Letters to a Dress: A Stitch in Time Part One. 1760

A Stitch in Time Part One. 1760

A Stitch In Time.

The Life Story Of A Dress.

Ivywell House.Sussex.

5^th May 1760

Dearest Sophia,

I write to you in a state of great excitement. Mistress Dentelle the dressmaker has lately delivered my new gown for the upcoming ball. It is the finest thing I have ever seen.The silk brocade, styled á la française of course…glows in deep red and gold. Such lavish embroidery on the stomacher, with gold braid and silk ribbon fashioned into intricate and beautiful patterns. Needs must the stomacher has to be pinned into place, a process I find long and tiring. I shall endeavour to move with great care and small neat steps whilst wearing the dress, less I disturb the pins and the threads that hold the gown in place. I vow my wrists and hands are made gentler by the froth of lace from the sleeves. I have a particular tendresse for the elegant lace apron. I have a fancy it marks my status as mistress of the house! My shoes are of the same brocade with diamond buckles that sparkle beautifully. I bless my dearest husband for his generosity of spirit in insisting I command a new gown for this occasion. He has vowed that I shall have my portrait painted in this very dress, to hang in the long gallery here. The Ball will be my first appearance on my Lords arm as wife to him. Since returning from our honeymoon travels I have not been at home for anyone, save mama who is staying with us. My education as wife and chatelaine of this wonderful mansion is far from complete and I so value her presence and good sense. I do know that I shall have to receive our neighbours and half the county on the night of the ball. My Lord tells me some old friends of his from London will make the journey to join us on this evening. I have such nerves, as many of them knew the first Lady of the house, God rest her soul. Please may I not be found wanting as hostess or wife. As I write the dress lies safely in my dressing room, wrapped in silk in my clothes press.

I hardly dare write these last words, but would not shrink from telling this to you, my closest confident. I pray putting this heartfelt desire into words will not bring ill luck upon me. But I fainted as my maid laced my bodice this morn. I wonder if it is the excitement of being addressed as My Lady or..No. I hardly dare say it, but do you think it could be…the thing that I have been praying for since I married My Lord? The blessed condition of which you laterly have been a serene member?I am so sorry my dearest cousin that you cannot be present at what I fervently hope will be a memorable evening. I know that as your confinement has just begun it is impossible for you to travel. I count the hours until we may speak face to face.

Rest assured that I shall write again after the ball and tell you all that transpired.

Your loving cousin Nell.

Next time.

Join Amelia in Regency England.

And find out what happened to Nell.

Was she in an interesting condition?

Were she and her new gown a success at the Ball?

Her portrait. What became of it?

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FROCK TALES

MAR
19

Frock Tales: Clues and Questions in Costume.

I have long been a proponent for social network’s potential in sharing knowledge, and creating unlikely connections between individuals simply through pursuing the same passions. This is especially true of my recent trip to Henfield Museum to attend a talk on dress history.

The trip came about through a chance correspondence in Facebook group Fashion Historians Unite! (wonderful place, highly recommend a browse!) where costume curator of Henfield Museum, Stephanie Richards, regularly shares brilliant images of the garments kept in their archive. Through an exchange of messages, Stephanie kindly offered to host a talk especially to share the lesser-known collection with University of Brighton students.

Simultaneously, I was thrilled and anxious. I love clothes (especially the old ones!) and cherish opportunities to see archival pieces. However, as a typically disorganised person, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat inept at the prospect of organising a group trip. As a Masters student, I don’t see students on other pathways as often, so I had no way of knowing who else would be up for it. After postering the campus, sharing around social media, and a determined word-of-mouth campaign among students and staff, a group emerged who shared my enthusiasm. The attendees from Brighton were a mix of friends, strangers; young coursemates and senior staff. Finally, after weeks of arranging, we were boarding a rickety minibus to get to Henfield.

Costume curator Stephanie Richards handling dress artefacts
As we arrived into the village hall, the room was already bustling with an eager audience gazing over the intriguing spread of garments presented across the front. Stephanie began the talk by quoting Mason Cooley; that “Clothes make a statement, costume tells a story…”, an aphorism which set the tone for the evening. Entitled “Frock Tales: Clues and Questions in Costume”, Stephanie’s talk guided us through some of the gems kept in the Henfield archives. She advised to always approach artefacts with a questioning eye, only then could the stories held between the seams be unravelled.

The collection stems from a small social history exhibition in the 1930s which expanded over time, all the while reflecting the village’s individual character. The pieces in the Museum generally all have some link to Henfield and/or the people who lived there. Particularly within smaller collections, the value of oral testimony is vital to illuminate an object’s relevance. From anecdotal experiences of New Look-styles to in-depth recounts of tragic life-histories illustrated through dress, the tales told all affirmed clothing’s oft overlooked function as readable documents of the past. Clothes are worn by everyone (in polite society), travel across time and locations, and crucially know the most intimate details of an individual. As Stephanie observes, clothes are more than just coverings, they are snippets of their owner’s life.

There are some spectacular items in the collection; a surprisingly sturdy 1860’s crinoline, 1940s parachute-silk shirts, a c1870-80s two-piece dress with patented sweatguards in the bodice armpits, and a beautifully beaded 1920s flapper dress which weighed two kilos! Wherever possible, the stories behind the owners of each garment were meticulously researched, and were equally as compelling as each sartorial detail. In some cases, Stephanie had traced items to the actual stores they were bought, I certainly agree with her observation that finding a maker’s label is like hitting the dress historian jackpot! One example was an exquisite black taffeta 1880s mantle from Brighton department store Hannington’s (though she mentioned that the royal warranted retailer has been mis-catalogued as ‘Harrington’s’) In other cases she retold the life-stories of the wearers, uncovering many remarkable, salacious, and uplifting details of the people once adorned by the surviving pieces.

Mystery dress!

The evening was not without some unsolved mysteries (I'm sure many of us love playing dress detective!) as a plain brown, mostly handsewn dress with medieval-styled sleeves and ruching was curiously embellished with some awfully fancy gold beading. At first glance it appears reminiscent of the Arts & Crafts styles, though it was not the work of the Omega group, and could possibly be theatrical dress or for a pageant? One of my personal obsessions within historic garments is evidence of alteration and re-making, so I was thrilled to see pieces showing evidence of theatrical additions or alteration to their original forms; further nuances within the tales told by dresses.

The most unexpectedly rewarding aspects of the talk was that it was also open to the friends of the Henfield Museum, who kindly provided refreshments for us all. It was such a fantastic experience for all of the Brighton lot to mix with the community. The evening was a true meeting of minds, as budding-historian students chatted with local-history buffs and dress historians could come together cast their eye over puzzling pieces. Many of the locals had not seen these pieces before either so we were all similarly amazed together, and the entire audience left inspired and in high-spirits. We are all extremely thankful to the FOHM for being so accommodating, and to Stephanie for putting together such an inspiring look into the artefact-based approach of a dress historian. After weeks of online correspondence, it was wonderful to meet a likeminded researcher in person!

http://sarahmarygeissler.blogspot.co.uk/2017/03/frock-tales-clues-and-questions-in.html
Sarah-Mary Geissler

A Stitch In Time. Part Three. 1860

Previously in a Stitch in Time

In 1815 Amelia was marking time until Ralph returned from the battle of Waterloo.

They married in a joyous ceremony after his safe return.

In time they were blessed with a son.

But as the years passed, the happy ending got less and less happy.

Now read on…..

Ivywell House

Sussex

August 1860

Dear Florence,

The most extraordinary thing has happened. It would not be out of place in a penny dreadful. No, I shall not tell you straight away, as I have to confess to being more than a little vexed with you. You are my dear sister. But please stop trying to persuade me that I shall enjoy the ball tomorrow. I realise Colonel and Mrs Bell are old friends of mama and papa and our family have been their guests before. I am aware that most young ladies, as you have it, enjoy balls and dancing. Well dear Flo, I am most certainly not of their number. I am more interested in my studies than frivolous dances. Besides. You forget I am twenty years of age. Far too old to be engaged by thoughts of waltzes and polkas.In your position as wife to a busy cleric and mother to a darling brood of cherubs (as mama refers to them when speaking to her friends) you simply cannot comprehend how I much prefer to be left to my books.

Daily life continues as ever. The young ladies of Ivywell School (our home as I prefer to think of it.) remain a constant presence. There are always classes in full flow somewhere in the house. Papa enjoys the geography and mathematics tuition. Mama manages literature and penmanship as efficiently as always. The French master is here once a week and continues to try and push ‘langue et littérature’ into various ringletted heads. Most seem content to be able to mutter ‘Oui’ and ‘Non’ and practise their curtseys to Monsieur. I know there is no money to spare and the pupils are necessary, but our parents work so hard making trying to make polished ladies out of these silly girls.

And now to the extraordinary thing. after breakfast I was summoned to Grandmamas room. she made it plain that she agrees with you over the ball, I am to go. No argument permitted. I demurred, protesting that I had not a gown or shoes fine enough. She directed me to her dressing room and bid me look at the portrait of our great great grandmother Sophia painted a hundred years ago.( It is the very pretty lady in a red and gold brocade gown and lots of diamonds.)

Then she told me the following. After her husband, our Grandfather Ralph, was killed in a duel, the family fortune was decimated by his gambling debts. Her sole desire was to safeguard Ivywell for papa to inherit. Sadly Grandfathers profligate life had robbed her of any illusions as to the eventual fate of her family money. Carefully and over time, preparations had been made. So when she was widowed her first task was to reclaim a trunk she had hidden in the nursery linen cupboard. This held not only the dress in the portrait, but Sophia’s diamond studded shoe buckles and some other jewels. The sale of the jewellery saved the house with a little left over. If this was not startling enough, she suggests I use some of the fine red and gold brocade from the dress to fashion myself a sash and so refresh my old ball gown. Also there is enough lace left on the dress to sew a reticule for me to carry. She further confided that her bridal gown had been fashioned in part from material from this ancient dress. I am almost lost for words. ! (But not quite.)Even I find myself intrigued by this notion and there is no doubt that my ball gown is sadly dingy. I have not worn it since your wedding. Tonight I shall remove the trimmings I sported on that happiest of days (remember the artificial violets I had to match yours?) and set about making the sash and reticule.My best white gloves have a darn, but my satin pumps have no really dark stains. Mama’s lace fan will go to another ball and I shall wear a rose in my hair from the garden and trust to detract from my shabbiness by engaging people in intelligent conversation. So, there we are. I shall go to the ball. But I won’t enjoy it.

I’ll seal this missive after the event, so I may confirm my low expectations.

Grandmamma sends her love.

Your loving sister Clara xx

PS Oh Flo I am writing this after the ball.It is very very late and I have so much to tell you.The ball was the most wonderful evening of my life. As I was hiding in the Winter Garden (so as not to have to dance), I met the son of the house, Frederick Bell. We never met him as children. He has been away at school and then abroad because he is delicate. He too was taking refuge in the winter garden and so we talked and talked about Mr Dickens and his stories. And art and sculpture. Freddy has been to Rome and Paris. He wants to be a historian and has plans to write a work on architecture. And he says he believes that girls may study as well as any man.I never knew one could talk to men and they would talk back as if you were an equal.The only cloud is that as sole heir his father wishes him to confine his studies to taking over the family business empire.But oh oh oh I cannot think of that now. His eyes are the darkest green I have ever seen and his moustache so suits his noble face…

You were right my darling sister. I did enjoy the ball, perhaps not in the way you thought, but I feel that I have met my life’s soul mate.

Clara xxxx

Next time join IMOGEN in 1910. A new century.

Discover how Clara and her green eyed swain arranged their futures.

Read how a fiery family spirit can miss a generation or two, but it will out one day.

Find out what life in a new century was like for women. Better? Worse? Or the same?

A Stitch in Time Part One. 1760

A Stitch In Time.

The Life Story Of A Dress.

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