Historical Data
I found a rather fascinating description of period underwear and hair and such, from I leap over the wall (1949) by Monica Baldwin, a British nun who left her convent to go out into the world near the end of World War II. The titles are mine, as are any spelling mistakes:
Ancient Underwear
The garments to which I was accustomed had been contrived by thorough-going ascetics in the fourteenth century, who considered that a nice, thick, long-sleeved 'shift' of rough, scratchy serge was the right thing to wear next [to] your skin. My shifts, when new, had reached almost to my ankles. However, hard washing and much indiscriminate patching soon stiffened and shrank them until they all but stood up by themselves. Stays, shoulder-strapped and severly boned, concealed one's outline; over them, two long serge petticoats were lashed securely round one's waist. Last came the ample habit-coat of heavy cloth, topped by a linen rochet and a stiffly starched barbette(*) of cambric, folded into a score of tiny tucks and pleats at the neck.
Slightly More Modern Underwear (With a Digression Into Slightly Less)
So, when my sister handed me a wisp of gossamer, about the size and substance of a spider's web, I was startled.
she said, "Here's your foundation garment. Actually, most people only wear pants and a brassiere, but it's cold to-day, so I thought we'd better start you with a vest."
I examined the object, remembering 1914. In those days a 'nice' girl 'started' with long, woolly combinations, neck-high and elbow-sleeved, decorated with a row of neat pearl buttons down the front...
Next came the modern version of the corset. It was the merest strip of elastic brocade from which suspenders, in a surprising number, dangled. I thought it a great improvement on the fourteenth-century idea. The only drawback was that you had to insert your person into it serpent-fashion, as it had no fastenings.
What bothered me most were the stockings. The kind I was used to were enormous things, fat thicker than those men wear for tramping the moors and shrunk by repeathed boiling to the shape and consistency of a Wellington boot. The pair with which Freda had provided me were of silk, skin-coloured and so transparent that I wondered why anyone bothered to wear the things at all.
I said firmly, "Freda, I can't possibly go out in these. They make my legs look naked."
She smiled patiently.
"Nonsense," she said. "Everyone wears them. If you went about in anything else you'd collect a crowd."
By this time it had become clear to me that the generation which affected the transparencies in which I now was shivering must long ago have scrapped the kind of garments I had worn as a girl. I wondered what they had done about the neck-high camisoles with their fussy trimmings of lace and insertion and those incredibly ample, long-legged white cotton drawers.
The answer turned out to be an airy nothing called 'cami-knickers', made, apparently, of cobweb. I felt my teeth beginning to chatter as I put it - or should one say 'them'? - on.
One further shock awaited me.
An object was handed to me which I can only describe as a very realistically modelled bust-bodice. That its purpose was to emphasize contours which, in my girlhood, were always decorously concealed was but too evident.
"This," said my sister cheerfully, "is a brassiere. And it's no use looking so horrified, because fashions to-day go out of their way to stress that part of one's anatomy. These things are supposed to fix one's chest at the classic angle. Like this-" she adjusted the object with expert fingers. "There - you see the idea?"
Head-Gear
The worst problem was my hair.
For twenty-eight years it had been cropped convict-wise beneath the incredible system of headgear exacted by the Order to which I belonged. As a foundation, a 'snood'*, or long narrow strip of linen, was wound two or three times round the head. Over this, a close-fitting cap - rather like those worn by bathers - was pulled down to the ears. A piece of fine cambric, call a 'tip', was then bound tightly across the forehead and tied at the back with strings. Next came the 'head' - a kind of wimple - which covered the head and ears. It was gathered in closely at the neck and then frilled out as far as the shoulders beneath the starched barbette. Over this was pinned an erection of black cashmere which fell, gable-wise, on either side of the head to just above the elbows. Between this and its lining of starched white linen was a double cardboard stiffening with strips of cotton, fortified with yet more starch. Finally, the veil proper - of thin, black material, rather like ninon* - was mounted on the underveil and firmly secured with pins. Eight thicknesses in all! In summer it was apt to give one a headache. The wonder, of course, was that, having worn it for so many years, I had any hair left at all.
Notes:
Barbette - she probably means a strip of cloth that passes under the chin. For a picture, go here.
Snood - I've never, ever, seen this definition of a snood before. For another version of head-gear attached to the same name, try this website: http://costume.dm.net/headwear/snood.html (It's nifty.) I have seen that strip of cloth called a 'fillet'. Remember that terminology for clothing changes drastically, and without warning.
Serge - Serge is a type of twill fabric that has diagonal lines or ridges on both sides, made with a two-up, two-down weave. The worsted variety is used in making military uniforms, suits, great and trench coats. Its counterpart, silk serge, is used for linings. French serge is a softer, finer variety. The word is also used for a high quality woolen woven.
Etymology and History
The name is derived from French serge, itself from Latin serica, from Greek σηρικος (serikos), meaning "silken". The early association of silk serge, Greece, and France is shown by the discovery in Charlemagne's tomb of a piece of silk serge dyed with Byzantine motifs, evidently a gift from the Byzantine Imperial Court in the 8th or 9th century AD. (WK) (Cat adds: 'serge' comes from 'silk'!? Gosh - think of Serge de Nimes or 'denim')
Ninon - a fine strong sheer silky fabric made of silk or rayon or nylon (FD)
FD = The Free Dictionary (http://www.thefreedictionary.com)
WK = The wikipedia (http://www.wikipedia.com)
Ancient Underwear
The garments to which I was accustomed had been contrived by thorough-going ascetics in the fourteenth century, who considered that a nice, thick, long-sleeved 'shift' of rough, scratchy serge was the right thing to wear next [to] your skin. My shifts, when new, had reached almost to my ankles. However, hard washing and much indiscriminate patching soon stiffened and shrank them until they all but stood up by themselves. Stays, shoulder-strapped and severly boned, concealed one's outline; over them, two long serge petticoats were lashed securely round one's waist. Last came the ample habit-coat of heavy cloth, topped by a linen rochet and a stiffly starched barbette(*) of cambric, folded into a score of tiny tucks and pleats at the neck.
Slightly More Modern Underwear (With a Digression Into Slightly Less)
So, when my sister handed me a wisp of gossamer, about the size and substance of a spider's web, I was startled.
she said, "Here's your foundation garment. Actually, most people only wear pants and a brassiere, but it's cold to-day, so I thought we'd better start you with a vest."
I examined the object, remembering 1914. In those days a 'nice' girl 'started' with long, woolly combinations, neck-high and elbow-sleeved, decorated with a row of neat pearl buttons down the front...
Next came the modern version of the corset. It was the merest strip of elastic brocade from which suspenders, in a surprising number, dangled. I thought it a great improvement on the fourteenth-century idea. The only drawback was that you had to insert your person into it serpent-fashion, as it had no fastenings.
What bothered me most were the stockings. The kind I was used to were enormous things, fat thicker than those men wear for tramping the moors and shrunk by repeathed boiling to the shape and consistency of a Wellington boot. The pair with which Freda had provided me were of silk, skin-coloured and so transparent that I wondered why anyone bothered to wear the things at all.
I said firmly, "Freda, I can't possibly go out in these. They make my legs look naked."
She smiled patiently.
"Nonsense," she said. "Everyone wears them. If you went about in anything else you'd collect a crowd."
By this time it had become clear to me that the generation which affected the transparencies in which I now was shivering must long ago have scrapped the kind of garments I had worn as a girl. I wondered what they had done about the neck-high camisoles with their fussy trimmings of lace and insertion and those incredibly ample, long-legged white cotton drawers.
The answer turned out to be an airy nothing called 'cami-knickers', made, apparently, of cobweb. I felt my teeth beginning to chatter as I put it - or should one say 'them'? - on.
One further shock awaited me.
An object was handed to me which I can only describe as a very realistically modelled bust-bodice. That its purpose was to emphasize contours which, in my girlhood, were always decorously concealed was but too evident.
"This," said my sister cheerfully, "is a brassiere. And it's no use looking so horrified, because fashions to-day go out of their way to stress that part of one's anatomy. These things are supposed to fix one's chest at the classic angle. Like this-" she adjusted the object with expert fingers. "There - you see the idea?"
Head-Gear
The worst problem was my hair.
For twenty-eight years it had been cropped convict-wise beneath the incredible system of headgear exacted by the Order to which I belonged. As a foundation, a 'snood'*, or long narrow strip of linen, was wound two or three times round the head. Over this, a close-fitting cap - rather like those worn by bathers - was pulled down to the ears. A piece of fine cambric, call a 'tip', was then bound tightly across the forehead and tied at the back with strings. Next came the 'head' - a kind of wimple - which covered the head and ears. It was gathered in closely at the neck and then frilled out as far as the shoulders beneath the starched barbette. Over this was pinned an erection of black cashmere which fell, gable-wise, on either side of the head to just above the elbows. Between this and its lining of starched white linen was a double cardboard stiffening with strips of cotton, fortified with yet more starch. Finally, the veil proper - of thin, black material, rather like ninon* - was mounted on the underveil and firmly secured with pins. Eight thicknesses in all! In summer it was apt to give one a headache. The wonder, of course, was that, having worn it for so many years, I had any hair left at all.
Notes:
Barbette - she probably means a strip of cloth that passes under the chin. For a picture, go here.
Snood - I've never, ever, seen this definition of a snood before. For another version of head-gear attached to the same name, try this website: http://costume.dm.net/headwear/snood.html (It's nifty.) I have seen that strip of cloth called a 'fillet'. Remember that terminology for clothing changes drastically, and without warning.
Serge - Serge is a type of twill fabric that has diagonal lines or ridges on both sides, made with a two-up, two-down weave. The worsted variety is used in making military uniforms, suits, great and trench coats. Its counterpart, silk serge, is used for linings. French serge is a softer, finer variety. The word is also used for a high quality woolen woven.
Etymology and History
The name is derived from French serge, itself from Latin serica, from Greek σηρικος (serikos), meaning "silken". The early association of silk serge, Greece, and France is shown by the discovery in Charlemagne's tomb of a piece of silk serge dyed with Byzantine motifs, evidently a gift from the Byzantine Imperial Court in the 8th or 9th century AD. (WK) (Cat adds: 'serge' comes from 'silk'!? Gosh - think of Serge de Nimes or 'denim')
Ninon - a fine strong sheer silky fabric made of silk or rayon or nylon (FD)
FD = The Free Dictionary (http://www.thefreedictionary.com)
WK = The wikipedia (http://www.wikipedia.com)
posted by theamazingcatherine | 5:28 pm
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