Pins & Pinning

Susan reports:

The only time most modern people have any contact with a straight pin is trying to wrestle one free from the packaging of a new dress shirt. But to an 18th c. lady, the straight pin wasn't a nuisance.  It was a necessity.

Not only were pins used in sewing and mending, but they were also employed to fasten clothes together: a gentleman's neckcloth, the front bodice of a lady's gown (as shown in the detail, below right, of the gown seen here earlier this week), even a baby's diapers.  Pins were most commonly purchased in a milliner's shop (see Loretta's blog.)

The picture, above left, shows a selection of replica 18th c. pins: the smaller ones are for sewing, while the longer ones are "dressing pins."  

The dressing pins have the larger heads, formed

as the wire is twisted around the unsharpened end.  The gold-toned pins are made of brass, with the advantage that they did not rust; the silver-toned ones are steel, which holds a sharper point than the brass, but rusts.

Also in the above photo is a reproduction of an original paper packet that would have held two or three dozen pins. Henry Halles was one of the largest pin manufacturers in 18th c. England; the industry was centered in the London neighborhood of Whitechapel.

Pins were so essential to the 18th c. lady that the British trade embargoes against American colonists during the Revolution made their price skyrocket in Boston and other colonial cities. Ladies could live without tea.  Pins were quite another matter.  Abigail Adams famously wrote from Massachusetts to her husband John in London in 1775, begging him to "purchase me a bundle of pins & put them in your trunk for me. The cry for pins [in Boston] is so great, that what I used to buy for seven shillings and sixpence, are now twenty shillings, and not to be had for that."

Many thanks to tailor Mark Hutter of Colonial Williamsburg for both his pins, and his considerable knowledge. 

Trinkets

Loretta reports:

I've been writing historical romance for a hundred years or so now, and researching diligently all the while. What this does mainly is show me how much I don't know. No surprise then, that I learned some new things at the Milliner's Shop in Colonial Williamsburg.

I learned, for instance, that the milliner sold more than clothing. You could buy snuff from her. And fans and gloves and ribbons and pins. And other stuff I forgot to write down. You could buy these beaded necklaces, too.

I've done some research on jewelry for a couple of my books: the precious gems a nobleman might bestow upon the heroine or his mistress. Those necklaces from Rundell & Bridge and other high end jewelers fastened with gold clasps.

Here's the new thing I learned in CW: The ones in the photo have, as you see, loops covered with thread. The lady ties them at the back of her neck with a ribbon.

The little package in the upper right corner holds straight pins. They're made of steel and, as you may be able to read, they come from London, as does so much else at this time.

More from Williamsburg: Real Fashion

Susan reports:

Most of the time when we see examples of historic dress, it's in a picture or on a museum mannequin behind protective glass.  But whatever the era, clothes are never meant to stand still, or even languish on a hanger.  They need someone to wear them to make them come alive.  They need to move with the wearer, emphasising this feature or masking that one, and as the wearer adds his or her own personal touches and accessories, the clothes become them.  That's 

style.

But with fragile antique textiles, that's also almost impossible to achieve.  One of the things I love most about watching the interpreters in the streets and shops of Colonial Williamsburg  is seeing how well they wear their replica clothing.  They're fashion plates in action.  

The seductive sway of a lady's petticoats over her hoops becomes apparent as she walks, and the well-designed practicality of a gentleman's coat is easy to see when the gentleman's on his horse. This is all due to CW's amazing Costume Design Center, a group as dedicated to research and accuracy as they are to creating beautiful clothing.  

But the wearers themselves make the real difference.  The gentleman (interpreter Scott Greene) on horseback here is portraying His Excellency the Right Honorable John Earl of Dunmore, His Majesty's Governor of Virginia (remember his carriage, here and here?) Even dressed casually for a day of surveying his colonial holdings, by his posture and the ease with which he rides he reflects every bit of the privilege and authority that his elegant clothing represents.  

The mantua-maker's apprentice (interpreter Sarah Woodyard, last seen at the TNHG having a sack gown fit to her) is here wearing a gown of her own creation.  But from the ribbon on her cap to her coral beads to her fanciful lace apron, she would also be showing the latest styles to her customers, and with luck tempt them to buy more, too.  It would certainly have worked with me!

Mourning a Royal Duke

Loretta reports:

I couldn’t find the official mourning proclamation for Princess Charlotte, but did find this, for the Duke of Kent (Queen Victoria’s father) who died in 1820.

Lord Chamberlain's Office, Jan. 25.
Orders for the Court's going into mourning, on Sunday next, the 30th instant, for his late royal highness the duke of Kent and Strathern, fourth son of his majesty, viz.
The ladies to wear black bombazins, plain muslin or long lawn, crape hoods, chamois shoes and gloves, and crape fans.
Undress.—Dark Norwich crape.
The gentlemen to wear black cloth, without buttons on the sleeves or pockets, plain muslin or long lawn cravats and weepers, chamois shoes and gloves, crape hatbands, and black swords and buckles.
Undress.—Dark gray frocks.

Herald's College, Jan. 25.
The deputy earl Marshal's order for a general mourning for his late royal highness the duke of Kent.
In pursuance of the commands of his royal highness the Prince Regent, acting in the name and on the behalf of his majesty.
These are to give public notice, that it is expected that upon the present melancholy occasion of the death of his late royal highness Edward Duke of Kent and Strathern, fourth son of his majesty, all persons do put themselves into decent mourning, the said mourning to begin on Sunday next, the 30th instant.
HENRY HOWARD - MOLYNEUX-HOWARD, Deputy Earl-Marshal.

Horse-Guards, Jan, 25. It is not required that the officers of the army should wear any other mourning on the present melancholy occasion than a black crape round their left arms with their uniforms.
By command of his royal highness the commander-in-chief.
HARRY CALVERT, Adjutant-General.

Admiralty-Office, Jan. 25.
His royal highness the Prince Regent does not require that the officers of his majesty's fleet or marines should wear any other mourning on the present melancholy occasion of the death of his late royal highness the duke of Kent and Strathern, than a black crape round their arms with their uniforms. J. W. CHOKER.

You can find out more about mourning during the Regency at the Jane Austen Centre.

This mourning dress from La Belle Assembleé for December 1817 might have been worn for Princess Charlotte. The illustration is from the Regency Library collection.

The curious mourning dress

Loretta reports:

When researching Don’t Tempt Me, I finally made the connection between the number of mourning dresses in fashion plates in late 1817 and early 1818 and the fact that Princess Charlotte had died in November 1817. The court didn’t come out of mourning until late February 1818. We 21st century people tend to forget that there was a time when mourning followed a lengthy, prescribed pattern, and there was a system of dress for its various stages.

I’ve seen quite a few Regency era mourning dresses in fashion plates, but never anything like the one I was shown at Colonial Williamsburg’s Millinery Shop.

The black design, which seems to be a cypher (C-Y-E) is not embroidery. As the photos show, it’s done in ink. This dress is a copy of an existing one, c 1817-1820, though no one is sure whether the original was English or American.

I’d be interested to learn whether any of you have ever seen this sort of hand-drawn pen and ink decoration on a dress. It was a first for me.