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Bestways Initial Transfers: Early 1920s children’s clothes

For the final installment of my Bestways Initial Transfer Book (except for the ads, which are pretty fabulous!), here is the cutest section: the children’s clothes.

1920s children's fashions thedreamstress.com

They may be children’s garments, but I would happily wear most of this stuff!

1920s children's fashions thedreamstress.com

Like both those jackets.  (aren’t the pocket button details divine?)

1920s children's fashions thedreamstress.com

Oooh…the short coat is grass green!  Yum!

Note the mentions of the very fashionable cut-on ‘Magyar’ sleeves, and the contrasting sleeves set into ‘ordinary armholes’.

The next page features a few more teens in covetable clothes, and some proper children in sports bloomers and an extremely scant gymnastics pinafore frock.

1920s children's fashions thedreamstress.com

 

This is ‘an exceedingly smart walking dress in wool marocain’.  Cunning belt detail, and great hat and parasol!:

1920s children's fashions thedreamstress.com

And here are the funny sports clothes.  Looking at these, I can’t help thinking how modern society would consider initials and names for children ill-advised for safety reasons.

1920s children's fashions thedreamstress.com

 

Last of all, a little girl with a teddy (with its own monogram) and a lovely blouse.  Oh, I do like 1920s blouses!

1920s children's fashions thedreamstress.com

 

If you enjoyed this you can see the lingerie section of the book here, and the sportswear section here.

 

HSF/M ’15: Challenge #2: Blue

The theme for the Historical Sew Monthly 2015 Challenge #2 is Blue: make something in any shade of blue.

I knew it would be a popular colour challenge choice because blue is simply the most popular colour: it’s more peoples favourite colour than any other.

Historically, it’s also been one of the most desirable colours in many historical periods and cultures, because the dyes used to achieve it were comparatively expensive and finicky, and the harder something is to achieved, the more expensive it is, and the more people want it.

In addition to being an expensive dye, blue acquired even more  cachet in Europe in the Middle Ages when it became the colour associated with the robes of the Virgin Mary in devotional art.  Mary was painted in blue robes partly because blue was the colour of the heavens, but mostly because the most expensive paint available was ultramarine blue.  Mary was deemed worthy of only this rarest hue, this colour ‘from beyond the seas’, so was depicted in blue robes, often highlighted with the only colour more valuable than ultramarine blue: pure gold.

Virgin Mary with child altarpiece

Mary’s robes probably wasn’t meant to  correspond to a specific existing fabric dye colour, but a range of beautiful blues were achieved in Europe from at least the Iron Age, and throughout the Middle Ages  with the plant dye woad (Isatis tinctoria).

Mendel Hausbuch, f. 6v, c. 1425, Peter Berber, Carder brushing woollen cloth with teasel heads

Mendel Hausbuch, f. 6v, c. 1425, Peter Berber, Carder brushing woollen cloth with teasel heads

Woad was one of the cornerstones of the Medieval and Renaissance dye industries, and whole towns grew, and grew rich, around growing and processing  woad.

Mary Magdalene from the Braque Family Triptych (right panel), ca. 1450, by Rogier van der Weyden (early Flemish, 1399:1400-1464)

Mary Magdalene from the Braque Family Triptych (right panel), ca. 1450, by Rogier van der Weyden (early Flemish, 1399:1400-1464)

Illustration of German woad mill in Thuringia from Daniel Gottfried Schreber's book on woad. 1752

Illustration of German woad mill in Thuringia from Daniel Gottfried Schreber’s book on woad. 1752

The problem with woad as a dye was that it takes  a great deal of woad to dye a small amount of fabric – and the richer the blue that was desired, the more woad that was needed.  So when European traders established  sea trade routes to India  in the 15th century and discovered Indian textiles dyed with the ‘true’ indigo plant (Indigofera tinctoria), which has the identical dyeing chemical (indigotin)  as woad but at a much higher concentration, and so thus dyed the same range of blues, but with less plant needed to achieve them, they thought their fortunes were made.

Indigo plant, Molokai, Hawaii

Indigo plant, Molokai, Hawaii

Indigo plant, Molokai, Hawaii

Seeds and flowers of the Indigo plant, Molokai, Hawaii

Indigo was a novelty to European traders in the 15th century, but it wasn’t the first time it had reached Europe.  The Romans had dyed fabric with indigo imported from India, but the decline of the Silk Road trade had made it a rarity in ensuing centuries.

The Cupid Seller - fresco from Pompeii, now at the Getty

The Cupid Seller – fresco from Pompeii, now at the Getty

As traders began bringing indigo dye back to Europe in the 15th centuries, governments realised the devastating effect it would have on their local dye industries, and took steps to discourage people from buying indigo dyed products, or dyeing with it.  Indigo dye was dubbed ‘the devils dye’.  Official edicts were issued  warned that the dye was corrosive and would rot fabric.  When warnings weren’t enough, stronger steps were taken.  In 1577 indigo dye was officially prohibited in parts of what is now Germany.  France, in 1609 called it “the false and pernicious Indian drug”, and forbade its use.

Chopines, 1590-1610, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Chopines, 1590-1610, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Despite the prohibitions, there  was no stopping progress.    It was impossible to tell if a fabric had been dyed in indigo or woad once it was dyed, so indigo dyed fabric, or fabric dyed with a mix of the two dyes, became more and more common across Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries, especially as more cotton fabrics, which required more dye than wool to colour, were imported from India.

In the 1750s the  usefulness of indigo dye combined with the novelty of cotton fabrics and a newly developed technology: engraved copperplate printing, developed in Ireland in 1752, to create a  classic  textile look: the blue engraved-printed on white design.  Known as ‘China Blue’, for it’s resemblance to blue and white porcelain, the resulting fabric was known for lighter blues on light grounds, as the process could not produce dark blues.  The most notably example of the look is the fabric known as ‘toile de jouy’ look, after the town in France that produced the fabric with little pastoral scenes scattered across the fabric (though this fabric was rarely used for garments, with vining florals being much more common).

Gown, blue floral pattern on cream ground. 1760-1790, Copperplate printed linen. Worn by Deborah Sampson, possibly as her wedding dress. Historic New England, 1998.5875

Gown, blue floral pattern on cream ground. 1760-1790, Copperplate printed linen. Worn by Deborah Sampson, possibly as her wedding dress. Historic New England, 1998.5875

Engraved printing, unlike the earlier woodblock printing, could produce fine, detailed designs, but only in one colour.  Indigo blue was one of the most durable available dyes suitable for engraved printing, and combined with bleach innovations which kept the fabric very white,  made blue and white combinations one of the most popular.

Pocket, printed cotton & linen, 18th c, American, MFA Boston, 48.1218

Pocket, printed cotton & linen, 18th c, American, MFA Boston, 48.1218

Indigo production had its dark side: when England took over India indigo was such a desired commodity that  huge plantations were established to grow it.  The native workers on the plantations were essentially slaves, and British indigo plantation owners had appaulling track records.  The terrible conditions led to the 1859 ‘Indigo Revolt’ as workers attempted to better their conditions, but without much effect.  In 1860 a native writer commented

“We have nearly abandoned all the ploughs; still we have to cultivate indigo.  We have no change in a dispute with the Sahibs.  They bind us and beat us, it is for us to suffer.”

There were also indigo slave plantations  in the Americas in the 18th century.

Despite the revolts and the growing movement against slavery in the West, the popularity of indigo as a dye kept cultivation  high.  In 1897 it is estimated there were at least  7,000  km2 (2,700  sq  mi) of  indican-producing plants (mainly true indigo) under cultivation.  Most of these acres were in in India, and most of them were cultivated under horrific conditions.

What revolts and human rights campaigns couldn’t change, innovation could wipe out in a few short years.  The discovery of aniline dyes in the late 1850s  opened up the possibility of a cheaper chemical alternative to natural indigo.  The first aniline dye was purple, but in the 1860s Nicholson’s blue (a vivid teal blue),  bleu de Lyon, bleu de Paris, Britannia violet (a deep blue) and other bright shades of aniline blue were produced.

Child's cape.  Twilled peacock blue woollen cloth, embroidered in cream silk thread, with a cream tassel on the hood; Anglo-Indian, 1860-70, V&A

Child’s cape. Twilled peacock blue woollen cloth, embroidered in cream silk thread, with a cream tassel on the hood; Anglo-Indian, 1860-70, V&A    

However, none of these were comparable to indigotin in the range of shades they could produce.  Every chemist working with aniline dyes  attempted to synthesize a synthetic indigo dye, but it wasn’t until 1897 that a commercially viable process was developed.  This process, however, was so successful that it almost wiped out the natural indigo industry.

Costume de serge fine garni de petits boutons de corail, plate 157 from Journal des Dames et des Modes, 1914

Costume de serge fine garni de petits boutons de corail, plate 157 from Journal des Dames et des Modes, 1914

By WWI almost all blue dyed  fabrics were produced with synthetic dyes, though there was a very slight resurgence in natural dyes in both WWI and WWII, as the chemicals used in synthetic dyes were required for the war effort.

 

For more blue inspiration for the Blue challenge, check out my Blue pinterest board (which works its way from the present  to the past  as you scroll down the board.  I’m only up to the mid-18th century as of the writing of this post, but there should be more recent stuff soon)

Sources:

Balfour-Paul, Jenny (2006). Indigo. London: Archetype Publications. ISBN  978-1-904982-15-9

Finlay, Victoria.  Colour: Travels through the Paintbox.  London: Hodder and Stoughton.  2002

Garfield, Simon.  Mauve: How One Man Invented a Colour that Changed the World.  London: Faber and Faber Limited.  2000

Watt, Melinda. “Textile Production in Europe: Printed, 1600—1800 “. In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000—. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/txt_p/hd_txt_p.htm (October 2003)

Ridiculous adorableness: Wearing History’s 1917 combinations

Wearing History just came out with a new late-teens combination pattern taken directly from a period pattern.  Naturally, I was super excited about it because I want to expand my 1910s wardrobe this year.  I was even more excited about it when Lauren asked if I would pattern test it.  Yes I would!

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

(so yes, I got the pattern for free, and yes, I’m a total Wearing History fangirl, but I wasn’t paid anything for this post, any opinions are totally my own, and if anything, as everyone knows, I tend to be hypercritical of patterns.)

The print-out e-version of the pattern was very easy to put together, and everything matched up perfectly.

I chose the view with the scooped neck and buttoning-over under-extension (because hey, as long as you are making totally crazy 1910s, underwear, let’s go whole hog!).

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

For my fabric I used an old cotton sheet – unfortunately I got my sheets mixed up at the last minute, and cut  one I’d set aside for toiles only, because it was quite worn, rather than the one in much better nick I’d intended for the project.  I was cutting at night, so didn’t notice until I’d done all the major seams that the fabric has some marks and changes from good condition to quite worn from one seam to the next.

I’m OK with this for two reasons.   First, because the combinations were so easy and fun to make that whipping up another pair will be a doddle (there will be more!  Lots and lots more!).  Second, because while it isn’t as well known as the rationing and re-use of WWII, there was rationing and fabric shortages in WWI, and I have read accounts of even reasonably upper-class women (Flora Klickmann for example) cutting up sheets to make new undergarments – so the wear only adds to the authenticity of the piece.

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

I erred on the side of caution and cut the size 38″ bust (I’m a 37 1/2″ on a good day).  Next time I will go down two sizes, but sew smaller 5’8″ seam allowances, rather then the 3/4″ that are given in the original pattern.  I’ll keep my armholes at a size 38″ though, as the vintage armholes are quite small.

Sewing the combinations was a breeze.  The pattern comes with the original 1917 instructions, which are very brief, and use terms and language that the modern seamstress may not be familiar with.  To make it  easier, Lauren has ‘annotated’ them with modern translations, and discussions of the various ways to sew  and finish them – both helpful and educational.

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

The instructions are quite flexible, and  expect you to decide and figure out various steps on your own (e.g. there is no detailed explanation of how to finish a neck edge with bias or beading lace, those are just given as options).  Lauren makes it quite clear that the Resto-Vival patterns are for experienced seamstresses with vintage knowledge, but in this case I would say the pattern is  so simple that even a very inexperienced seamstress, as long as she had a bit of common sense, would have no problem making a beautifully finished version of the combinations.

It might still help to see how I did it, so here you go:

I finished the neckline with beading (lace with holes to thread ribbon through), and the armholes with edging trim.

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

For the armholes, I laid the braid around the armholes, right sides together, and flat edge of the braid just covering the raw edge of the armhole.  I sewed around, very close to the decorative edge of the braid, and then flipped it to the back, and topstitched again from the right side, so the decorative edge frames the armhole and the raw edges are all covered.

I folded the neck edge 1/4″ over to the right side of the garment, and laid the lace over it.  I then stitched two lines of stitching very close to the edge of the lace, to be sure to catch the fold-over in it.  This way there are no raw edges showing inside or outside the garment.

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

The garment is hemmed with a small folded hem.  So that I didn’t have to do a tiny hem around the curve of the under-crotch piece, and to provide support for my buttonholes, I cut another piece the same as the under-crotch, and bag-lined around the curved bit:

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

You can also see the bit of ribbon I sewed behind the buttons in the photo above, to support them and prevent tearing.

I used vintage lingerie buttons to fasten the crotch piece.

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

The side seams are sewn with french seams.  I did a double-sided reverse-flat-felled seam around the back seam, and secured the back pleat with a simple line of stitching.

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

All very quick and simple, but very tidy.

I thought you might also appreciate a couple of shots with a 1910s corset worn over it:

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

This is the 1911 corset from Norah Waugh’s Corsets & Crinolines, though the style of corset changed very little during the 1910s, and was only replaced at the end of WWI (and corsets were also rationed during the war years in a number of countries, so quite a few women would have still been wearing  corsets they had bought in 1911 in 1917).

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

The simple shape of the combinations, and the lack of a waist gather, made them VERY comfortable to wear under a corset.  The buttoning under-crotch panel also means that it would be possible to go to the loo quite easily – always a bit of a conundrum in a longline corset!

The Challenge: #1  Foundations

Fabric:  1 twin sized vintage bedsheet (courtesy of Joie de Vivre who gave me a whole stack – awesome friend!).

Pattern:  Wearing History’s circa 1917 Combinations pattern

Year:  ca. 1917

Notions:  broderie anglaise beading (a Fabric-a-Brac score), cotton edging trim (ditto), rayon ribbon (Fabric Warehouses 40% off sale a couple of years back), 2x vintage lingerie buttons (8 cents apiece at an op-shop).

How historically accurate is it?:  Very close to 100%.  Period pattern, techniques I have seen in period sewing books or originals, and sheet re-use is period.  The only thing I am not certain about is the rayon ribbon, as, while rayon was in use by 1911, I don’t know of examples of rayon ribbon from the 1910s.

Hours to complete:  2.  Quick and fun!  And I’m going to make SO MANY MORE!

First worn:  The morning of  Sat  31 Jan, when I discovered that 1910s combinations are the perfect thing to wear when you need to wear something around the house, but can’t be bothered putting on actual clothes.  And then the evening of Sat 31st, when I discovered they are also ideal for sewing clothes when you are doing lots of trying ons, and need to be able to whip in and out of what you are wearing.   And then Sun 1st, for the photoshoot.

Total cost:  Under $5!  

And finally, since you have seen all the other images, the obligatory gorgeous Felicity shots:

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com

Wearing History's 1917 combinations thedreamstress.com