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What I did on my summer vacation

On Christmas day, sweltering in an unexpected heat wave, and waiting for news, Mr D’s cousin’s partner and I went for a walk along the tiny stream near the in-laws house, hoping to find a pool big enough to stand in to cool off.

We found the perfect little pool, I was ankle-deep in heaven, I took a step forward, and discovered that the pool had another inhabitant, who also moved forward to protect its territory.  There was a bit of an undiginified scramble out of the water but at least I managed to refrain from squealing.

So what charged me?  A New Zealand eel.

IMG_5170

There are two varieties of native eels in NZ – the longfin, found only in New Zealand, and the shortfin, which is also found in Australia and across the Pacific.  Both are threatened due to loss of habitat and overfishing.

The eels are pretty amazing creatures.  They live to be over 100 years old, grow only a cm or two a year, and breed only once at the very end of their life, when they swim downstream, and out into the Pacific (Tonga for longfins, New Caledonia for short fins).  This makes them very susceptible to overfishing – take one in New Zealand and it never has a chance to breed.

Even if I don’t like sharing my footbath with eels, I thing they are fantastic, and very interesting.  And I know they like all sorts of meat scraps.  And thanks to the holidays we had a pretty much unending supply of ham scraps.  So every evening we were in Nelson I took all the ham rinds and trotted off to the stream to feed the eels.

Here eely, eely

It turns out there wasn’t just one or two eels.  Start dropping ham in the water and  dozens  of them would turn up.  At one point we counted 23 (Fact: counting eels is harder than herding cats).

Hello eels

You don’t have to just drop ham in the water either.  By day 3 the eels were eating right out of my hand.  They learn fast!

Yum yum

It wasn’t just my hand either.  Sometimes my little pink toes just above the water were a bit too tempting, and they had a nibble at them:

Feeding the eels

Wanna see that up close?

Tasty

It was a lovely way to finish the day and de-stress a little at a hard time.  All the visitors who came for Christmas, or later for Gran’s funeral, got treated to eel feeding.

Heeeere eeely-po

Nature is a wonderful thing!

The Panier-Along: Materials List

With the Under-it-All challenge coming up on the Historical Sew Fortnightly  I offered to write a tutorial on how to make paniers, and the idea was met with much enthusiasm.  So, from Jan 30th to Feb 8th I’ll be leading a Panier-Along, providing a simple pattern and walking you through the steps of making your own set of paniers.

1770s basket paniers

1770s basket paniers

My panier pattern is based on information in Norah Waugh’s Corsets & Crinolines, and on the panier pattern at Tidens Tøj.  It creates a set of separate basket hoops that give a modestly wide silhouette, suitable for informal dress (e.g. not court wear) in the 1760s and 70s.

The tutorial will focus on being easy and simple (I’ll probably be sewing by machine), with an accurate silhouette, rather than strictly historical accurate, but it shouldn’t be too hard to adapt to be perfectly accurate if you would prefer.

The challenge doesn’t start until the 29th, but we need time to assemble our materials.  If you want to participate you will need:

  • 1 yard/95cm  of mid to heavyweight fabric at least 112cm wide.  The historically accurate option would be a tightly woven mid-weight linen, or a polished cotton canvas, but they are also fun to make out of lighter weight upholstery brocades and other fashion fabrics.  Just pick something that doesn’t fray or warp too badly.
  • 4 yards/3.7 metres of metal hoop boning or basket cane.  Other things that can be used are fibreglass curtain rods (for making Roman blinds), the metal tapes that hold crates together (though these rust badly) and narrow black plastic garden piping.
  • 4 yards/3.7 metres of strong twill tape for your boning/hoop channels  wide enough that it can be sewn down to a piece of fabric and your boning can slip through and fit relatively snugly.   Alternatively, you can make your own tape by cutting strips of your fabric and folding the edges under, or you can create channels with two full layers of fabric for the sides of the paniers.  You will need an extra 20″/50cm of fabric (it need not match your outer fabric) for either of these two options.
  • 2x your waist measurement (I use 150cm/60″) of  1/2″ / 1.5cm twill tape for your waist tie.  This twill tape does not need to be as strong as that for your hoop channels.
  • Optional: 26 feet  (312″)  /8 metres of  1/2″ / 1.5cm twill tape  cut into 12 26″ lengths for your front and back ties
Strong twill tape

Strong twill tape

I’ll be making mine out of a midweight linen with the twill tape you see above, and cane boning.

1770s basket paniers

1770s basket paniers

Are you planing to Panier-Along?  What will you be making yours out of?  Here is a little button for you to put on your blog if you wish:

The Panier-Along

For now, happy shopping/stash tossing!

The 1813 Kashmiri dress: skirt construction details

I know the 1813 Kashmiri dress is done, but I wanted to share some of the construction details to explain how I did it (and as a reference for anyone trying to make a similar dress).

Today I’ll focus on the skirt construction.

My skirt is based on two rectangles, each 136cm/55″ wide and 135cm/54″long as they were cut.  The skirt lost barely any width in the sewing, but has a very large hem and top turning, so the finished measurement is 133cm/52″ wide and

Kashmiri shawls of the early 19th century are usually between 100-110″ long & 50-55″ wide, so my finished dress dimensions are an almost exact match to what a period seamstress would have been working with. The major change in design/fabric area is that I have an extra area of patterned fabric to construct the bodice out of, and don’t have the lovely narrow side borders to use as trim.

Kashmiri Shawl, early 19th century, Woven cashmere,  129cm (51") x 281cm (111"), V&A

Kashmiri Shawl, early 19th century, Woven cashmere, 129cm (51″) x 281cm (111″), V&A

Skirts based entirely on rectangles were very common in the first decade of the 19th century, but in the early 1810s skirts with gored side-back and back pieces become more common, as the skirt shape evolved from a slim column into a slight inverted triangle, with the gores helping to create the wider hem.  However, entirely rectangular skirts were still seen in the 1810s, and all the examples made from kashmiri shawl that I can find clearly used the full width of the shawl.  It would make sense that seamstresses would want to maximize their fabric usage and take advantage of the finished selvedges of the shawl for their seams.  Using the full width also helps to keep the paisley border even.

And, for the final proof that I was right to use straight rectangles, look how similar the fall of my skirt is to this fashion plate (and no, I wasn’t trying ti imitate the plate, the similarity in poses is a total coincidence!):

My gown:

1813 Kashmiri gown

1813 Kashmiri gown

Fashion plate:

Fashion plate featuring a ballgown, 1810

Fashion plate featuring a ballgown, 1810

Right, back to the construction:

While Regency seamstresses had lovely finished selvedges for their skirt seams, I did not, so I had to combine historical techniques for my two long vertical skirt seams.  Remember I started with two panels with a wide border running along the selvedge and a narrow border running across the fabric.  I cut off the narrow border to use in the bodice:

Chalk lines to mark where I will cut.

Chalk lines to mark where I will cut.

Because my fabric was in panels, with the pattern running right to the edge on one side of the panel (where I cut off the horizontal border) and ending before the edge of the fabric on the other, my seam allowances weren’t even.  I sewed my skirt seam very close to the cut edge, with the longer un-patterned edge hanging off.  I used a running stitch with a backstitch every 3 or 4 inches.  My stitches average between 10-12 stitches per inch.

12 stitches per inch on the side seam

The stitches on the narrow-seam allowance (on the left) and wider seam allwance (right)

12 stitches per inch on the side seam

12 stitches per inch on the side seam (with the wider seam allowance up)

Once the seam was sewn I had to deal with the wool, which frays terribly.  My solution was to cut my wide seam allowance down to about an inch, and fold it over my narrow seam allowance to create a sort of interior flat felled seam which finished both edges.  I then sewed this down with the same running stitch I used on the seam.  I started with a whipstitch, but it didn’t work well in the fabric and was a pain to do.

My seam finish

My seam finish

I’m not sure this was a historically accurate seam finish.  I’m sure I’ve seen similar finishes (the catch being similar), but I can’t remember where. It was, however, the most obvious solution to the problem, and the most obvious solution is often the right one.  It will certainly be a very strong seam!

The seam finish

The seam finish

The completed seam

The completed seam

I’m using a cotton thread to sew.  I’m not actually sure when cotton thread became common and widely available, but assume it was in the early-mid 19th century.  Nor am I sure of what type of thread would be most accurate to sew a wool gown in 1813.  Cotton?  Linen?  Silk?  The only Regency era gowns I’ve been able to examine in New Zealand were cotton, sewn with cotton thread.

With the two skirt panels sewn to form a tube I hemmed the skirt.  By the early 19th century skirts were usually hemmed in the modern fashion: attached at the waist and then hemmed up (as opposed to hemming and then straightening the hem as you pinned it at the waist).  However, as seamstresses making a dress from a kashmiri shawl would already have a finished hem, they had to have been hemming from the waist.

My hem from the inside

My hem from the inside

My hem is just a simple turn and turn.  I kept it very wide to preserve as much of the fabric, and because the weight of the hem will help the skirt fall properly.  It’s not precisely historical, but the idea of preserving as much of your fabric in case the dress ever needs to be re-made certainly is.

The hem from the outside, with tiny hand stitches

The hem from the outside, with tiny hand stitches

I attached my skirt to the bodice by folding over the top few inches to bring it to the right length for dancing, and then topstitching down the fold.

The skirt to bodice attachment

The skirt to bodice attachment

This is another place where I have sacrifised historical accuracy (confession: I’ve never figured out exactly what the proper historical skirt to bodice attachment for a Regency dress is) to the needs of the fabric.  The topstitched attachment is just much more secure on the wool, and prevents sagging and pulls in the twill weave.  It would also be nearly impossible to do the pleats in the skirt with any other attachment.

The skirt-to-bodice seam from the inside

The skirt-to-bodice seam from the inside

The skirt pleats are simple knife pleats.  I’ve seen similar pleats on extent dresses, and the effect they gave matched the back views in fashion plates of ballgowns like the one I featured above.

The skirt pleating

The skirt pleating

I did trial a few other pleat options, including narrow cartridge pleats and gathering, neither of which worked due to the bulk of the fabric.

Pleat trials - cartridge pleats on the left, knife pleats on the right

Pleat trials – cartridge pleats on the left, knife pleats on the right

To create the pleats I pinned them in, sewed the skirt to bodice, catching the pleats just in the last few cm where they are visible on the outside of the skirt.  Then I turned the skirt inside out, and secured the long ends of the pleats that are hidden underneath each other. This keeps the pleats neat and flat, without creating a huge amount of bulk in the skirt-to-bodice attachment.

The sewn-down pleats underneath

The sewn-down pleats underneath

In order to get in to the dress I cut a slit in the centre back and finished it with a self-fabric binding:

The centre back egress

The centre back egress

Because the column of the dress is so narrow, and the pleats are so deep, the skirt seams are placed all the way back in the pleats, entirely hidden in the valley of the third pleat from the dress sides.  Even as the pleats fall away from the body and angle out, the seam is quite hidden, which is a good thing, because I didn’t match the pattern going around the dress (mostly because I forgot to think about it while cutting, but also because the pattern wouldn’t match if you made a dress from a real paisley shaw).

1813 Kashmiri dress

1813 Kashmiri dress

Whew!  That was quite an epic post!  I’ll tell you about my bodice and sleeve construction in another post, probably on Monday.