Holy hell, where have I been?

I can explain: Well, not really. I got antsy about posting anything on the interwebs, then blogs went out of fashion. Also, I have not made anything in a long while. I would not wish anhedonia on anybody. Anyway, bizarre side effects of chronic pain meds fixed everything.

My partner and I have a new gig at MOAR in October, another chance to portray an actual couple in Philadelphia wondering what the hell is happening in 1776. 

George Weed appears to have been a sad character. A successful doctor (and counterfeiter?) He decided one day he liked preaching better. His hospital employer disagreed with his career change. He was also unsuccessful with freelance preaching in churches. Fortunately, his wife saved the lucrative pharmacy business. I look forward to playing such a conflicted fellow.

I realized I don't own any wool frock coats, and my unlined linen one is so old the outside is lighter than the inside. I'm going to use the Ryan pattern again, mostly because it fits me, but let's assemble it with Henry Cooke's directions. The wool is from Renaissance Fabrics and the salmon pink silk lining comes from B & T. The silk is pretty sheer. Add to that black death's heads from Blue Cat.

Okay, that pocket flap lining needs a bit of ironing, but Henry's directions make this process SO much easier. I dislike the size of the Ryan flaps, so these are scaled down to go with the small cuffs. The wool is pretty thin, so a folded edge is possible, but I'm lazy. It seems to hold a cut edge well enough. If I had it to do over again, I'd trim the turned silk edges because they show through the lining. Note the buckram in that pocket flap is not sewn to anything. I learned this the hard way after several attempts to anchor it.

Flip the coat front over and here is the interfacing getting stitched against the front edge. Note the huge honking 5/8" seam allowance. Don't worry this will get trimmed. The buckram is actually set 3/4" back so the silk lining gets 1/8" overlap. 

Note the pocket bag. I'm tacking the top corner to the buckram, so the bag doesn't fight with the free edge.

The button side of the coat is in limbo till the buttons get here, but there are ten buttonholes to do on the other side once the lining is in. Stay tuned.

 

Under Pressure

Okay, so maybe two coats at once (plus ancillaries) is a bit much. Luckily, one of them is supposed to look half-assed. Both projects are interesting, it's only a question of getting both done on time. Here is the faux-cuff stotted to the sleeve. Regimental coats in this period have sleeves that end right at the wrist.

 Looks like the poor Baltimore contract worker who is making these coats has cats. While construction continues, research is ongoing into the appearance of these coats. Blue and red seems a safe bet. A thorough search of Nathaniel Greene's papers, 1780-81 is in order.

Meanwhile, work on the super-fiddly 1799 coat proceeds. Here it is inside out, over a shirt and waistcoat. Hemp canvas interfacing helps shape the body, but lack of pad-stitching means things can slide around. All the front edges of the coat have been turned and whipped to the canvas. The interfacing tends to curl around the shoulder seams, so the canvas edges are whipped together over the pressed-open wool seams.  Like the 19th-century tailcoat, this has ridiculous lapels, but they are totally separate from the Elvis-like collar. It's really more cape than coat.

Cheryl agreed to the tedious task of providing silk Death Head buttons for this project. With the silk tail lining, just the right amount of pimp. Thirty-one days till showtime.  Hope to finish a new neck cloth and get some boots in the mail before then.

A close up of the chaos under the shirt sleeve. The pocket bag peeks out from the interfacing, complete with back stitches to hold the under flap in place. A pencil/chalk line marks were the outer pocket flap gets sewn to the body.  Once they are in place, the lining can start.

An Adventure

Historic homes are a pleasant fiction. Most held generations of families or were sold more than once. They may have been gutted or had plumbing and heating installed. To restore them back to a particular year seems impossible. How do you know how they were before?

First, what walls have been moved/removed? What going on with the stairs? What were the rooms used for originally? Fortunate is the curator who has an inventory of all the furniture by room. Mostly it's guesswork. But what if a direct descendant, living four hours away, offers to donate a bed that was known to be in the house 200 years ago? Just needs to be picked up.  That's an adventure worth having. Kitty's job took us to the wilds of Vermont. Driving a large cargo van is an exercise in faith. Best just to shout "WITNESS ME!" When changing lanes.

The donor is delightful, a wise woman of 85. Like the house it came from, the bed had been upgraded, it's rope pegs cut off to take a modern box spring. The handiwork was unmistakable: small carved roman numerals marked every groove and slot. The hand carved posts are perfection. You know you are in Vermont's hinterlands when Google's hotel and dining recommendations start near Montreal.

Time to tackle the terror of flap pockets. Here is the back of the trousers and pocket (with cover in place.) The top of the bag back will act as trouser front for the waistband. The L-shaped bit at bottom left is where the flap stops and the leg seam begins. It's confusing. There are more photos here. It's easier to assemble the pants first, then sew the pockets together. Just don't sew the flap to anything.

Here is the even more confusing front. The bag front is pinned on, and the L-cuts don't match the trouser fronts exactly. Not a problem since the whole thing gets trapped in the seam. Pleats peek out from the pocket edge, and the stripey bearer lining is evident. The edge of that wonky L-notch on top lines up with the bag back and completes the waistband front.  Next come the waistband, buttons and button holes and the outside leg seams.

Pockets

Here is a  finished pocket flap, the interfacing gives it a nice heft, it should close with a thunk when dropped. The tab at top gets back-stitched upside down, on a line between the lowest button on the waistcoat and the vent at back. Turn the flap seam allowance up into the lining and whip it down.

 The pocket opening should be cut slightly smaller than the flap, and  all the edges of the worsted need turning to avoid fraying.

Turn the bottom edge of the pocket bag first and whip-stitch it to the turned edge of the opening bottom. Fold the bag back up and buttonhole-stitch the side edges of the wool pocket cut to the bag back.

Turn the top of the wool pocket opening and whip to the back of the bag. Back-stitch the sides of the bag together to form a pocket. Whip all the edges that don't have selvage. Back-stitch the pocket flap cross the top to hold it down. Repeat all these steps on the other waistcoat front.

Next time, linings.    

Faux Pocket Flaps

This fusilier coat will be the death of me. With all the hooking and unhooking, rotating, and overall tightness, large hunks of plastic started falling out of my sewing form. The top of the neck opening is no longer straight. Hopefully, it will all hold together.

At the end of the 18th-century, British enlisted men's coats had fake pocket flaps, complete with regimental tape and buttons. The feeling was lowlifes should have as much trouble getting to their pockets as possible, but the coat should still look good.

Here is the flap pinned to the coat, the tapes already in place. The top edge is folded, and a running stitch holds it on.

When uniform re-issue time came around, regimental tailors cut the old coats apart, removed the tape, turned them inside out, and cut them shorter to clean up the ragged edges. The pocket flaps were also removed.

Second order coats (and light infantry/highland coatees) had vertical flaps--like wings. No buttonholes, but the buttons get the "hole poked, secured with linen tape from the backside" treatment. Since this is the drunk tailor, there must be a wtf moment after hours of labor.

 After folding the pleats, the left pocket appears a bit too far back. On the plus side, the tapes are slightly too far forward. Time to remove 1/8" of pocket material. Now it looks like I know what I'm doing.