1838 Ladies Drawers - Sizing Up from the Workwoman's Guide

This post is about how I sized up some drawers from the 1838 Workwoman's Guide to fit me. If you are unfamiliar with this book, it is a wonderful resource. You can purchase a copy of the Workwoman's Guide here from Amazon Drygoods I sewed these by hand using linen fabric and thread. The Guide includes the following illustration and description

 

These are formed of two separate legs sewed into a band, which is made to button before or behind, at pleasure. For a moderate size, Fig 12 will be a good guide. 

Width of material, 14 Nails (31.5 inches) 

Length of each breadth, 15 nails (33.75) 

Fold each breadth in half its width, letting D be the doubled part, and measure as follows 

Note: A 'nail' is 2.25 inches 

I'm not sure what exactly a 'moderate size' would have been in 1838, but I assumed it was smaller than I am. So I needed to get a little more volume in there.

It is important to note that the Guide is not a tailor's manual, and the patterns are not based on proportions the way many of those are. Most of them are made from straight lines, designed for maximum cutting efficiency based on the width of the fabric. So to size it up, I just worked off the idea of a wider piece of fabric. This meant adjusting 3 points on the pattern, E, S, and Z. All other points remained the same. I also cut the waistband out to my waist measurement. You do want them to sit higher on the waist, rather than on the hips.

  

The measurement C to E is 7 nails (15.75 inches), which is the exact length of the fabric doubled over. To enlarge the pattern, I worked off of this measurement. My understanding is that 36 inches was another common fabric width at the time, so I worked off that. This made the C to E measurement 18 inches, half of 36. Point Z was mentioned as being 1/2 nail (1 1/8 inches) in from E, so that was easy to adjust. In the original pattern there was 2 nails (4.5 inchs) difference in the length from F to S and the length from C to E, so I just made sure that point S was still 4.5 inches back towards the center line from point E.

Since I was actually using 45 inch fabric, this also left enough for the waistband.

One other change I made was in the middle. The author has the two legs overlapping. I have made these before like that, but I prefer them to meet up like this example here from the Met

Original housed in the Met

C 1802-1820 

CI46.77.2_F

I have always made them to be back fastening, which works well. The author does note that they could open in the front though.

 

I also added a little lace on the bottom, like this pair from the Met

Original housed in the Met
1846 'American or European'

1999.216.2

I was also pleased to find this pair, since they are linen. Interestingly, the Workwoman's Guide lists linen as a fabric for men's drawers, but not for the ladies. I know cotton was becoming increasingly dominant in the 19th century, but it gets hotter than blazes around here in the summer, so I made three of these out of some wonderful linen Brian got me for Christmas. 

I HIGHLY recommend making your historical underwear in batches. I know myself, and if I get enough fabric for 3 but just make one, I will stop after that one. I may tell myself I'm doing three in a row, but in all likelihood I won't get there till the first one wears out. And it will wear out faster because it's the only I have got. Plus, for 2-3 day events, you really want fresh undies every day! So I made three linen drawers first, followed quickly by another cotton set. I actually already have a couple of these in cotton, my plan is to use this last pair for demos only. A lot of times when I am doing dressing demos people are really interested in the drawers, and I would like to be able to hand them a set to look at which are not actually, well, my underwear.

The Box

In Lark Rise to Candleford Flora Thompson describes a common scene from the hamlet in England where she grew up

"A familiar sight at Lark Rise was that of a younger girl - any young girl between ten and thirteen- pushing one of the two perambulators in the hamlet round the Rise with a smallish-sized, oak clothes box with black handles lashed to the seat..... 

She had been to the Rectory for THE BOX , which appeared almost simultaneously with every new baby, and a grueling time she would have had pushing her load the mile and a half, keeping it from slipping from its narrow perch. But, very soon, such small drawbacks would be forgotten in the pleasure of seeing it unpacked. It contained half a dozen of everything- tiny shirts, swathes, long flannel barrows, nighties and napkins, made, kept in repair, and lent for every confinement by the clergymen's daughter. In addition to the loaned clothes, it would contain, as a gift, packets of tea and sugar and a tin of patent groats for making gruel. "

The ritual which Flora Thompson describes in the 1880's was an old one, going back at least as far as the beginning of the nineteenth century. We can find evidence of it in several sewing manuals from the period. These manuals, geared towards middle and upper class women, provided advice on charitable sewing for the deserving poor in their neighborhoods.

The Ladies Economical Assistant, published in England in 1808 said that "There is not, perhaps, any act of charity more truly beneficial to the poor than the custom of lending a box of linen to lying-in women, for the month of f their confinement."  In 1838, The Workwoman's Guide continued the same tradition, stating that "Linen is often lent by ladies to the poor, at their confinements, in bags, boxes, or baskets ...." which is followed by a precise inventory of recommended items to include.

The author of this work gives more detail on the box itself, saying that "....the most convenient kind of basket for containing these articles of clothing, is a light wicker-work one, about 20 inches long, 12 inches wide, and 20 inches high...it should have two handles, sufficiently high to allow of the lid opening easily."

These boxes contained clothes for the new mothers as well. The suggested inventory from The Workwoman's Guide is specifically divided between items for mother and baby, even suggesting the addition of a few books for the mother to read during her confinement. It would be tempting to think that for these women, the period of confinement provided a rare opportunity for some rest; however Thompson remembers the mothers in her hamlet taking pride in returning to their household work as quickly as possible. In any case, the authors of these manuals attempted to think equally of the comfort and needs of these poor women and their infants.

'Poor Yet Rich' Theresa Schwartze

The loaning of 'The Box' was supposed to be an orderly, well regulated affair, at least according to the manuals. The Ladies Economical Assistant has a great deal of advice on the handling of this loan, insisting that the box must be returned at the end of a month.  "I would strongly recommend' writes the author 'that no part of the contents of the box should be parted with on any account; otherwise, before the things are replaced they are probably wanted, and thus great disappointment is occasioned to whose who look upon this help as so material a comfort."For those women who required further assistance, she provides the following advice to her readers "receiving the box, with the contents well washed, and agreeing with the inventory (which should always be sent with the things,) a present of a few articles of an infant's dress may be given to deserving families, if an extension of the charity be thought proper." 

Thompson tells us that these rules were understood in the Hamlet, at least in theory. "The boxes were supposed to be returned at the end of the month" says Thompson "with the clothes freshly laundered." But of course reality does not always correspond nicely with an advice manual, and extensions were regularly given when no one else in the hamlet had recently had a child. Thus 'THE BOX' might actually stay with a single family for six or seven weeks, allowing them to avoid ever having to lay out the time and money for clothes which their children would only wear at the very beginning of their lives. And the Rector's daughter did, in fact, also make several permanent presents of infants clothing upon the THE BOX's return.

Outline for a gown for poor infants from the Workwoman's Guide 

In the Lark Rise hamlet, this institution was so popular that the Rector's daughter actually had to maintain an auxiliary box for times when the first one was in use. She also maintained two christening gowns to be used when the time came.

The Rector's daughter, Miss Ellison, gives a picture of one of the women who was doing all this charitable sewing. Thompson says "Such a life as hers must have been is almost unimaginable now. Between playing the harmonium in church, teaching in Sunday school, ordering her father's meals and overseeing the maids, she must have spent hours doing needlework." And of course 'The Box' was not the only bit of charitable sewing she was doing 'Course, unattractive needlework, too, cross-over shawls and flannel petticoats for the old women, flannel shirts and long, thick knitted stockings for the old men, these, as well as the babies print frocks, were all made by her own hands."

"Young Woman Sewing, The Artist's Sister Anna Hammerchøi," by Vilhelm Hammerchøi,  1887

Sadly, for all of her trouble, Miss Ellison was not well loved or the recipient of much gratitude in the hamlet. "She got little credit for this." Says Thompson "The mothers, like the children, looked upon the small garments, both loaned and given, as a provision of nature. Indeed, they were rather inclined to criticize."

So far Lark Rise is the latest evidence I have seen of this tradition.  Thompson writes about her 1880's childhood as a time when a great deal of change was still coming to her hamlet, where she and her siblings were the last generation to experience many decades, or even centuries, old rhythms of life growing up. This was a tradition which made sense before inexpensive, ready-made clothing was widely available for infants. When the amount of time and effort it would take to make and maintain such clothing was much better done once by one wealthier person with leisure time, than repeated by a whole village of mothers who had little in the way of either time or money for materials.

However I would be very interested to see if and how long this tradition may have continued in other places. If you have seen any other examples of 'The Box' please let me know in the comments below! Many thanks to my friend Eleanor Rust for bringing Lark Rise to Candleford to my attention!

Home Organization with the Workwoman's Guide

Winter Break is finally here, and for this teacher that means time for a little household tidying! All of my recent projects, while delightful, have definitely left a mess in our cutting room dining room, so that was where I started. This included all kinds of small bits of fabric for potential caps and other projects.

Organizing lots of little bits of things is always difficult for me. Luckily, The Workwoman's Guide has the following suggestion

"A rag bag is a desirable thing to have hung up in some conspicuous part of the house, into which all odd bits, and even shreds, of calico, print, linen, muslin, & c should be put: as they are useful to come in when a gusset or chin stay, or other small article is wanting. Those bits too small for this purpose may still be used by school children, for practicing stitches; or, at all events, may be disposed of to the rag merchants, and thus prove of some value at last...."


Obviously I could not go any further with cleaning until I made a rag bag!

She goes on to say that

"Another family bag, for the purpose of containing stray tapes, or shoe strings, hooks, eyes, odd buttons, pieces of silk , or bits of ribbon, may be kept with advantage; especially where there is a large family of children, whose demands for these small articles are daily and constant."

Since I do, in fact, have stray ribbons and pieces of tape about the place, this seemed like a good idea as well. She also suggests a small bag to be kept in your work-box for these things, which I also want to do, since those and thread are usually what causes a mess there. 

The Guide is full of this strong desire for what the author considers 'economy' and efficiency. Today, we might think of it as 'sustainability', but whatever you call it, I think she has a few lessons to teach us about it.  I usually put bits of fabric which are big enough under the sink to use as cleaning rags. Some of these will still doubtless end up here, but this will keep them clean in case I want to use them for caps or some other small thing. And I did add some pieces which I would normally have just tossed, but which really will be good for chin stays for infants caps or other similar projects in the future. 

We have come to think of large-scale industrial production as being more efficient, but it is marvelous how the home economy described in the Guide finds a use for every last piece of material. 

Unfortunately I don't think I'm going to have a value or use for those little tiny scraps the author would have given to the rag and bone man. It's a shame, as I really hate to throw things away. It's really an excellent example of how wasteful we have become compared to our ancestors who used everything. 

The Workwoman's Guide - A gown for infants of the 'lower classes'

"Another Infant's Flannel Gown"

So I am sewing my way through the Workwoman's Guide. As detailed in my last post, I've been making-up some sewing which will be appropriate to send to some of my friends at the Dickens Fair to work on in character.

I had a lot of fun with the caps in my last post, but I wanted to move onto something bigger that people could really show off as part of a gig at Dickens. But I also wanted to keep it pretty simple, so anyone could easily pick it up and work on it. I found the perfect option among the various instructions for making gowns for infants:

"This shape is the one generally used by the lower classes , not only for flannels, but for print gowns and petticoats; and is preferred to others on account of the ease with which it is cut out, and also because there is much less needle-work in the making up: there is, however, some waste, which is an objection. The gown is 13 nails long , but as there should be no seam on the shoulder, the two breadths must be cut in one length of 26 nails, which is 1 yard 10 nails. Double it in two, so as to be 13 nails long, and then fold it in half very evenly down the middle, so as to make the four selvages lie exactly one upon the other, and pin them firmly down to keep the folds in place; then, after measuring three nails from the selvages at the top (see A S), to determine the length of the sleeves, cut out the part S C D, to form the neck of the gown. Observe that the part from S to C is nail deep, which should be nicely rounded off, and from C to D, the bosom is cut straight along...."

This was nice and straightforward. It does not explicitly say how wide the breadth should be, but going off the sketch, the folded over fabric is 7 Nails (3+ 4), so the full breadth  would be 14 Nails (31.5 inches). This was the smallest breadth listed among the other gown variations, and my understanding is that that was a common width of fabric in the period.

This was pretty easy and fun to sketch out. I felt a bit like the mice from Cinderlla with my chalk and pattern book! The only thing that seems a bit odd to me are the sleeves, though I followed the directions clearly. 

To me  they look a bit skinny, especially relative to the body of the gown. To be fair this was designed for poor Victorian infants, who may have been undernourished, certainly compared to modern infants. However were I to make this again I think I would add a half inch to the sleeve measurement and adjust the curve in the arm accordingly. 

Can you count the cats in this picture? 

Next up, construction!

"The gown is next shaped at the side; and to do so properly, put in a pin at S, and fold it in a regular slope down to the bottom of the gown. Measure down the slope from the top, S, the distance of 2 nails, and put in a pin as a guide; cut off from the bottom upwards to T, and rounding it off at the corner, slope along T K for the sleeve, allowing 1 1/2 nail width for the wrist . In making it up, the seams should be joined with a mantua-maker's hem and a band should be sewn on the inside of the front, to be 6 nails in length, and about 1 1/2 nail below the neck. Cut a button-hole in the gown at each end of the band, draw with a bodkin a piece of tape through one hole, and fasten it down at the other extremity of the band; do the same with the other button-hole, so that on pulling the tapes, the gown will be drawn up, and neatly fulled in the front."

I used some 5/8 inch twill tape to create this band on the inside.

I used 1/4 inch twill tape to pull it up, and did the button-holes with a waxed linen thread.

This was quite fun to 'neatly full' in the front, however it left the actual neck large and floppy. There are no instructions whatever here about finishing the neck, but there is a line in the plate which looks like a drawstring casing.

So I turned the neck under to create the casing, and made two more buttonholes in the front for a drawstring. I used more 1/4 twill tape for the string. All the tape you see here came from William Booth, Draper at the Sign of the Unicorn. 

This allows you to draw up the neck to match the middle, so I have to assume it is supposed to happen, it just somehow didn't make it into the actual written directions.

So, having gone through two of these projects now, my big takeaway is that you definitely need to compare the plate and directions, and use your best judgement. 

Now, to get it all packed up and in the mail for the final two weeks of Dickens!