Cool and Beautiful

It’s been a hot, sultry summer here in the northeast; our usual pattern of heat wave/cool break has not occurred this year (if you happen to find it, can you return it to us?) Of course, in 2020 we’re spoiled: we have air conditioning available to us. We don’t have to grin and bear our way through hot, humid weather, the way our great-grandparents did a hundred years ago.

But our forebears had alternative ways to deal with the heat…like wearing clothing like this:

I found this amazing dress at the “yard sale” held by my local historical society a few years back, where they enabled de-accessioned items from their collections to find a new, appreciative home. I found one other fun piece there that I’ve already written about…I’m not sure what took me so long to share this one with you, but here we are. Wasn’t it worth the wait?

My guess at its age is somewhere around 1908-1912 or so—in the few years before the first world war. It’s made of a lovely sheer linen and was machine sewn, but the seam edges were finished by hand to prevent raveling. The skirt is partially tiered, which adds a little fullness, and the bodice and skirt are set in to the waistband. As you can see from the picture, it fastens with hooks and eyes along one side of the front of the bodice down about ten inches into the skirt.

And the embroidery! Yes, it’s all hand-done, but I can even begin to speculate who might have done it. No matter what, it’s exquisitely done, and appears to have been done especially for this dress—that is, the pieces were cut out, embroidered, and then made up into the dress. The back is only slightly less embellished than the front, by the way.

Now, I know that the young lady who wore it would likely have had a chemise, corset, corset cover, drawers, and petticoats under it, so it might not have been all that cool to her. But just looking at this dress makes me feel cooler, somehow—it’s so dainty and airy. Perhaps it was made for a summer wedding; the beauty and obvious care taken in the embroidery makes me imagine a young woman working hard on it all winter, thinking of the June day when she would wear it. What do you think?

Eye Candy, NineteenTeen Style

On some sites, “eye candy” might involve, say, sculpted male torsos. Or a handsomely-filled-out pair of jeans. On NineteenTeen, however, eye candy usually means one thing: amazing historical costumes!

I recently ran across what may win the Best Eye Candy Award for 2015 in a perfectly gorgeous book called “London Society Fashion 1905- 1925: The Wardrobe of Heather Firbank”, published this year by the Victoria and Albert Museum, London. If you have the remotest interest in the fashions of the early part of the twentieth century, this book is for you.

Heather Firbank (1888-1954) was the only daughter of a wealthy upper-middle-class family which included her brother Ronald, who would one day become a well-known author and playwright. She was attractive and well-connected, and when she made her debut in London in 1908, her future seemed assured: marriage, probably into the lower tiers of the aristocracy, and a respected place in society. Financial reverses a few years before her coming-out sent the family on a downhill slope, but Heather’s wardrobe allowance did not feel the pinch; her family knew that making the right impression in society would be vital for her future. So the young woman (twenty the year she made her debut—two years later than usual) was launched into society with a most elegant wardrobe...and interestingly, seems to have tried to create a “brand” for herself, frequently wearing clothes in shades of purple and mauve and using heather as a personal emblem on everything from her notepaper to the embroidered monograms on her underwear.

The death of Heather’s father in 1910 meant further belt-tightening...but Heather and her mother seemed to have continued to spend prodigious amounts of money on their clothes. Though she embarked on a few secret love affairs, Heather never married, and spent the years after the war in Richmond, nursing her dying mother. With her beloved brother Ronald’s death in 1926 she packed up her extensive wardrobe and put it into storage...and upon her death in 1954 at the age of 67, the untouched trunks were offered to the Victoria and Albert Museum. This book is a record of that wardrobe...and it is simply sumptuous.

The Heather Firbank collection contains not only garments for every conceivable occasion, from ballgowns to tennis dresses, but also the accompanying undergarments, stockings, shoes, purses, and hats, representatives of which all appear in this book...not to mention ephemera like photographs of Heather wearing some of the depicted dresses, couturier bills, and sketches. The photography is beautiful, showing garments in both full length and in detail (that cover image is what first caught my eye.) The accompanying text, which details Heather’s life and examines the London fashion industry, is well-researched and written...but it is the photographs that make this book. Highly recommended!

Baking, 1917 Style

As we learned last week, with the entry of the US into World War I, voluntary food conservation came into being in order to not only provide food for American troops heading over to fight in Europe, but also relieve severe food shortages for European civilians. The Food Administration encouraged homemakers to be frugal and to do without; the women’s magazines jumped in and began to publish recipes that reflected the new frugality.

And so this week, I present...recipes! I haven’t tried any of them—too busy getting ready for April (hint, hint). But I think I might try this first one some time, because....well, chocolate and potatoes? Carb heaven. It’s from a Royal Baking Powder ad in the July 1917 issue of McCall’s Magazine:

Potato Chocolate Cake
¾ cups shortening
2 cups sugar
½ cup chocolate
¾ cup milk
2 ½ cups flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 eggs
5 teaspoons Royal Baking Powder
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
¼ teaspoon allspice
1 cup mashed potatoes
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup chopped nuts
½ teaspoon cloves

Cream shortening, add sugar, melted chocolate and mashed potatoes, mix well. Beat eggs separately and add yolks to the first mixture. Add milk and dry ingredients which have been sifted together. Beat well. Add nuts, vanilla, and beaten whites of eggs. Mix thoroughly and bake in greased loaf tin in moderate oven one hour. (The old method called for four eggs)

This one (from a Royal Baking Powder ad in June 1917’s McCall’s) is less tempting—I’m not a fruitcake fan—but I just love the recipe name. Makes you jump up and say, “yum!”, doesn’t it?

Or not.

Eggless, Milkless, Butterless Cake
1 cup brown sugar
1 ¼ cups water
1 cup seedless raisins
2 ounces citron, cut fine
1/3 cup shortening
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
2 cups flour
5 teaspoons Royal Baking Powder

Boil sugar, water, fruit, shortening, salt, and spices together in sauce 3 minutes. When cool, add flour and baking power which have been sifted together. Mix well, Bake in loaf pan about 45 minutes. (The old method called for three eggs)

And finally, from an article in September 1917’s The Delineator entitled “More French Recipes”, is a recipe from a B. Simmen of Ruschlekom, Switzerland:

War Cake
1 cupful granulated sugar
2 teaspoonfuls cocoa
2 cupfuls milk
2 cupfuls flour
1 tablespoonful melted grape jelly
1 egg
1 or 2 teaspoonfuls powdered cinnamon
1 teaspoonful baking soda
Nuts

Take the granulated sugar and add to it the egg. Then beat together and add the cocoa, cinnamon, and the fresh milk or cream. Add the milk or cream very slowly. Mix in the flour. Dissolve the bicarbonate of soda in one tablespoonful of melted grape jelly.

Butter a high baking-pan, as this dish bakes better in a high pan rather than a shallow one.

Shell some nuts and put them over your cake. This dessert is inexpensive and will keep for several days.

I rather like how the recipe’s author neglects to mention baking the cake!

Bon appétit!

Food, Glorious Food...or Food for Glory

On the United States’ entry into World War I in April 1917, the military wasn’t the only thing to mobilize.

Under the direction of future president Herbert Hoover, the U.S. Food Administration jumped into action to convince America’s housewives that they could have a positive impact on the course of the war by conserving food, so that not only American troops would be well-fed, but also the millions in Europe for whom getting enough to eat was a daily struggle. This wasn’t pure altruism; as Hoover wrote, “Of course, the prime objective of the United States in undertaking the fight against famine in Europe is to save the lives of starving people. The secondary object, however, and of hardly less importance, [is] to defeat Anarchy, which is the handmaiden of Hunger.” By “anarchy”, Hoover meant communism, to which Russia had fallen in 1917.

The U.S. Food Administra-tion had six main principles:

"First--To save the wheat. If we eat as usual from our harvest this year we will have little more than enough for our own supply, but we can divide with our allies if each individual makes some sacrifices by eating at least one wheatless meal a day, substituting corn bread or other cereals.

Second--We want to save the meat, for our cattle and hogs are decreasing, and we must send to our allies, so we wish every householder to buy less, to serve smaller portions and to allow no waste.

Third--We wish to save the fats. We consume three times the fats that are necessary for nutrition, and we need them now for war. We wish no butter used in cooking; we want less butter served on the table; we want less lard, bacon, and other pork products used.

Fourth--Any deficiencies in food supply, by economy along the above line, can be amply covered by increasing the use of fish, potatoes, beans, peas, turnips, cabbage, and vegetables generally, corn, buckwheat, rye, and rice, which we have in abundance this harvest.

Fifth--We want to save transportation. Our railways are unable to meet the war pressure for munitions, men and coal, so that we wish every one to consume products of local origin as far as possible, to buy from the local miller, the local packer, buy and eat vegetables grown near home. Aside from eating an increased proportion of these commodities in order to save on the staples, it is extremely important that any surplus of these commodities shall be preserved or well stored for winter use.

Sixth--We preach and want everyone to preach 'the gospel of the clean plate;' to buy less foodstuffs, to serve smaller portions, and to see that nothing of value goes into the garbage can."

This movement to conserve food was driven by a huge advertising blitz. Women’s magazines in particular ran numerous articles on eating locally produced food, eating more fruits and vegetables and poultry and dairy products, which could not easily be transported overseas at this time, cutting down on waste in general and abstaining from certain foods on certain days, hence “Wheatless Wednesdays” and “Meatless Mondays” (foods like cottage cheese and egg dishes were suggested to replace meat).

To make it even more official, housewives could sign a food conservation pledge and receive a special placard to display in their front windows proclaiming that they were doing their bit for the war effort—a clever bit of psychosocial pressure. (That's the pledge above, from the August 1917 issue of Today's Housewife).

Even advertisers jumped on the conservation bandwagon: companies like Domino Sugar ran ads stating that it was every American woman’s patriotic duty to preserve and can fruit to keep it from waste ...using Domino sugar, of course (from McCall's, August 1917).

And of course, the magazines were full of recipes and suggestions on how to conserve food. Stop by next week to get the deets on how to make an Eggless, Milkless, Butterless Cake (yes, really), and more.

Okay, What is the Shocking Truth about Women’s Blouses?

I knew you were all dying of curiosity about what shocking pronouncement I might have on the subject, so I couldn’t leave you in suspense, could I?

As I’ve been reading ladies’ magazines from the summer of 1917 and paying especial attention to the advertisements, I noticed a surprising thing: the many ads for, of all things, underarm hair removal. Yes, you heard me correctly. Like this one, from McCall's July 1917 issue:

And this one from The Delineator, also July 1917:

And that doesn’t include the ads for antiperspirants and deodorants and talcum powder (some of which, by the way, are quite lovely (sorry that the image is a trifle crooked--I didn't want to damage the magazine while scanning it. This one's from McCall's, by the way):

This surprised me at first—underarm hair removal? Really? But as it says in the ad, ladies’ blouses made of sheer batistes, cottons, and linens were all the fashion. Here’s a couple from the same issue of The Delineator. Look closely and you can see that the sleeve fabric was indeed very sheer:

And that doesn’t include bathing suits, some of which were sleeveless by now (also from July's The Delineator):

Underarm hair would be clearly visible in both cases...and definitely not “dainty” (a favorite adjective from this era, it seems)...hence, hair removal products. Maybe I’m clueless, but I’d just never thought of this as an early twentieth century problem...but evidently it was.

And this is part of why I take such joy in research: because you don’t know what you don’t know, and filling in all those gaps in knowledge is such a wonderful thing. Even when it involves underarm hair. I don't think I'll be writing any scenes in which my characters fret about this problem--at least, I don't think I will--but it certainly was interesting to learn about. This is not the kind of history that ever makes it into the history books...but it's history just the same--how the people before us lived. It's my favorite kind of history, and I hope you've enjoyed all the shreds of it that Regina and I try to bring to you.