, wanting to do something about my woefully neglected modern wardrobe, all the period clothes I wanted to make and all the events I wanted to attend, my other (a beginner’s guide to the Middle Ages) blog that needs a lot of research and work. I had to drop something. At the moment I try to dedicate my mornings to school (Tobias is on paternity leave all summer and takes care of B), my afternoons to my family and some modern sewing, and my evenings to my husband, modern sewing or occasional blogging. I have several future historic projects planned, but for the time being they will have to wait. It’s time to get my priorities right.

Anyway. Though it’s finished a bit early I thought I’d enter this to one of the HSF challenges.

The Challenge: # 16 Separates

Fabric: Wool, and linen for the facings.

Pattern: Made my own.

Year: Late 14^th century.

Notions: Linen thread.

How historically accurate is it? Tolerably. It looks sort of right, and it’s made using period cutting and sewing techniques.

Hours to complete: No idea.

First worn: For the event two weeks ago.

Total cost: Not sure, the fabric’s been in my stash for a couple of years.

A Medieval Paternoster

I’ve been needing things for little B to play with at events (I’ll bring some of his books and such as well, but I’d like to avoid them being seen by visitors during opening hours), and when the Historical Sew Fortnightly had an Eastern Influence challenge I decided to make a paternoster. 

A paternoster is not a toy, obviously, but a means of counting your prayers. From what little I’ve read about it, they was first used (by Christians – in Hinduism it’s been around longer) by desert dwelling hermits, called the Desert Fathers/Mothers in the 4^th century or so. First it was only loose pebbles in a bag, but it soon evolved into beads on a string. I’m not Catholic, so I don’t use one when praying, but I very well might have had I lived in the Middle Ages. For me to have one therefore makes perfect sense. Even though it’s not meant as a toy, I think B might like to play with it nonetheless, under proper supervision. We don’t want a case of suffocation by prayer beads…

I bought a necklace made from wood beads in a charity shop, and as there were three sizes of beads, it would supply both the smaller Ave Maria beads and the larger Pater Noster beads.

I made the string from a three strand finger loop braid in wool. I put a tassel in each end – I chose not to tie the string up into a circlet, as they seem to have been less common during my period. 

The number of beads in paternosters seems to have varied greatly, from one decade (ten beads) up to hundreds. Mine have twenty of the smaller beads, and two of the greater. 

I’d have preferred a brighter colour on the yarn, and silk instead of wool, but this was the only yarn both thin and strong enough I had at home. Now, I’m rather partial to it.

The Challenge: # 14 Eastern Influence

Fabric: Thin, two ply wool.

Pattern: None.

Year: Generic late medieval.

Notions: Wooden beads.

How historically accurate is it? Acceptable. Prayer beads, according to the internet, could be made in anything from stone, wood and dried seeds, to gold, precious stones and ivory. Silk for the string might have been more fashionable and durable, but wool was more affordable – and I had it at home.

Hours to complete: One at the most.

First worn: For the picture.

Total cost: Just counting the necklace, 10 SEK ($1,5; £1; €1,1).

Medieval Pilgrims Satchel

I worked so hard to get my families new things finished for the event I mentioned in my last post, but to paraphrase Jane Austen “our intended excursion to Wadköping turned out very differently from what I’d expected. I was prepared to be wet through, fatigued…. ; but the event was still more unfortunate, for we did not go at all.” That is, little B and I didn’t go, as he got ill. Tobias went up on Friday afternoon, but came home again on Saturday evening to help me with the poor sick child. Little B’s been really ill, with huge, painful blisters in his mouth, and gums swelling so heavy his teeth almost disappeared from view, and it has prevented him eating very much at all. When he’s been so hungry he couldn’t help but eat, he did so crying from the pain. It was truly heart wrenching to witness. Naturally we went to the doctor, but as it was a virus there wasn’t much they could do. Now, after eight days of fever, he’s slowly on the mend – thankfully! He can eat again without more than the occasional whimper and is moving from liquids to soft solids, only has fever in the evenings, and can find things amusing once in a while. He’s still more sensitive than he usually is though.

Unfortunately Tobias and I are coming down with it now. I’ve had a fever for a couple of days, and I have a very sore throat. Bleh. So, pictures of the new tunic I finished for Tobias in time for the event will have to wait until we both feel better.

I have however managed to sew something during this last couple of days when B’s been getting better, and I’ve been getting worse: a medieval pilgrim’s satchel. (Isn’t satchel a nice word by the way? Just listen to it: satchel...) I have mixed feelings about them, as they are far more common in the living history world than they appear to have been at the time. Then, they seem to have onlybeen used by people during travelling, like pilgrims, but so many people of today feel the need to carry a lot of things with them, and must have something like their modern purse. I usually don't carry a lot of things with me, once I've left all my things in our tent all I have is my belt pouch. But having something more to pack in for events, and to carry the now needed child related things in, is important enough for me to have made one. It will be a good complement to baskets.

It’s made from rather heavy wool twill scraps I had in my stash, with white yarn in the warp and brown in the weft. Wool is a good choice for bags and purses, as it keeps the contents reasonably dry, unlike linen. Leather would have been even better, but I don’t have any I want to use for this.

The body of the satchel is made from one piece, and the strap from another. The satchel is about 30 cm wide and 32 cm deep. I made the strap rather short, as they often appear to be so in period art. I also find it more comfortable and balanced.

Guillaume de Diguleville receives the pilgrim's staff and satchel 

from Grace of God, late 14th century or early 15th century.

I had planned to tablet weave it together with blue wool yarn, but the fabric frayed too much for it to work. Instead it’s stitched together using waxed linen thread and trimmed it with wool braid. I also added tassels, which is a common feature in medieval bags and purses, including pilgrims’ satchels. 

I could have lined it, making it even prettier (I'm not thrilled about how it looks on the inside of the lid) and more sturdy, but I didn’t have any fabric I wanted to use for this, and I’m working from materials in my stash as much as possible at the moment. Still, all in all I'm pleased with how it turned out.

So that’s another of this summer’s planned projects I can cross of the to do list.

Medieval Toddler’s Boots

Last year little B didn’t need any shoes, but this year he most certainly does. We have our first all-weekend medieval event coming up, so a couple of months ago I tried to make a pattern for boots like this one from Medeltidsmuseet in Stockholm. 
 

 Picture from Medeltidsmuseet's Facebook page.

A few weeks ago I made the first shoe, but as I don’t like making shoes very much, and my fingers were sore from the sewing, I postponed making the other one until last week. I then had to redo them slightly so they wouldn't fall of, but last night I finished them. I didn’t manage to make a perfect pattern, and the sewing didn’t turn out ideal either (I’m certainly not a shoemaker) but the shoes will do well enough. 

 

The shoes are stitched together using saddle stitch and medium thick, waxed linen thread. They are turn shoes, meaning they are stitched inside out, and then turned while still wet. I chose not to make the decorated border at the top, as he would then have much fancier shoes than his father and I, who both have very plain shoes, and that would look a bit odd. I’m keen to try it some other time though, on shoes both for B and myself.

As the shoe I based these off don’t have any extant lacing I wasn’t sure how I’d do it. After asking around amongst my 14th century living history friends a bit I decided on this method, one string for every two pairs of holes.

I’ve put thick inner soles in them, to protect from damp and the hard seams. Now I only need to have them greased a few times and he’ll be good to go. Or his feet will. I still have some finishing touches to do on his new cotte.

The shoes also fit under the Historical Sew Fortnightly's latest challenge:

The Challenge: # 13 Lace and Lacing

Fabric: Thin leather found in our often visited charity shop, and thicker leather for the soles cut down from one of my sisters’ old medieval-ish shoes.

Pattern: None. Made my own.

Year: The boot I based these on were found in a 14-15^th century deposit in Stockholm, Sweden, and as we do late 14^th century it’s perfect.

Notions: Linen thread.

How historically accurate is it? Pretty much; the material and stitching is all period. I’m not positive about the pattern, but the boots looks a bit like the original, so I’m not that far off.

Hours to complete: Including making the pattern, six perhaps?

First worn: For the pictures.

Total cost: Just counting the bit of leather I used for the shoes, 30 SEK ($4,5; £2,9; €3,4).