August 2013 – Adventures in London

Classes at the School of Historical Dress

I wanted to write about the two most recent classes I took (making and setting Elizabethan ruffs, and historical tailoring stitches and techniques) but I have learned entirely too much to create a coherent description of my experiences. Instead I’ll try to capture three important things I’ve learned by taking classes at the School of Historical Dress with Jenny Tiramani and four other highly skilled and knowledgeable teachers.

FIRST: Use the correct materials. You cannot achieve realistic-looking results without using the correct fabrics, and your process will be rather more difficult if you lack the necessary tools. If an item was made out of a crisp silk material, you probably won’t be able to get the same shape and drape if you substitute linen, wool, velvet, or a softer or thinner silk. If the original garment was slashed using a pinking tool, you cannot easily use modern pinking shears or an X-acto knife to get the same result. (Of course some substitutions, such as using cotton thread instead of linen, will have minimal effect on a project.)

SECOND: Think about who would have made the item. Use materials and techniques that they would have used. Seamstresses used certain stitches, tailors an overlapping but not identical set, and neither did the work of the embroiderers, lace makers, or laundresses. Don’t confuse the techniques of one profession for those of another.

Tailors worked with pattern books, measurements, and curved shapes to make form-fitting outer garments; seamstresses primarily cut and pieced rectilinear and triangular shapes to make linen undergarments and accessories such as ruffs. Seamstresses sewed ruffs but laundresses starched and set them, which required an entirely different skill set. If you try to use a tailor’s curved lines and body-fitting techniques to create a linen shirt, you will probably not produce a realistic historical garment. If you use a seamstress’s rectangular construction to recreate a doublet or gown, you will not achieve a period silhouette. Don’t look at the tiny stitches on a linen shirt and assume that professional tailors always sewed seams as tightly, but also don’t look at the large and sloppy stitches on some tailor-made garments and assume that your linens will hold up if assembled as quickly.

THIRD: Before making guesses about techniques, be sure that you know what the extant garments can tell you about the methods appropriate both to the time period and garment type. Jenny asks me this question again and again, reminding me that the techniques I have relied on most heavily (looking at artwork in books and reconstructing shaped garments by pattern draping on the body) will not show me how to construct historically accurate clothing. I try to describe to her how limiting it is to be an amateur researcher based in America nowhere near any museums with extant clothing from before 1600. However, with the ever-growing number of quality books published about historical clothing, she is right to point out that many resources are available, if we only look hard enough. Art alone will not give us accurate clothing designs. Archaeological textiles and grave goods often lack certain important details and provide an incomplete picture (for example, often the linen fibers have disintegrated, leaving only silk and wool). Whenever I wonder “how did they do this?” I need to always remember to look for information about surviving garments.

Working with Jenny and the other teachers at the School of Historical Dress has been one of the most fabulous unanticipated benefits of living in London. I have asked so many questions, questioned so many of my sewing habits, improved so many of my techniques, eagerly jotted the names of so many quirky suppliers, and added so many odd tools to my sewing wishlist. Pity my poor husband; Christmas shopping this year is not going to be simple.

Examining the 1502 Croft Tomb

Writing up my observations about the previous effigy was so rewarding, I think I’ll spend my Friday night analyzing another particularly fine sculpture.

This tomb, one of the first that I photographed, is located in Chipping Norton, Oxfordshire. It contains the figures of Richard Croft and his wife Agnes (or Anne), daughter of John Fox. Richard died in 1502 and requested “my body to be buryed in the Chapell of saint John Baptist in the Chirch of Chepingnorton by the walle on the left syde of said chapel ther where the Cofer standith.” His wife died in 1509.

The original monument lacked inscription (presumably the arms painted on the tomb were sufficient to identify it); one was added in 1683 by a descendant of the Croft family. Although the tomb likely stands near its original location in the church, it has clearly been disassembled, patched, and probably incorrectly reassembled. The head of the tomb has two niches from which the figures have been lost:

The decorative architectural elements around these niches appear to match those around two mourners on the side of the tomb as if they, and not the the shield-bearing angels, belong on the side of the tomb.

Richard and Agnes Croft had four children – two sons, two daughters – and because the mourners on the side of the tomb appear to be one male, one female, I think that the sides of the tomb have been reassembled out of order. The empty niches probably stood where the angels are now with praying figures representing their eldest daughter and son. The angels most likely graced the head of the tomb. I have no idea what was originally at the foot, for now the limestone slab with the 1683 inscription is there.

Agnes’s clothing is similar to that of Edith Babington. I am pleased to find such costume in 1502, during the lifetime of Elizabeth of York, substantiating the idea that the fashion the queen adopted had been embraced by contemporary ladies. Like Edith, Agnes wears round-toed shoes, a full-length gown, a loose belt with an off-center pendant on a square chain, a gabled headdress, and a full-length mantle just covering her shoulders that is held with a cord decoratively looped over her chest. Not only is no closure evident on the gown, but I detect no neckline; I assume that it is meant to be behind the cord.

Some features of Agnes’s clothes differ from Edith’s. Each sleeve ends in a large turned back cuff. Her hood, while similar, has fewer visible layers. Over the peaked under-cap she has a frontlet that drapes down her arms. Behind this is another layer of fabric that I cannot interpret well. The back of the cap is an interesting mix of curves and angles. If only I could see what is obscured against the pillow! The fold in the frontlet over her temple has a strong upward angle as it moves away from the face. This is unusual; on that part of the hat I usually see something close to a right angle fold running parallel to the ground.

Agnes’s belt is similar to Edith’s, with a rose clasp and a pendant, likely a pomander:

The belt clearly illustrates the form of the clasp: a rose with two hooks off the back. Each hook fits into a hole on the end of her belt, which was probably leather and possibly also fitted with metal chapes at each end. Why did Edith wear her belt on the left hip, while Agnes wears hers on the right? I prefer dangling items on my left (non-dominant) side, and during this time being left handed was fiercely discouraged. Perhaps this figure was always meant to rest against the wall, so the belt was carved on the outward facing side where it could be admired.

The greatest difference between these effigies is Agnes’s jewelry. The necklace seems outdated compared to the rest of her costume. Wide, ornate collars usually grace effigies with hat styles of the late 15th century, such as butterfly headdresses and truncated hennins. Since Agnes was most likely alive when this effigy was carved, perhaps she specified the items of dress in which she was depicted. Although I know tombs were usually created without any attempt to accurately depict the people they represented, I’d like to imagine that she had a favorite necklace and requested a version of it carved on her effigy.

This tomb was a delight to see, although I am annoyed with myself for failing to take detailed photographs of certain sides and angles. I was just learning how to photograph effigies when I visited.

My entire family accompanied me on the excursion to Chipping Norton. It was supposed to be a short stop on our way to Stratford-upon-Avon, but we ended up spending most of our short winter daylight hours in town (minus those spent stuck in traffic around Oxford). My older boys each made a brass rubbing while my husband entertained the littlest one in the church’s nursery corner.

The church is large and quite beautiful, with a stunning clerestory that streams sunlight into the nave. While we were inside a church warden happened upon us and was amazed that someone would come all the way from America to see the tombs in his church. Chipping Norton is not a tiny town, but it isn’t a standard tourist destination, either. He loves the tombs (there is also an Elizabethan one) and wishes his church could pay for a restoration. He showed me a recent conservation report and asked that I let him know if I learned anything about these people or this tomb. I hope someday I can provide him with a bit of interesting information.

Exploring Costume Details on a 1511 Effigy

I have written almost nothing about my research progress, holding it instead inside my mind, often as just a mass of images, not words. This makes it awkward to share my observations. I’d like to post some effigy images from the early 16th century for someone also recreating costume of that era, but rather than mail them just to her, I’ll finally edit photos and blog about them.

I’ll begin with one of the effigies I found most satisfying to visit: Edith Babington (née Fitzherbert), wife of Thomas Babington, whose tomb rests in the nave of the Parish Church of Ashover, Derbyshire. Edith died in 1511, and according to the church guidebook this tomb was commissioned after her death, not after his in 1518.

(Click on the photos for full size images.)

Normally I am unhappy to see a painted effigy, because it means that historical information such as fragments of original color has been covered, obscured by well-meaning 19th or 20th century painters whose skill was seldom on par with the original 16th century artists. They also make mistakes in costume interpretation. Notice the loops of gold cord across her chest? These hold her mantle and are quite common on effigies. However, when the trailing ends of this cord pass under her hands, they change color to black with gold tassels. Also, the decorative lappet on the front of her bonnet is painted dark green, a color I have not seen represented in other images. I have seen that piece in both art and effigy as black, red, and gold, but not green. Despite these quibbles with the color scheme, overall the painting was pleasingly executed, with some depth of color produced by layering, and some real care for the effigy.

My original research goal was to document the earliest gable headdresses, and sadly this effigy is one of the earliest I can show. I imagined before I began that surely I would find some images that predate Elizabeth of York’s circa 1503 portrait; instead I found little evidence that gables really existed before 1500. I have a few brasses that might fall in the 1490s which show gabled bonnets, but I have not satisfied myself that they were actually executed during the 15th century.

Many of the other effigies from the first decade of the 16th century do not have gabled headdresses, but instead loose flowing hair capped with crowns, garlands, or similarly shaped rolls and netted caps. All the effigies with flowing hair also wear the terribly outdated (by 100 years) fashion of the sideless surcoat; I suspect that some important symbolism is to be conveyed by the combination of unbound hair and sleeveless overdress, but I have not yet satisfied myself that I have cracked the code. Maybe this was wedding garb, or was meant to evoke thoughts of holy women, or in some way announced the deceased lady’s elevated social status. To further confuse the question, I have not yet found a single early 16th century brass that shows a woman with flowing hair or a sideless surcoat. Only on effigies are women thus displayed.

But back to Edith! Her gown looks fairly typical of the time, comparing it mostly with English brasses. It is square necked, showing about an inch of a kirtle neckline beneath; tight sleeved without decoration at the cuff (folded back fur-lined cuffs are also common); lacks visible closure; and fits snugly to the hips before flaring to considerable fullness that falls straight down rather than being held out by undergarments. Her round-toed shoes are covered by the fullness of her gown, on which a tiny dog (a symbol of fidelity common on effigies) tugs earnestly. Her mantle is held by a long cord across the chest, but barely wraps around her shoulders. Since it leaves her front uncovered and falls to the floor behind, it seems likely that such a garment serves more of a decorative or symbolic function rather than being a useful cloak for keeping warm.

Edith wears only a little jewelry. She has a plain ring on her left hand but nothing on her right:

a rose-shaped clasp on her belt, which she wears over her left hip:

and at the end of a chain with very square links, a round ornament large enough to be a pomander:

There were other reasons that I liked this tomb. The man’s effigy was that of a civilian– a rare treat, since most tombs depict knights.

The tomb also had a vast number of weepers on the sides. They couldn’t have had that many children, so I puzzled over them for a while. I decided that the figures at the head of the tomb, between shield-bearing angels, were probably the donor couple praying to their favorite saints. I believe that would be Saint Catherine, holding the wheel on which she was to be tortured, and possibly Saint Thomas Becket, given that this was created in pre-Reformation England, those look like bishop’s vestments, and the donor’s name was Thomas. A rosary is prominent on Edith’s miniature figure, while her full-sized one on top of the tomb lacks one. Over the donors’ heads are the remains of scrolls that would have born prayers, most likely defaced during the Reformation. I am quite surprised that the saints’ figures survived.

I concluded that the weepers represented not only the couple’s children, but also their spouses. Each segment of the tomb contained a male/female pair until I came to one that had a woman holding the hands of two men. I surmise that one daughter’s first husband predeceased her mother, and she had remarried before this tomb was made. The other side bore a similar trio: one man with two women. It also had a set of two men uniquely attired: one in armor, one in priest’s robes. Perhaps one son, and not the eldest one (since he was in the middle of the side of the tomb and children are usually depicted in birth order) managed to attain a rank greater than his father? I assume that this son never married, so it was most convenient to pair him with his celibate church-serving brother. The last set of figures was also different: three males, the middle one with his gown worn open, showing his doublet and hose. I’d like to imagine that these last three were the little boys who had not yet wed when their mother died. It is unusual that no infants were depicted; did none of their progeny die early?

Here are the weepers on Edith’s side of the tomb, shown from left to right:

And here are the weepers on Thomas’s side of the tomb, also shown from left to right. The last trio of males was hard to photograph, tucked behind some immovable piece of furniture.

I love how much paint – which I assume is original to the tomb – remains on the weepers. The tiny details of purses and rosaries are wonderful.

The thing that I most enjoyed about this tomb, however, was Edith’s hat. Trying to interpret it, I see an underlayer that reaches to her shoulder, over which two lappets are placed. The bottom lappet (painted black) protrudes slightly farther than the cap beneath, and the top lappet (green) is narrower than the bottom one, but the same length.

The back of the rigid cap is draped with a black veil, and the front edge of the veil is folded back. See below, how the third, raised layer of fabric is very small at the bottom where it rests on her upper arm, and wide at the top? I think that and the layer it sits on is one piece of fabric, folded so that what we see is the underside or lining. At the top the folded forwardmost edge of the veil is hidden under the black lappet.

This. THIS is what I came to England to see. This is what I could not learn from photos in books or online. This tomb gives me so many clues about how to construct Elizabeth of York’s distinctive dress.

Now if only I could find more exemplars of this costume, instead of conflicting styles that predate it, postdate it, or are entirely imaginary. Ah, the thrill of the hunt.