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An Experiment in Housecleaning

16 Friday Mar 2012

Posted by in Events, Museums, Reenacting

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Eighteenth and 21st centuries meet at the John Brown House Museum when RIHS Director of Collections Kirsten Hammerstrom and Registrar Dana Signe Munroe get the museum ready for spring in the 18th century manner. Dressed in period-appropriate clothing, we will discover what it takes to make the John Brown House ready for spring. With buckets, cloths, and brooms, we will start with the formal parlor and demonstrate for visitors domestic work described in Hannah Glass’s “The Servants Directory, Improved, or, House-Keepers Companion,” published in 1762 and Susannah Whatman’s Housekeeping Book (1776-1800).

20120313-193805.jpgTo prepare for this day’s event, in addition to researching historic housekeeping methods and the Brown family servants, we have been hand-sewing clothing suitable for servants in the 1795-1803 period. Although we do not know exactly who worked for the Browns at the cusp of the 19th century, we do know that they, like other wealthy Rhode Island families, employed servants and owned slaves. In this program, we will not interpret specific servants, but instead explore the work and methods that servants or slaves would have used, wearing clothing typical of the period.

The house may seem insurmountably large, a vast Sahara of dust and dirt, to a woman wearing jeans and equipped with a vacuum cleaner. Taking on spring cleaning in late 18th century stays and long dress and petticoat, knowing that we will climb ladders (fortunately modern) to reach woodwork, will be daunting. But the experience will provide us with first-hand knowledge of what a day was like for a house maid who followed Hannah Glass’s exhortation to “Be up very early in a morning, as indeed you are first wanted; lace on your stays, and pin your things very tight about you, or you never can do work well. Be sure always to have very clean feet, that you may not dirty your rooms, and learn to walk softly, that you may not disturb the family.”

The methods outlined in these period books are surprisingly similar to today’s conservation cleaning methods outlined in the Manual of Housekeeping published in by the National Trust of Britain in 2006. Fortunately, recently completed construction has provided us with a house full of dust ready for cleaning. Join us on Saturday, April 21, from 10 to 4:00. The program is free with the regular house tours at 10:30, 12:00, 1:30 and 3:00.

Follow dress making progress and research updates, as well as a report of the day’s findings, here on the blog using the housecleaning tag.

~Kitty Calash

Winter Chores

30 Saturday Nov 2019

Posted by in Clothing, Events, Living History

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Here we are, on the cusp of winter: the season is (mostly) over for living history events, the days are short, and what is there to do but pine until the season starts again? Chores, gentle reader: chores.

Before you pack your kit away for the season, or even if you never do, there are some tasks you can undertake to make it better. You don’t need a major overhaul to improve your experience, just some simple maintenance. (These tips are applicable in pretty much every time period.)

Nasty, right? This is why you wash your apron!

Wash your body linen. Please. Shirts, shifts, neck handkerchiefs, rollers: wash them. And your caps! They washed them, and so can you. I prefer to wash before I mend, but I hand wash my linens. We have a large kitchen sink that I can plug, so I fill it with hot water and wash my aprons, shifts, and stockings with lye soap. (I like that it does not smell like modern detergents; Drunk Tailor bought a lot of it for making white ball so we might as well use it.) Whenever possible, I hang my clothes to dry outside, preferably on a sunny day. You may also choose to spread your things out on the grass (if you have it); this helps whiten linens. We lack grass, or a clothesline, in our yard so it’s hangers in the trees or on the shower curtain rod for me. There’s no shame in that– it’s just not as picturesque. If you want to know more about laundry, Madam Johnson obliges.

Wash your stockings. Your feet will thank you. These are another handwash item; if you have wool stockings (I recommend Sally Pointer if you can get in the order window), handwashing is essential. Again, I use the kitchen sink, lukewarm water, and lye soap. Madam Johnson does not recommend using soap on worsted stockings, and she has a point: too much soap, heat, and agitation will felt your stockings. To dry, put down a towel, and reshape the stockings in the center of the towel. You may need to make sure the back seam is centered, and the feet correctly shaped. Fold in the edges of the towel and roll it. This will safely squeeze out the water. Dry flat (again, I like to put mine outdoors, but the guest bed will do in a pinch, or anyplace I can keep cat-free).

Patches that match are preferable.

Mend your linens. Underarms, collars, cuffs: they all get worn. Aprons get burned. Once you’ve gone over the garment to note the areas that need work, you can assemble your mending supplies: needle, thread, beeswax, and linen as close to the original as possible. Patch the holes neatly from the underside, making a small turned hem from the front. (This is not unlike needle-turned applique, but there are tutorials and guides. Turn or replace collars and cuffs. This is work I need to do on one of my shifts, along with restitching a neckline hem. It has taken several years to reach this point, but no matter the age of your clothes, it’s worth checking seams and hems and making repairs now.

Mend your stockings. These are often too expensive not to mend, plus, it’s period correct. There are tutorials for this, but the tools are simple: wool in weight similar to your stocking, a yarn needle, a darning egg, and patience. (Just use smaller yarn than shown here!) If you haven’t got a darning egg (and they’re pretty affordable, so…) a smooth, oval object will do (kitchen timer, small stone, a lime if you don’t poke it).

shifts and petticoats on a line

Living history laundry

Brush your outer garments. I have only laundered one of my gowns, and that was because it got very ashy and greasy. For the rest of my clothes, I brush off the dirt before I hang them up or pack them away. Greatcoats, regimentals, frock coats, breeches. Gowns, petticoats: all of them can benefit from a brushing. (This applies to your modern wool clothes, too.) There are a range of options, from brushes made in Sweden by the visually impaired to classic English options and German brushes for everything. Brush your hats, too! They get dirty, too. For all of these, if your garment is napped, brush with the nap, not against it.

Drunk Tailor cleaning shoes

Clean, grease, and reshape your shoes. You may covet one of these shoe brush kits, or you may have some standard brushes already– they were available even at the grocery store in my long-past childhood. Redecker brushes– and there is a brush for everything shoe-related on these seven pages— take a little finding but last. First, brush off the mud and dirt. Then, wipe the shoes down with a damp washcloth or towel. Let them air dry. Never put your leather shoes directly on a heat source! Then treat the leather. (Tutorial here.) You may want to use black ball, or a colorless polish, depending on your shoes. Drunk Tailor has made it, though not blogged about it, but you can start here if you really want to dive into this. When I’m done, I put shoe trees in my shoes, or stuff them with acid-free tissue paper so they keep their shape.

Virginia Cloth in Maryland

01 Wednesday May 2019

Posted by in Living History

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Did I really need another English gown? Well….that cinnamon Virginia cloth, though. Reader, I saw it and I bought it, because: Paul Sandby. The color of the cloth struck me as being about as close as I am likely to get to this image, and since I own a yellow petticoat and suitable accessories, it seemed nearly a necessity.

At this point, I’ve made enough gowns that I can pretty much fit the shoulder and sleeve myself (especially since I sprang for the new dress form). I’ve lengthened the sleeve, and tweaked the shoulder strap to compensate for the curve in the original (a straight-cut piece works better for me). Future sleeves will need to be made a little wider across the bicep, as I have gained some muscle.

In progress
Shopping with a basket at Fort Fred. (photo by Denise Wolff)

The fabric pleats well, though the edge has a tendency to fray a bit, as I learned when I made the first gown I ever really liked. But these fabrics have much to recommend them in color and weight, bridging seasons and locations–the weather in the South being rather different from that in New England. That gown was good for cleaning in Trenton and hiking in Rhode Island, but really needs to be taken apart and remade (at some future date).

As I made this gown, I thought about what I told The Giant when he said, “I wish I was a better writer.” It’s butt in chair that makes you a better writer, and a better seamstress, or a better tailor, and better at just about anything other than an active sport. Practice, and patience, are what it takes to improve. The first things I made were not nearly as nice as the things I can make now, many gowns, dresses, coats, caps, and bonnets later. Sewing is a discipline and a craft, and perseverance pays off.

The Fort Frederick Market Fair is the place to wear new clothes and shop for curiosities, I took the opportunity to wear the new gown with some older favorites, including the best neck handkerchief I’ve ever had (hand woven by a friend), and a hat made ages ago that is finally achieving a salty patina suitable for someone of my usual station. That’s one of the best parts of perseverance: putting old and new together for a new and different look.

“shop medicines, ointments, and salves”

23 Tuesday Oct 2018

Posted by in Living History, material culture

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Part three of a series
So what did Elizabeth Weed prepare and sell? What remedies were used and preferred in 1777 Philadelphia? And where to look?

The ad is explicit: “The Syrup and Power for the flux, the Syrup of Balsam for coughs and colds, the Royal Balsam, the Bitter Tincture, the Essence of Tar, etc.”

Margaret Hill Morris used William Buchan’s Domestic Medicine as one of her references, but receipts for cures can be found in The Compleat English Housewife, and Hannah Glasse as well. I’ve held a fascination with tooth cleaning and hygiene for some time, so this project was a natural outgrowth of those interests.

Fortunately, ingredients were pretty easy to come by (many already in my kitchen), and a sacrificial pan had been created making wax blocks for sewing kits. We started experiments in earnest October 6th, after coming home from the Draken Harald Harfårge. We did not fully anticipate how much one of the decoctions would smell like the Draken.

Tar Water was particularly intriguing, since it had been prescribed to John Francis, son of Ann Willing Francis (and eventual husband of Abigail Brown). Francis suffered from poor health, and he and his wife, and mother, all recorded the use of “tar water” in diaries and letters. Eventually I found a receipt that cured me of the notion of drinking tar itself: Tar, two pounds; water, one gallon. After standing to settle for two days, pour off the water for use. 

Well, there it is: water infused with essence of tar, which turns out to be “best Norway Tar,” or pine tar. Decanted, it smells like ships’ ropes coated to protect them from sea water.

So there are recipes to follow (even some of Elizabeth Weed’s own, recorded in the back of Thomas Nevell’s day book); but what does a shop look like? What bottles, pots, jars, and labels are used? The backgrounds of satirical engravings provide some guidance (and some hilarity).

In the background of the print at left, we can see some of the furniture and equipment of the pharmacists’ trade. Wooden pharmacy chests with drawers for ingredients; glass bottles above, with round-topped stoppers; above that, ovoid storage jars, possibly Delftware, for the storage of additional dry materials. A large mortar and pestle sits on the counter in front of the drawers.

Smaller, labeled bottles sit on the table of the Village Doctress, along with an ointment pot (gallipot), as well as scissors and an hourglass. These similar, but simpler, tools help us recognize the lower status of the “doctress” relative to male doctors (as do the way she’s depicted, hunched over her patient, in lappet cap and black neck handkerchief or mantelet, placing her as widowed and aged). With the inheritance of her late husband’s medicines and goods, where does Elizabeth Weed fit between the doctor and the doctress? While it is impossible to say with certainly, it’s likely her material surroundings, and the equipment she had to use, was closer to the well-kitted pharmacy of the “Quaker doctor” print than to the “Village Doctress.”

In Defense of Bad History

19 Thursday Jul 2018

Posted by in Events, Living History, Reenacting

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A City Shower. Oil on canvas by Edward Penny, 1764. Museum of London

Not inaccurate or badly researched history, of course, but the “Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know” kind of history.

Without wading into the murky waters of canceled reenactments (not my time periods– yet!) and the politicization of historical facts, I advocate the recreation of the “bad” people of history. Not the Hitlers and Himmlers and Stalins and Amins, but the everyday bad. The lazy. The feckless. The annoyed. The I’m-just-now-waking-up-to-the-bad-choice-I-made.

The Female Orators. Printed for Jno. Smith, No. 35 Cheapside, & Robt. Sayer, No. 53 Fleet Street, as the act directs, Novr. 20, 1768.

I think about these people– the ones who slack off while working, the ones who steal shirts, assault officers, throw bones out of barracks doors— periodically, especially when an event is being planned. It’s not that I don’t want to work, mind you: I enjoy working, even the cleaning and scrubbing of history. But it strikes me, especially in summer, that we approach the recreation of history with such excellent intentions. We will Do Our Best. We will Lend A Hand. We will be Always Cheerful.

Why? Why do we not represent the people who shirked? Why do we not represent the people who resented being told what to do, and when? Why do we not take into account our industrialized notions of labor (shifts, clocks, production levels( when we step backwards into a period where there was no factory whistle to set the pace?

painting of a shabbyily dressed family in a decaying room

The Miseries of Idleness. Oil on canvas by George Morland ca 1788. National Gallery of Scotland, NG 1836. Presented by Alexander and Lady Margaret Shaw, later Lord and Lady Craigmyle 1935

Granted, within a military environment, there are rules, regulations, clocks, and enforcers. But I cannot help thinking that the pace of labor, the speed and drive with which people tackled tasks, was different one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, years ago. Of course there were strivers and doers: the American army in the Revolution was populated by adherents to piety and discipline. But it’s clear from the orderly books that there were miscreants and slackers, too.

painting of a well dressed family in a cozy farm house kitchen

The Comforts of Industry. Oil on canvas by George Morland, before 1790. National Gallery of Scotland, NG 1835. Presented by Alexander and Lady Margaret Shaw, later Lord and Lady Craigmyle 1935

And I’m not saying everyone should be a slacker, but you know as well as I do that every workplace today has a slacker or two: the long-term federal employee who watches football at work; the retail clerk whose breaks last a little longer every time; the shelver in the library who catches a nap whilst shelf reading. There are consequences (usually) for those (in)actions, and that’s kind of the point. The slattern and the slacker of history throw into higher relief the purpose of the discipline an army (or housekeeper or master cabinet maker) is trying to maintain. When we all strive to do our best, we lose the depth of interpretation that doing “bad” history can provide.