The guilty secret

Only a short post this week, as I am not long back from my Edinburgh trip. Waiting for me when I got home was this new addition to my collection of dressmaking publications.

Simplicity Sewing Book, 1947

I must admit that this had caught my eye because of the illustration. It's very rare in my experience to see any publication about home sewing actually feature someone in the act of stitching on the cover. All my issues of Vogue Pattern Book have a cover of someone wearing a garment made from a Vogue pattern, but no indication of how it came into being. It's as if the clothes were made by mice in the night.

From The Tailor of Gloucester - this is not how the magic happens!

My next Simplicity Sewing Book is about a decade later.

From 1958

The only hint in the illustration that this might relate to sewing is the dress pattern the model holds. Upside down, and with part of the number obscured.

Close-up of the pattern

Thanks to the wonder that is CoPA, I was able to identify it as pattern number 1951, from 1957. It's not the dress that the model is wearing, and nowhere is there any indication of which (if any) Simplicity pattern was used for the red dress. I drew a complete blank however, trying to identify the pattern on the cover of the 1947 issue.

Whereas that issue was purely instructional, this one includes a few advertisements.

Back cover advertisement

Jump forward two decades, and things are more whimsical. There's sewing equipment, but it's used as jewellery and hat trimming only.

From 1975

The back cover ad is one of a series which also appeared in Vogue Pattern Book. It's for Trylko, the new synthetic sister thread to Sylko.

Because heaven forbid you should have skills

The implication is that making your own clothes is something you want to keep quiet about. In fact, the copy even goes so far as to say, "So no one will ever know you can make a suit like this" (my emphasis), as though even possessing the ability to do this was questionable, let alone using it. It's true that there was a certain negativity about hand-made clothes by this time (even though dressmaking was still taught as a useful skill in schools), but it seems odd to see it reinforced in a publication aimed at sewists. It's hard to imagine publications for any other hobby (especially male ones?) being so furtive about the very thing they are trying to sell.

The Biba Story

Very last-minute (it closed today), but I finally got to see The Biba Story: 1964–1975. I missed it when it was at the Fashion and Textile Museum in London, but it was then on tour to the Dovecot Studios in Edinburgh. I can travel again now, and I need very little inducement to visit my birthplace!

Exhibition poster

As with exhibitions at the FTM, very little was behind glass.

Beautifully laid out

The exhibition began with Barbara Hulanicki's first career as a fashion illustrator – she claimed that it was sketching pieces at collection launches which first made her realise how much couture was out of step with youth culture. Along with her husband she launched Biba's Postal Boutique, a small mail-order business, in 1963. One of her designs, for a pink gingham dress and headscarf, appeared in a newspaper feature in summer 1964.

Reproduction of the dress, and the newspaper feature

Its huge success, receiving around 17,000 orders, prompted her to open her first shop in Abingdon Road in Kensington a few months later. Biba clothes were always sold at low price points, but behind this was a keen business sense; for example Abingdon Road and all the subsequent Biba shops opened in the autumn because the price and profit margins on winter coats were much higher than on dresses.

Coat sold in the Abingdon Road shop

Items were produced in very short runs, with new stock appearing almost daily. In 1966 Biba moved to larger premises in Kensington Church Street.

Clothes sold in the Church Street shop

Biba started producing mail-order catalogues in 1968. Carefully designed to fit through letterboxes without getting damaged, and photographed by the likes of Helmut Newton and Sarah Moon, the catalogues brought the Biba experience to customers unable to travel to London,

Biba catalogues (angled to reduce reflections)

Some of the clothes featured in the catalogues

In 1969 Biba moved again, this time to considerably larger premises but still in Kensington. The new store had separate departments for furnishing, accessories and cosmetics as well as clothing. It also had specially designed interiors.

Clothes sold in Kensington High Street shop

Not sure why some displays included vintage workboxes, but I liked it

As ever, prices were kept low by whatever means were available. Although designed (and worn) as evening wear, this garment was sold as a dressing gown because nightwear was subject to a lower rate of tax than daywear!

Very glamorous dressing gown

The Kensington High Street Biba became one of the most profitable stores, per square metre, in the world. Presumably this was what drove the decision to go even bigger. In 1973 Big Biba opened in the former Derry and Toms department store, also on Kensington High Street.

Clothes from Big Biba

The seven-storey building was so large that a Biba newspaper was created to guide shoppers around the premises.

The Biba newspaper

As with the previous store, the interiors had been designed to reflect the full Biba experience.

Hulanicki in the original Derry and Toms

The women's fashion floor

Display in the cosmetics department

Each floor had a separate theme, and as well as selling goods there was also a roof garden and the Rainbow Room restaurant which seated 500.

The Rainbow Room restaurant

Big Biba only lasted two years. The exhibition doesn't go into detail about why it failed, but a Scottish lady I got chatting to at the exhibition offered her own opinion. As a young teenager, she had been desperate to visit Biba, and on a family trip to London persuaded her parents to take her. The only thing she could afford was a small pack of playing cards, but she bought them, "just to get a Biba bag". She also said that her father had commented on how few people were actually buying anything. Perhaps if you make shopping theatre, you have to ensure that people come for more than just the performance.

Biba playing cards

I was too young for either, but I've always felt that I would have been a Biba girl rather than Mary Quant, and this exhibition confirmed that. I could have happily worn most of the clothes on show, but it will be no great surprise that one of my favourites was this 1940s-inspired dress.

It even has a side zip (yes, I checked!)

One this which really struck me though was how much Biba foreshadowed the current fast fashion model. Barbara Hulanicki made cheap, on-trend, clothes to be 'worn now', in limited size ranges to keep costs down. Due to initial difficulties sourcing materials, designs were limited to 500 copies in any one fabric. With the exception of the catalogue clothes, this restriction remained in place, generating a desire among customers not to miss out. Hulanicki was even quoted as saying, "Take it or leave it, but if you wait it won't be here when you come back".

The big difference though is in the quality and detailing. Obviously many of the items in the exhibition were cherished pieces and well cared for by their owners, but the fact remains that they have lasted over 50 years. This cotton chiffon dress has French seams, a narrow edging around the neck, and rouleau ties at the cuffs – all time-consuming construction details in a tricky fabric.

So many fiddly details

Finally, the Dovecot Studio is actually a tapestry weaving studio with exhibition space. In a lovely tie-in between these two elements, one of the tapestry trainees made this piece specially for the exhibition.

Biba logo tapestry

A new resource

It's amazing what you find when you have a clear out. This time my discovery was digital rather than physical. My laptop was getting a bit creaky, and I realised that this was hardly surprising as it's over a decade old. So it seemed wise to get a replacement before it died on me, potentially taking everything with it. In the process of identifying what was worth transferring from old to new, I came across a bookmark referencing Le Petit Echo de la Mode.

Masthead

This was a French publication, described in the English translation of its Wikipedia entry as "a weekly family newspaper, practical, mainly intended for women, . . . with a very low selling price". It ran from 1879 to 1983, selling over one million copies a week at its height. The bookmark was for the collection of issues held in Gallica, the digital library of the National Library of France (BnF).

Although I had saved this, I had forgotten all about it. So I investigated, and found an absolute treasure trove. There are issues for 48 separate years, including a complete run from 1888 to 1932. It's free to use, and open access. Plus, it's a reflection of what the majority of women would be wearing rather than high fashion. So of course, given my project to make a complete 1915 ensemble, I had a look at some issues from that year.

My very rusty Higher French is not equal to the task of translating large amounts of text, but it's clear that each issue contains the same three fashion-related items. First, there is the Revue de la Mode, written by the editor-in-chief 'Baroness de Clessy' (actually Claire de Penanster, wife of the proprietor Charles de Penanster). This always includes an illustration of several outfits, along with detailed descriptions, and sometimes the prices of the patterns used to make them.

25 April issue

Then there is a separate full-page or sometimes double-page fashion feature.

2 May issue

Finally, amid the advertisements for toothpaste, hair improvers, dubious medications etc., is this week's free pattern offer. The reader can claim one of the three by sending off a stamp and the coupon at the bottom of the page. Judging from the number of page scans with a bottom section missing, this was a popular feature.

2 May issue

The patterns were available in four sizes; bust 92cm, 100cm, 108cm and 116cm (36" – 46"), and readers were reminded that each pattern must only be used by one person.

24 October issue

Some issues also include a needlework feature.

25 April issue

Amid all the fashion however, it's impossible to miss the fact that France is a nation at war. And, unlike Britain, it is a war on their own soil. For two-thirds of the year, the cover illustrations regularly include wounded soldiers - albeit nothing too severe; crutches and a heavily bandaged foot appear often.

2 May issue

20 June issue

Family scenes also have war references.

21 March issue

From September onwards however, once the war was into its second year, the cover illustrations revert, mostly, to those of a family and fashion publication.

24 October issue

What could not be ignored though was the scale of bereavement, an area in which women bore the brunt. Mourning wear appears regularly.

25 April issue

Sometimes it takes centre stage, as with this cover.

17 October issue

On other occasions it is more subtle, such as this somewhat incongruous image of a widow sitting amid an otherwise cheery beach scene.

20 June issue

In Britain, the old rules for mourning wear eased slightly as the war dragged on; the sheer number of casualties meant that almost everyone would be perpetually wearing black otherwise. It will be interesting to spend some time looking at later issues, to see if a similar pattern emerges in France. And I'm sure there will be lots of other reasons to consult these magazines as well.

More swatching

When will I ever learn? Needless to say, describing fixing the damaged cushions at my local community café as a "'little' job" turned out to be tempting fate. More damaged cushions have sprung up like mushrooms, and despite the kind help of one of the other regular attendees, there are still several to do. Getting on with the toile has been shelved until this is done, but I did find time for a bit of knitting.

I knitted up a second swatch for my 1915 shawl, this time using 4.5mm needles, which equate to U.S. size 7/old UK size 7. Unsurprisingly, when blocked it came out larger than the swatch knitted on 4mm needles.

4mm swatch on top of 4.5mm one

It also felt, and looked, like a far more open knit. As the pattern states that "Closeness of texture is the feature which makes this a generally useful shawl", I decided to stick with the 4mm/size 8 needles specified in the pattern, even though the swatch produced felt rather chunky.

Then I had the genius idea of trying to re-block the 4mm swatch to the gauge listed on the yarn label instead of just randomly stretching it! (I know, I know - I wasn't at all at my brightest when I first blocked it, so never thought about this). I marked out a 22 stitch and 28 row section, calculated the likely dimensions of a 33 stitch and 57 row swatch blocked to gauge as a belt-and-braces approach, and set to work.

Slightly different shape!

Blocked to the right size, the swatch has a thickness far more suitable for a shawl. It also retained its size and shape after handling, so I am confident that this is the right degree of blocking.

Once I knew this, I could consider the dimensions of the completed shawl. No size information is provided in the pattern, except that it should be knitted until it is 50" long, and then a further 45 rows knitted. This would equate to 56½"/ 144cm, which feels like a reasonable length for a shawl. However, the pattern is 219 stitches wide. In the gauge for my wool, this is 40"/100cm. Given that I am 64" tall, a shawl which would cover almost ⅔ of my height seems a bit excessive.

I folded a remnant to 100 X 144 cm to get an idea of the size. Obviously, fabric drapes differently from knitting, but it confirmed that this would be a big shawl. When I checked, I discovered that it's actually the size of my bath towels rather than anywhere close to my existing shawls.

So much fabric

It almost reaches down to my knees

Something that size was also going to use a lot of wool, and be quite heavy as a result. I wondered if the Capstan yarn suggested for the pattern was thinner than my DK wool, and so would produce a narrower shawl from 219 stitches. Combing through the booklet which contains the pattern for any clues, I found a section on the different Beehive products. Capstan was listed in the section of Soft Knitting wools. These were described as "4-ply yarns which are more tightly twisted than Fingerings", and of the four types available, Capstan was "slightly thicker". Double Knitting was a separate section, and described as "a thick 4-ply Fingering".

Unless I come across a skein of teens era Capstan yarn for sale somewhere, I guess I will never know for certain. But given that old yarns are generally regarded as being thicker than the modern equivalents (Lister Lee DK is described as more of current Aran weight, for example) and also the needle size of 4mm, modern DK still seems like the best choice for the project. So I will simply work out what width I want the shawl to be, and cast on accordingly.

Even so, it's still going to use a fair amount of yarn - more than will fit in one of the repurposed totes I use for my shawl projects. The clear-out which brought the Dress of Frump back to my attention also unearthed a cute but long-forgotten length of craft cotton and today, as a break from the endless cushion repairs, I made a new (lined, of course) project bag for the occasion.

Complete with wool

Another metre used

Hopefully I will be able to finally start on the shawl soon.

De-frumping

Well, this is not what I expected to be writing about this week. In fact, until Friday afternoon this wasn't even what I expected to be sewing this week.

Yes, one of those

For the last nine years Simplicity 1587, aka The Dress of Frump, has been the nadir of my dressmaking, the benchmark of disaster. Whenever something didn't turn out as planned, from faint disappointment to major calamity, I always asked myself, "Is this as bad as The Dress of Frump?". And the answer was always, but always, "No".

On Friday I was having a tidy up/clear out when I found The Dress of Frump scrunched up in a ball under a pile of other stuff. This was a surprise, as I thought I had thrown it out years ago. I guess it was reprieved because I really liked the fabric, so couldn't bear to get rid of it. Out of curiosity, I tried it on. And it didn't look as bad as I was expecting. Although to be fair, over nine years it has come to be so hideously unappealing in my memory that anything which didn't actually cause the mirror to crack was going to look better than expected.

I still really like the fabric, and started to wonder if there was any way I could fix the dress. The material had been distinctly off grain and, instead of just living with it (hardly an issue with a floral print), I had tried, and failed, to correct it - and ended up with a very wonky garment. On top of that, the design of the skirt did me no favours. A skirt yoke may suit some people, but I am not one of them, and the gathering of the lower skirt just looked skimpy and messy.

There is nothing appealing about this look

Also, some of the gathers stuck out weirdly.

All of the centre section sticks out

On the bodice, the yoke was probably too long, but the main thing was that the pleats were all over the place.

Messy

This was hardly surprising, as the neckline turned out to be longer on one side than the other, and the pleating wasn't remotely symmetrical.

Three small on one side, two large on the other - why?

Somehow, I had even sewn in the centre tab off kilter.

The tab seam and the yoke seam do not line up

I have no idea what I thought I was doing here

There are other, smaller, issues, but I came to the conclusion that what made the dress look so bad overall was that the biggest faults are right in the centre front. So, on the basis that the worst I could do was ruin an already bad dress I didn't even know I had, I set to work.

I started with the skirt, unpicking the section of the seam which joined the yoke to the gathered lower section. Then I pressed out the gathering, and started reattaching the skirt out from the centre, but flat. Once I had attached the centre third of the skirt, I folded the excess fabric into inverted box pleats. I would have preferred a single deeper pleat in the centre, but the curved shape of the yoke made this impossible - I had to place the pleats where the yoke edge was more horizontal. It took some fiddling to get them to hang straight, but I feel it's a neater effect than the gathers.

A smooth skirt front, and the pleats line up with the bodice gathers

Encouraged by this success, I tackled the neckline. This was a lot trickier, and with hindsight I wonder if I should just have fixed the wonky tab and left well alone with the pleats. Once unpicked, they really did not want to be pleated back up in a slightly different way. But eventually, I got everything back in place. Finally, I added some shoulder pads to raise the yoke-bodice seam a little and add support to the sleeve heads.

Not great, but better

The end result is still not brilliant, and things like the uneven hem were impossible to fix without ending up with a shorter dress than I wanted. But it's a lot better than it was, and worth the effort to get it more or less wearable.

Definitely improved overall

My next 'little' job is fixing some damaged cushions from my local community café, and then I can get back to what I was meant to be doing this week - making a dress out of the 1986 toile.