Linen hose

Note much to look at, but I did complete this project: a pair of linen hose which I wore at Faire. Blue-grey mid-weight linen, cut on the bias and hand-sewn. The shape is draped to fit; I usually use this method with cotton knits for 19th century wear, which gives a much closer fit around the ankle. The elongated "D" shape for the foot gusset works, but it looks rather loose at the ankle.

Functional hose, but not pretty.

The draft in The Tudor Tailor is quite similar, but with a more rounded 'gusset' piece. I'll need to try that on my next attempt (since August is precisely when I don't want to wear the wool knit!).

Straw Hat, Rustic Plait

I really needed a lightweight sunshade for Faire, and decided to sew another straw hat. The inspiration for this piece was a particular painting (more on that anon), in which a peasant woman in a market scene wears a wide-brimmed straw hat with no appreciable crown. The hat instead looks like a very shallow basket turned upside down.

 

Top view of the hat.

The hat I made is fully hand-sewn from 20 yards of (commercially-plaited) straw in a 4-strand whole-straw rustic plait. It was sewn freehand, though I blocked the crown flat repeatedly during the early stages of sewing. The sewing process took about 34 event-hours, during which this hat was my main project.

I had intended to block the whole hat over a large, shallow dough bowl of the desired shape, but found that the plait tended to curve downwards naturally as I sewed it. In fact, all of the shaping after the first seven rounds (which were blocked flat until the hat got bigger than a dinner plate) came from the natural curvature of the straw as I tried to sew it as flat as possible. I'm tempted to use it for rougher working impressions at the Fort, since I can document the idea of a flat, home-made, straw hat as a harvest-time sunshade in the 1850s--and 'make a flat hat without a block' is precisely what I was doing here.

 

 

Side view showing the epic shape.

Despite the shape, I found that the straw tends to cling to my hair/coif, and will generally stay put. It's not up to really brisk walks, wind gusts, or bending over to drive tent stakes, but I managed to wear it a whole weekend without any fasteners. I'm tempted to add some woven tapes to the underside (probably to tie under my hair), but the hat does work as is. The whole-straw is heaver than the last hat I made, but lighter than any other reproduction hats I've handled (or any material).

I do not have documentation for the origins of rustic plait. My spreadsheet of Victorian sources does not include any citations which mention rustic as being new or name a date of origin; these same sources claim that whole-straw plaits originated in the 16th century, while split and double plaits were more modern inventions.

*I had remembered this painting as a Bruegel, though I can't find the exact image online, and will need to borrow the book I saw it in to confirm. In my search, I did come across other depictions of straw hats which aren't wholly dissimilar.

Sloping hats from Bruegel's Charitas (1559)

Most of Bruegel's peasants, however, favor straw hats like those above, almost conical except for a small, flat crown. The Corn Harvest shows two women wearing wider, flatter versions of the conical hat, one being distinctly straw-colored and the other black.

Wide hats in Bruegel's The Corn Harvest (1565)

Aertsen's paintings, in contrast, show deeper crowns on the wide-brim straw hats worn by many of the women:

The Vegetable Seller (1567) by Pieter Aertsen

Plain Coif and Forehead Cloth

 

Plain coif and forehead cloth.

More faire-related wardrobe additions. Having decked one coif and forehead cloth in lace and (begun) embroidering the other, I found myself without any fitted headgear appropriate to my lowly social station. That is, it's too hot to wear a respectable late Elizabethan ensemble, so I need a plain coif  to go with my kirtle/smock/apron combo. I could just tie a rail over my hair...but coifs are more fun.

I used a light-weight white linen for both, with bleached 1/4" linen ties on the forehead cloth and a linen cord for the coif.

Boemio Cloak, c.1580-1640

With most of my early modern events at the hottest time of the year, I've so far avoided making any garment heavier than a wool waistcoat or two. But, after several rainy musters and a chilly faire in early May, I've concluded that some warmer garments are advisable.

I decided to try the Modern Maker's drafting methods this time. For a versatile, wearable garment, I chose the Bohemio: a short, full cloak with standing collar and contrasting lining. It was also one of the few cloak patterns in the book explicitly described as being worn by women.

 

One very full cloak.

 

The personal measuring tapes were a bit time-consuming to make, but fun in their own way. They definitely made the drafting process go smoothly, as each point was simple a matter of measuring to the designated symbol (and sometimes adding/subtracting like Roman numerals). At least on this loose garment, I didn't have to do any alterations after drafting--the cloak is a comfortable length and perfectly fitted at the shoulders and neck.

 

Custom measuring tapes...in abbreviated Spanish.

I wanted a proper piece of outerwear, so I chose a heavily fulled wool broadcloth for the exterior. My regular suppliers were out of the really interesting shades and I had my heart set on Lincoln green, so I opted for an emerald green melton wool from the Dorr Mill Store. For the lining, I selected a bright "weld" yellow mid-weight linen from Fabric-store.com.

 

 

A full circle & then some.

I consulted Patterns of Fashion IV for information about extent short cloaks, and while it mentions green wool among the known cloak materials, and both dyed linen and yellow linings, I do not have any specific evidence for the combination of a green wool exterior with a yellow linen lining (much less one of this particular style). That being said, the material and colors are at least plausible and I like the them together, especially with the contrasting front panel.

I got it into my head that I wanted to sew the whole cloak by hand, which wasn't as bad as it might seem. The main body was four parts (two backs, two fronts), with a two-piece collar. All of those pieces were also lined. I used a double row of running stitches to join the seams, based on an original 18th century cloak that I may have started copying just before this project. Neither book had detailed instructions for lining the garment, so I ended up using the Tudor Tailor's method of sewing the lining separately, turning the raw edges and then slip-stitching the two layers together along the top and sides. The collar (two wool layers) was made up separately and attached to the wool cloak, with its raw edges hidden under the linen lining. The fulled wool was heavy enough that I had to miter the corners to get them laying neatly. Following Quin's advice, I hemmed the two layers separately-- or rather, I hemmed the linen, and left the wool with a raw cut edge, which is a perk of broadcloth. This saved me approximately 3 lifetimes worth of pressing heavy wool, and was definitely the right decision.

 

I get the tiniest stitches working on linen.

Double row of running stitches in black silk.

The Modern Maker instructions do not mention or show any fastener on this cloak. I thought to add one, but have been pleasantly surprised by how much it is not needed. The fabric is well-balanced front and back, so that the cloak stays on whether I'm walking or standing still (with the revers turned back or not). I haven't tried running or anything, but it doesn't have the tendency of my more modern cloaks to slither off at the slightest movement. It also weighs a ton, so I'm glad it's hanging from the shoulders and not a clasp at the throat.

Preparing for Faire

It's been a few years since I attended this particular event, so a refresher on Early Modern everything seems in order. The object to get back into that 1570s mindset ASAP, so I pulled out some of the more accessible secondary/tertiary sources for a quick skim. Mostly, I want to review all the minutiae of early modern daily life that lies outside my main research interests. And make sure that I have all the coin denominations in order before trying to play picquet.

 

Reading List

In no particular order:

• A Compendium of Common Knowledge (Elizabethan, not pictured because it's a web resource) Bit-sized summaries of just about every topic under the sun: vocabulary, religion, servants' pay, where to shop in London...
  

• Easy Street (Interpretation) How To Engage With Audiences: The Book.
  

• The Time-Travellers' Guide to Elizabethan England (Elizabethan) Various topics, especially for someone traveling through England in the 16th century. Useful table of coin values.
  

• How to Be a Tudor (early 16th century, not pictured) For refreshing on the details of daily routines.

• Black Tudors (16th century) Life stories of specific individuals through the 16th century.

• How to Behave Badly in Elizabethan England (Elizabethan) The opposite of charm school.

• The Domestic Revolution (16th-20th century) Less niche than it appears--fuel use has major implications for trade, vernacular architecture, housekeeping, cooking methods, and even land use. Not all early modern, but the first half is relevant.
  

• Women in Warfare (16th-18th century) Very useful for my specific impression as a camp follower. Definitely the most dense of these sources, but included for extreme relevance.
  

• Description of England (1587) Actually a primary source, but it's really useful for language as well as weird details. Not so quick a read, but worth skimming as time permits.

Original: Doublet and Breeches, 16/17th-19th Century

 In an early modern mood, and selected this month's original garment for that reason. LACMA has this marked as "late 19th century construction, 16th-17th century textile" without further elaboration--I suspect they mean that it was made or altered for fancy dress or theatrical use in the late 19th century from extant 16th/17th century garment.

 

 

Red velvet doublet and breeches, courtesy LACMA.

Whatever it's particular origins, I do like the points. And the paned trunkhose. And the wings. And the buttons. It's a fun garment.