On February 29, our intern Alex worked on the jacket for the first time. Here are her hands stitching a peapod.

At that session we also had another new embroiderer, Myrna. Melanie Anne decided that the state of Maine was under-represented among the embroidery corps, so she persuaded her friend to come down with her. Myrna is pretty new to this type of embroidery so she practiced for the morning and then worked reverse chain outlines.

The last picture for today is of Melanie Anne stitching a thistle top in Gilt Sylke Twist bisse.

The office was a little beehive today, with five volunteers joining us. The hand sewing on three shirts was finished plus part of a fourth was done; a great deal of stab-stitching on a pair of breeches and a cassock was also accomplished. Meredith spent part of her birthday volunteering; we wish her many happy returns of the day. I got a phone lesson from Rich on managing the new forum, and Robbin volunteered to help moderate, which offer I immediately and gratefully accepted. Welcome to everyone who signed up, and if you haven’t checked it out yet, please go see.

It’s funny Sandy should ask (in yesterday’s comments) about how we make stays. I’ve been thinking about doing a “how we do what we do” post, or a series of them, since Carolyn H noticed the rack of serger threads in the background of a photo way back in December.

The Colonial Wardrobe & Textiles department consists of three full time staff – Shaina, Penny, and me – occasional interns, and loyal volunteers. We’re responsible for providing all the articles of colonial clothing (not Native Wampanoag) for the role-players in the 1627 Village, on board Mayflower II, the museum teachers who do outreach programs (in schools, etc) and any other program or exhibit the museum needs.

In each calendar year, we dress approximately 60 people. This includes role-players who work all of our open season (this year 22 March to the Sunday after Thanksgiving), or only part of it, full time or part time, those who work part time in period clothing and part time behind the scenes, child volunteers; basically anybody who gets even one set of period clothing counts in that tally. Most of the role-players, who are also known as historical interpreters, have at least two full sets of clothing, two pairs of shoes, and one each of cold weather accessories – one coat, one pair of knitted stockings, one pair of mittens or gloves, that sort of thing. Of course we don’t make everyone’s clothes new every season, but making new things either to replace those that are wearing out, to effect role changes, or for new hires, altering old things for new hires, and mending can keep us pretty busy.

We’re also jointly responsible for the textiles in the Village houses and on Mayflower II. We share the task of cleaning and keeping track of the blankets, sheets, bed hangings, etc, with Martha; we share the task of mending them and making new ones with the on-site interpreters. I’m partly responsible for research and training new interpreters in the use and care of their clothing and household textiles.

We compromise with the historical record for health & safety and economic reasons; we also make subtle adjustments to increase our ability to present historical information to the public. (You’d think that last one wouldn’t need a compromise, but sometimes it does. I’ll try to think of a good example for tomorrow.) The sewing machines definitely count as an economic compromise. We would never be able to afford the labor to do everything by hand. And where would you start? With hand spinning? Growing the flax/sheep? I’d love to – but our interpreters would be very scantily clad, and that’s a different program altogether. I try to document where we diverge from what we know of historical practice and keep both the CW&T staff and the interpreters informed of these decisions.

We use sewing machines, including a serger and an industrial straight-stitch machine, where it won’t show in the finished garment, with two notable exceptions (more on that later). That means internal seams, which saves us a great deal of time on some garments, like shirts and smocks which are French seamed, and not much time on some things, like slops breeches where so much of what has to be done must be done by hand that the machine only saves a few hours (still worth it). All the pleats, hems, buttonholes, eyelets, and any trim is all sewn by hand.

As far as the two notable exceptions, a few years ago we started sewing the hems of shirts and smocks on the sewing machine. This saved us an hour per garment. The shirts/smocks are the first layer, worn closest to the skin. The hems of the shirts are tucked into the men’s breeches and extremely unlikely ever to be seen by a visitor. The hems of the smocks are long, to the knee, and are under at least one petticoat, and while sometimes female interpreters will show visitors the hems of their layers of clothing it is also extremely unlikely that anyone will get close enough to see whether they are machine sewn or not.

The other exception is the channels on the stays. Up till a few years ago the vast majority of our stays were heavily machine sewn; not only all the bone channels but also all the binding was top stitched. They were designed to remain hidden under the waistcoat or jacket. I guess it’s about 5 or 6 years ago we started adding a pair or two of hand sewn stays every season. Now I’d say we’re up to almost half of the pairs of stays that have only hand sewing visible. We’re still using the machine for the internal seams, but all the bone channels and binding are done by hand. I counted one time, and it took me (conservatively) about 40 hours to hand sew a pair of stays. Small ones. Since the end of last season, we added two pairs of hand sewn stays. Penny made one pair and Emily made another.

All of the stays, hand sewn or not, have 1/4″ white steel bones in the channels. As Sandy pointed out, whalebone isn’t really an option nowadays. Years ago we used plastic boning cut to the right length, but we found the plastic tended to mold to the curves of the wearer, rather than the other way around. We have experimented with using reeds in the channels, as described in Janet Arnold’s Patterns of Fashion: the cut and construction of clothes for men and women c.1560-1620. This wasn’t an unqualified failure, but it wasn’t a resounding success either. Being a modern museum, and seeing as we have modern people only pretending to be 1620s colonists, we like to wash our clothing now and again. The reeds really didn’t hold up to washing. Taking the binding off, removing the reeds and replacing them wasn’t an option either – the reeds disintegrated in the channels after several months’ wear, making it nearly impossible to get the pieces out.

In the last few years we’ve been using wooden busks in the front of the stays. Peter Follansbee, joiner in Plimoth’s Crafts Center, makes them for us. Most women prefer them to the stays without a busk. The busks take some of the work off the steel bones, keeping the front of the stays stiff and straight, and help the stays to last longer overall.

Seems I misunderstood, and then misinformed you. I CAN have categories, but it isn’t a simple matter of Rich “importing” them from the old program. He has to build them from scratch, which he will, and then I have to go back and manually categorize all the old entries.

In the meantime, let me share with you some pictures of the 19th century shirt Catherine K brought for show & tell. Hopefully, I’ll put up details of the monogram and cuff. Catherine’s been sleuthing trying to figure out which ancestor owned the shirt. It’s definitely a shirt (man’s garment) not a shift/smock (woman’s garment) but the initials don’t match her family. The ‘S’ matches the maiden surname of a 2 or 3x grandmother, but why would a man’s shirt have her maiden initial? If artifacts could talk…

And let’s try something else. I’ll try putting in a picture of Deb’s shawl. I think the name of the pattern is Wing of the Moth. It’s just lovely. Let’s press our luck and try a side shawl view, shall we?

Although the whole recategorizing process sounds suspiciously like housework (which I avoid if at all possible) I promise to chip away at it, restoring the ability to find back entries by those old categories.

See you soon.

Tonight Tricia continues the story of how we chose which jacket to recreate. What have I been doing while she’s blogging? Well, taking pictures of Laura, for one. Here’s Laura in her first completed reproduction garment – a man’s shirt, which was basically underwear in the period. She did a great job and is now more than halfway through a cassock (outer garment) to go with. Laura is this year’s summer intern with the Colonial Wardrobe & Textiles Department (which right now consists of just the two of us and some dedicated volunteers). Talk about being thrown in at the deep end! Besides making new clothes, she’s spending a fair amount of time helping Kathy process kit orders, and as of today, keeping track of returned samples! Drumroll….we now have TWO completed samples in hand! I won’t mention last names here, but Wendy & Robbin, your samples safely arrived and are just beautiful.

Here’s Tricia:
A great off-shoot of making all the calculations from the last blog entry was the realization that each stitch type has its own materials cost and labor cost. So if you were a professional workshop of the past, the stitches chosen for a motif can dramatically change the cost to produce the jacket. Therefore, knowing these numbers could give us a ‘yard stick’ to use to evaluate historic pieces for their possible relative expense to one another. As an example spiral trellis takes a lot more silk than detached buttonhole or trellis stitch to work.

This came home to me when we were evaluating which jacket we would adapt. We were visiting a piece at the MET and it was beautiful Jill was struck by the gold thread stitch used for the vine, something I will call here “ladder stitch with zigzag interlacing”. It was dramatic and she was convinced that we should abandon the dreaded plaited braid in favor of this beautiful stitch. Having just taught this stitch on a piece the week before – I was horrified. The stitch consumed an enormous amount of thread, was worked in two passes, and took forever to work an inch. It made plaited braid look like a cake walk. So I convinced her to abandon this idea. (Yes, I gave up the idea, but in my defense, is that not a GORGEOUS stitch? JMH)But then the light bulb went off, why did the professionals use this stitch for this particular jacket? It must have been very expensive to work as it used more thread and more time. So who was the jacket made for? Did everyone who looked at the jacket when worn realize that it was more expensive and so it became a status symbol? When we have the chance some day to show pictures of the jacket, we can discuss why we think the piece may have been made for a child or very young girl. If so, why go to the expense? Who was she?

Another factor to consider was that jackets of this type were made over a 30 year time frame. Was this jacket early or late compared to others? And what was inflation like at that time? The materials and labor costs could be quite different along that spectrum of time, making something less or more expensive to produce depending on when it was made.

This was exciting. I plan to work a sample with rectangle samples and lengths of stitches of the period to measure the relative times and materials costs in the near future to give a more accurate set of data to use for these types of material culture investigations. Part of the purpose of the project has been to examine the past through the eyes of those that ‘did’. I think we are uncovering a lot of insights as we do so!

Tricia