Arming Cote (Acketon) is being sewn!

The pattern-making process for this Acketon had taken Ugo about 6-7 hours. I watched and learned as he translated our duct tape pattern into a real, working pattern on paper. He measured, re-measured, checked and double-checked the pieces and body measurement. Once satisfied, he cut out a "test" Acketon from washed canvas and sewed it up. With only a couple of very minor alterations, the garment fitted perfectly. (I also realized that I need to get my duct tape patterns translated onto paper instead of just stuffing them back into their bag after each use!)

So, hurray! I've finally taken the Acketon off the “back burner” and brought it forward as my main project for this summer. To say the least, the man is happy.

My first step was to wash and dry the fabrics, allowing shrinkage to occur as it may before doing any cutting. I was very pleased to find the madder-red dye of the outer fabric held fast in even the hottest water; and that the damask woven pattern of Turkish cotton lining fabric was even more noticeable after its turn in the dryer.

Not a very good picture of the pattern pieces. I was standing on a chair so I could fit them all in the frame. Seven pieces make up the pattern, plus two small gores.

Five of the pieces make up the arm and Grand Assiette, they are: front shoulder, back shoulder, underarm, upper outer arm, lower outer arm, lower under arm.

The cutting out for this garment seemed to take forever. That little gold Fleur-de-Lis pattern you see on the outer fabric made for some darn tricky juggling! I had to take care to ensure the garment pieces lined up correctly so that the Fleur-de-Lis motif appears to run as smoothly as possible across the garment once it's sewn. Next both the lining fabric and quilt batting needed to be cut so, in effect, it was like cutting out three garments. Fortunately neither the batting, nor the Turkish cotton for the lining, needed quite as much attention as that red fabric.

Because I am hand-quilting this arming coat, I cut each pattern piece about one inch extra all the way around. This should accommodate any "sucking up" of the fabric during that process and, once all the pieces are done, I will place the paper pattern pieces back on them and cut to size before sewing the seams together.

Question: Why on earth would you chose to hand quilt this thing when a machine can do the job much faster?

Answer: Well, I don’t believe I’ll get a true “medieval” look with machine quilting. The extant examples of medieval Acketons I've seen show lots of very nice “scrunchy” looking fabric – a look achieved by hand quilting. I actually made a hand quilted swatch and compared it to a machine quilted swatch first, just to be sure. The machine quilting looked far too smooth to me for this garment. So a-hand quilting we will go!

Three hand quilted sections.
The light/shadow is making the bottom piece look different from the top two. In actuality, it isn't.

Close up of quilted outer fabric

Close up of quilted lining

Four layers to quilt together:
Lining Fabric (white Turkish cotton damask)
Two layers of Batting (100% unbleached cotton)
Outer fabric (madder-red with gold Fleur-de-Lis)

Time Has Sprounted Wings . . .

With the arrival of summer Time has decided to sprout wings and fly ahead of me at full tilt. Where has the last month gone?

The knitted bag I started at the beginning of June is only about halfway done, but has had to take turns with the new linen dress I’m making. I’ve also prepared and cut the fabric, lining and filling for my man's "posh" Acketon, and began the hand quilting on it. In between all of this I've still managed to get to the beach for a short vacation; been to a couple of medieval events; knit a pair of socks (with some really yummy yarn I found at a knitting shop at the beach); visited with friends; and am holding down the 9-5. Phew!

Updates of my current 14th century projects to follow very soon, along with some pictures.

Knitted Medieval Purse

Over last night and this evening I've spent several hours figuring out a design for the new knitted purse. For design inspiration I turned to this black & white photograph of what are apparently 14^th century purses from Germany.

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I’ve not found out much more about them, other than the majority are embroidered and one looks like it could have been knitted (large purse at bottom left). Although, not having any other source for these at the moment, not even a close up picture, I really can’t say.

There are some fascinating patterns in here though, and I decided to go for a lattice design based on the smaller purse at bottom right. It's definitely something different from the Swiss relic purses, and might be just a little bit trickier to knit because there will be three colour changes within a row instead of two. I'll see how I do .

It took me a while to chart this pattern and I used Microsoft Excel to get it done. Easier to experiment with colour that way.

I did use one element from the knitted Swiss purses - a trick where colours change within a row to give a band of varying colour running through the design. Could this be called "counter changed"? No sure on that.

In my design, you can see that I've changed gold to beige and violet to green on certain lines within the pattern. The Chur relic purse has this same sort of colour-switching thingy going on, and I believe one of the Sion purses has it too.

Now all I need to do is shop for thread/yarn, and get this rascal on the needles! :)

WWKIP Day - let's make it medieval :)

This coming Saturday, June 14th, marks the third annual "World Wide Knit in Public" day, also known as WWKIP day.

WWKIP day was started in 2005 by Danielle Landes in an attempt to make knitting a more social pastime, as well as getting the word out that knitting is, indeed, a very rewarding hobby/craft to pursue. Knitting can be such a solitary activity. Knitting in public is a way that knitters can find and get to know each other. So, if you're a knitter, get out there this weekend and knit, knit, knit! Chat about the craft and your creations, meet other knitters, make some more friends.

It's also a wonderfully sneaky way to let people know that knitting has been around since medieval times. :)

I'm planning to get something 14th century started this evening so that I can join in the fun. It will probably be another purse. Actually this might be a good time to start that little purse I've been putting off for too long - one that has a fox/es as part of the design. (Playing on that "Foxley" name, of course!) I just need to sit down and figure out a design that looks like it belongs to the period. So no rush, right?

Also, carefully housed within my stash of knitting fibres, I have some very fine silk yarn that a friend gifted me. She took the time to unravel it from a knitted silk garment, and then skeined it all up very nicely indeed. It's a lovely natural white and should take dyes beautifully. Before I decide how to use it though I'll need to do some practice pieces, because it's such a fine diameter yarn. I'm thinking a U.S. needle size 000 at the most. The lovely thing is that many extant knitted pieces are made with fine silk yarn, so maybe that would be a good project for me on WWKIP day too.

Handmade Cloth Buttons

Extant finds from the 14^th century show that both metal and cloth buttons were popular during that time frame. Buttons made of cloth, still attached to their garments, can be seen in Crowfoot’s Textiles and Clothing. There are some good photographs of them in there plus illustrations for how they were made (see Library in sidebar).

Making cloth buttons is easy and pretty fast once you get going. What you’re aiming for is a firm button that attaches to the garment with a self-made shank. Here’s how:

1. Make a template approx. several times larger than the diameter of the size button you want. The size of the template will vary depending on the fabric, so it's best to experiment.

2. Cut out a circle of fabric using template, and sew a running stitch about 1/4 inch in from the raw edge.

3. Pull thread to gather fabric into a tight circle.

4. Tuck raw edges of fabric inside the gather using tip of small scissors, or a pencil, to help.

5. Pull thread tight again, and then sew back and forth across folds of gathers to shape the button.

6. Test button is firm enough, and make several small stitches to secure.

Click make big

Once the button is formed button, sew it onto the garment by using extra long stitches to make the beginning of a shank. Finish the shank by winding the rest of the thread on the needle, around and around those long stitches. Push the needle to the underside of garment and secure with small stitches. Voila! a button.

Close up of button and shank

Underside showing button fixed to garment

Buttons sewn on hood

Hand Sewn Buttonholes

Buttonholes for 14^th century garments look best when sewn by hand. Unlike their modern counterparts these buttonholes don’t have bar-tacks at either end of the slit. Crowfoot’s Textiles and Clothing (see "Library" in sidebar) has some good photographs, as well as diagrams for how they are were made within the period.

Buttonholes work best in a garment that has been lined or at least faced in the buttonhole area. The extra layer of fabric gives stability and assures there’s less chance of buttonholes ripping out or expanding in size from wear. When even more stability is needed, a strip of facing can easily be laid between the lining and outer fabric to make three layers in all. I used an extra layer of linen at the edge of my hood partly for reinforcement of the buttonhole area, partly to make the linen look really white there.

I start by finding out what length buttonhole I will need for my buttons. This can be done by cutting several slits into a scrap piece of fabric then taking a button and trying them all for size. Of course, you'll use the measurement of the slit that best accommodates your button.

Next I decide how many buttons I'm going to need and how far apart they should be placed. Will they be every inch? Half inch? Two inches? Once I know that measurement, plus the number of buttons it's going to take, I can mark the buttonhole edge for buttonholes. Like this:

To make a buttonhole, slit open the marked line through all layers with a very sharp craft knife, or scissors. Then, using 2 or 3 strands of embroidery thread (silk or DMC cotton), begin to work in Buttonhole Stitch along those raw edges. This stitch actually seals and protects the edges of the buttonhole so that the action of buttoning and unbuttoning will not fray the fabric.

Diagram of Buttonhole Stitch

Buttonholes in hood

Detail

Extant finds show buttonholes coming much closer to the edge of the garment than mine do as pictured here. Extant finds also show a braid that has been tablet woven right onto the edge of the garment (possibly to keep the edge of the buttonhole from ripping out). I haven't yet tried this technique of tablet weaving along the edge, but I want to and will definitely post about it in this blog when I do. Maybe then you'll see my buttonholes sitting right at the edge too. :)

Lovage: a medieval pot herb and medicine

Long before the dawn of the 14^th century the merits of Lovage had already been discussed by such classical writers as Galen and Pliny. In fact Lovage seems to have been just one of several useful plants that managed to piggy-back its way into the British Isles and Northern Europe via the Romans.

Stems of Lovage fresh from the plant.

Lovage was used medicinally throughout the medieval period. The famous Italian medical institution, the University of Salerno (established c. 900AD) recorded the uses of Lovage within its tomes. The plant was praised by 13^th century visionary Hildegarde von Bingen; its helpful qualities listed by Gerard in the 15oo; and its range of uses recorded by Culpeper in the mid 1600s. Lovage has been utilized in the past as a general tonic to treat coughs and chest-related complaints, to clear boils and skin imperfections, to remedy the troubles of digestion, and for kidney and liver complaints, including jaundice.

This plant was also well known for an ingredient in love potions and aphrodisiacs. Perhaps due to its reputation as a natural body “cleanser” and deodorizer. Lovage, you see, has long been used to relieve flatulence and make the breath fresh. No doubt these were wonderful qualities to ask for in a lover.

Lovage is also known as a pot herb. Pot herbs are simply herbs that can be cooked and served as foods in their own right. Spinach is a common pot herb that we use today. Lovage is still used as a pot herb in parts of the British Isles and Germany. Lovage stalks can be steamed and served as a vegetable with a pat of butter or cheese sauce; while its leaves are especially good in salads, or steamed and then tossed with potatoes. A well made Lovage soup is divine.

Levisiticum officinale is the plant’s official name but its common name, lovage, stems from the Old French, levesche; often spelled liuvesche in the 13th century.

In medieval Humoral Theory the effect of Lovage on the body is ranked as “Hot”.

Lovage grows very well in temperate climate zones, dying back each winter to once again shoot out of the ground in early spring. It grows well in either sun or shade to a height of about 6 feet or so, but you can cut it plentifully for kitchen use until it flowers and goes to seed in about late July or August. Once the seeds mature they can be steeped in brandy and this concoction, sweetened with sugar, can be used as a digestive. Remember that flatulence thing?

So this is all very well, you say, but what does this Lovage stuff smell and taste like? Well, its main flavour is sort of like celery with an overtone of “curry powder”. I use it to make Leek & Lovage soup throughout the springtime, using an organic chicken stock as a base and plain yoghourt as a thickener. Yum! The herb freezes very well too, so you can have plenty to use throughout the winter if you want.

Lovage and Leeks for a yummy springtime soup.

On a very modern note: The hollow stalks of the Lovage plant make fabulous natural straws for Bloody Marys. :)