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I’ve already done a whole post of stripe inspiration, but I just can’t resist showing you this gorgeous fashion plate from the Girl’s Own Paper.

Girl's Own Paper fashion plate, 1906

Just look at the way the stripes run across the sides!  The description says ‘the front and back widths of the skirt are cut on the straight, while the side widths are on the cross’.  Fabulous!

Now I just need a soft, draping fabric (preferably silk) with a satin stripe running through it.  The plate says grey and white, but I’m imagining it in a soft green…

Terminology: What is ‘brown’ linen (and osnaburg)?

Brown linen is the term used to describe unbleached linen in the 18th and 19th century.  ‘Brown’ linen could either be finely woven, high quality linen that would be bleached before being sold, or rough, coarse linen that would be sold brown.

Rather than pre-bleaching the linen yarn, cloth was usually woven brown, then sold to bleachers, the price based on the quality of the thread and weave, and then on-sold to fabric merchants and customers.  Heavy and course linen would probably remain brown for use in cheaper clothes, as bags and for rough use (in 1803 Merriweather Lewis purchased from Richard Weavill, a Philadelphia upholsterer, 107 yards of brown linen to be made into 8 tents for his cross-continental exploration with William Clark), finer linen cloth would be bleached white.

Interior of a 1765-1775 sacque-back gown - the lower sleeves are lined in brown linen, sold at Augusta Auctions

Interior of a 1765-1775 sacque-back gown – the lower sleeves are lined in brown linen, sold at Augusta Auctions

The Impact of the Domestic Linen Industry  describes the how the town of Banbridge in the county of Down had grown up from a cluster of houses in 1718 to a prosperous market town 20 years later entirely around the sale of unbleached linen, and how “the weavers brought their webs to the weekly brown linen market, where dealers known as linendrapers purchased them for bleaching and finishing.”

The Brown Linen Market at Banbridge, in the County of Downe, 1791, The British Museum

The Brown Linen Market at Banbridge, in the County of Downe, 1791, The British Museum

Most of the mentions of specific brown linen garments in the 18th and 19th century come from two sources: lists of stolen clothings, and advertisements for runaway slaves in the American South.  The latter is quite understandable: brown linen was a cheap fabric, so slaves, at the very bottom of the societal ladder, were most likely to be clad in the cheapest cloth.  Mentions of stolen clothing are more interesting, because they illustrate how valuable fabric was in the 18th and early 19th century, when even a “man’s shirt of brown linen much clouted and worn” was worth stealing in the 1760s.

In July 1804 a slave named George fled Charleston in “brown jacket, brown calico waistcoat, and brown linen pants with suspenders.”  Three decades later one Willis ran away via steamboat from New Orleans wearing “white shirt, brown linen pants, a blue frock coat and a black hat.”

In the 18th century the brown linen worn by slaves for shirts, chemises, petticoats and summer clothing was invariably osnaburg (also spelled ossnabriggs or oznabig). Onsaburg is a heavy, coarse plain-weave fabric having approximately 20-36 threads per inch.   The name coming from the German city of Osnabrüch where a course linen cloth was manufactured in the early 18th century.  By 1740 osnaburg was being manufactured in Scotland and by 1758 2.2 million yards were being made, mainly for export.  Some was exported to England or the continent, but most went to the Americas, and most of that was used for clothing for slaves.

It was so popular for cheap labourer’s clothing that when cotton replaced linen as the most economical fabric in the early 19th century the name became applied to a cheap cotton fabric of a similar weight and weave.  An 1835 story describes a slave wearing an “onsaburg chemise and coarse blue woolen petticoat”.  Similarly in 1853 The Lofty and the Lowly mentions  a similarly dressed woman in an “osnaburg chemise, and linsey-woolsey petticoat.”  By this time onsaburg could have been either linen or cotton.  Onsaburg is still readily available (Jo-Annes in the US sells it) for those wanting to replicate early 19th century lower-class in America.

Cotton onsaburg for sale here

Cotton onsaburg for sale here

Unbleached linen was commonly called brown linen well into the mid-19th century.  In 1824 “brown linen cambric” was advertised  for sale in the New England Farmer, and in 1840  The Workwoman’s Guide describes  “A Gentleman’s Worshop Apron…of Holland or strong white or brown linen.”  In 1835 the British government passed “An Act to continue and amend certain regulations for hempen manufacture in Ireland”, which frequently describes “Brown or unbleached or unpurged linen yarn” and proscribes the measurements of cloth “when brown and before the same shall be bleached.”  Brown linen was sold in New Zealand in the 1860s.  Even as late as 1895 the Montgomery Ward & Co. catalogue was selling “brown (unbleached) linen” in 50 yard lots.  By the mid 19th century the brown linen that is being sold is clearly intended to be used only as rough cloth.

Brown linen finally ceased to be a poor-mans cloth in the later 19th century with innovations in bleach technology and the rise of cotton as the cheapest, most readily available fabric.   Improved bleaching technology throughout the early 19th century made it so much cheaper and easier to bleach linen that white linen of the same quality was hardly more expensive than brown.   In the first part of the 19th century  the cheapest bleaching methods weakened the cloth and people “loudly complain of the rotten state of the linens being retailed in a grey [partly bleached] state in the streets, alleging they give no wear from being bleached with lime.”  By the end of the century white linen was as common as brown, and cotton was a far cheaper fabric than linen, so linen of all colours achieved a bit of status and unbleached linen suits and dresses were worn by the wealthy for summer clothes.

Day dress of unbleached linen with green silk underslip, 1901-2, Misses Leonard, St. Paul, US, Minnesota Historical Society

Day dress of unbleached linen with green silk underslip, 1901-2, Misses Leonard, St. Paul, US, Minnesota Historical Society

Sources:

Crawford, W.H.  The Impact of the Domestic Linen Industry.  Belfast: Ulster Historical Foundation.  2005

Embleton, Gerry and May, Robin.  Wolfe’s Army.  London: Osprey Publishing.  1999

Franklin, John Hope and Schweninger, Lauren.  Runaway Slaves: Rebels on the Plantation.  Oxford: Oxford University Press.  1999

Katz-Hyman, Martha B, and Rice, Kym S. (eds).  World of a Slave: Encyclopedia of the Material Life of Slaves in the US.  Santa Barbara California: Greenwood, 2011.

Saindon, Robert A (ed.).  Explorations Into the World of Lewis and Clark, Volume 2: Essays from the pages of We Proceed On: the Quarterly Journal of the Lewis and Clark Trail  Heritage Foundation. “Along the Trail”.  R.R. Hunt.  Great Falls Montana:  Lewis and Clark  Trail  Heritage Foundation.  2003

Styles, John.  The Dress of the People: Everyday Fashion in Eighteenth-Century England, New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press.  2007

The workwoman’s guide, containing instructions in cutting out and completing articles of wearing, 1840.

Pet-en-l’aire and petticoat

Having finally finished my 1780s pet-en-l’aire I was eager to do a photoshoot in it, but I delayed it for a few days so that I could do one more quick project: make a 1780s walking length muslin petticoat to go with it.    I’m so pleased that I took the time to complete the ensemble!

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

The pet ruffles (particularly the little twists at the front ends) are just delighting me, and the petticoat is much better with the outfit than the old long one I’d paired it with before.

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

For the photoshoot Madame O and I got dressed up in our respective yellow pet-en-l’aires and headed out to a park for end-of-day photos.  It’s been a very dry summer in New Zealand, and the whole country is in varying stages of drought, so the photos are ochre when they would usually be green.  It didn’t look much like our usual vision of pretend 18th century Europe, so we just pretended we were in Provence.

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

Unfortunately we didn’t see a single other person at the park, so couldn’t get any photos together.  Still, she did a beautiful job with mine!

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

The best part about my new petticoat is that it actually qualifies for HSF challenge: #6 Stripes.  The fabric is a bamboo-cotton blend, with the main body of the fabric of cotton, and a bamboo stripe running through it.

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

No, bamboo certainly isn’t accurate as an 18th century fabric, but this bamboo isn’t as in-accurate as it might be.

There are two ways to process bamboo.  The most common is to use chemicals to break down the tough cellulose bamboo fibres.  This exactly the same process used to make other cellulose based fabrics like rayon (viscose), and isn’t particularly environmentally friendly.  Less common is mechanical processing, which is much more environmentally friendly, but produces a stiffer, more linen-like, fabric.  Mechanical processing would have been possible in the 18th century, and produces a fabric which is similar to historical fabrics in its handle and wear.  Chemical processing, not so much.  Some countries require that bamboo be labelled by the type of processing, but unfortunately New Zealand isn’t one of these countries.  Still, based on the hand I am reasonably certain that the bamboo in this fabric was mechanically processed.

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

Also, I think I paid $4 a metre for this fabric, and I’ve had it in my stash for 6 years, and I decided to make the petticoat a quickie and machine sew the entire thing, so I’m not too worried about whether it is perfectly historically accurate or not.  It’s done, and that’s a thing of beauty in itself!

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

My bergere hat is another newly finished (though I may trim it further) piece.  I remade it from a really dreadful modern straw hat, so I’ll do a post on how to re-make your own straw hat into a bergere in a few weeks as part of the Accessorise challenge.  I’ll also tell you a bit more about petticoat construction, for those who appreciate the statistics and details for their own sewing reference

For now, my last two favourite photos.  This is naughty Dreamstress throwing acorns at Madame O:

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

1780s pet-en-l'aire and pleated petticoat

Now how could you be mad at a smile like that?