Blast from the Past: Getting Down and Dirty in the Garden

For various reasons, I was over two weeks late in getting my garden planted this year...but as of this past weekend, the tomatoes and peppers and zucchini and cucumbers were finally in, and the bush bean seeds I did manage to plant last weekend are popping up like crazy. In honor of (or perhaps relief at) the occasion, here’s a walk down memory lane into 1917 via 2014...and down the garden path.

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With the clarion call to American women to save food at home so that the starving of Europe and the troops fighting the Kaiser could be fed, 1917 could be called the year of the canning jar...sort of. 

It started in the spring. American women were exhorted to plant gardens and preserve their crops, and by July, the women’s magazines blossomed with advice: July’s McCall’s article “Uncle Sam’s Kitchen Brigade” gave a detailed list of how each type of garden bounty could be canned, both fruit (apricots, plums, berries, and cherries) and vegetables (bean, peppers, asparagus, cabbage spinach, cauliflower, carrots, and beets).

The Independent featured an article on dehydrating foods in June as did The Ladies’ World Magazine in August which suggested dehydrating foods--including leafy greens like spinach-- to preserve them (as the lady above is doing, with wire mesh trays and a house fan!) for a very practical reason: because of the success of the canning campaign, there was a national shortage of canning jars! The Ladies’ Home Journal included an article about “the new containers”, primarily different types of coated paper--the forerunner of our paper milk and juice cartons today. 

In addition to all the encouragement to can, preserve, and dry, American women were also encouraged to change the way their families ate. Based on the number of articles and recipes published about salads this summer (in Women’s World and The Modern Priscilla in particular), I have to wonder if anyone actually ate them before 1917.  The salad was a somewhat different creature from today’s greens and chopped veggies: it tended more to be a collection of foods mixed together and served cold, thereby saving cooking fuel and using up not only the garden’s bounty but also anything else that happened to be lurking in the icebox.  How can you resist a tasty Baked Bean salad, presented by such a fetching young lady?

More Hints...a look back at May 1917’s Fashions

I’m back to be a dreadful tease with another Blast from the Past about 1917 and what was going on then...with a promise that in my next post, I’ll stop being mysterious and explain why. Till then...enjoy these wonderful fashions!

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So I got hold of a beautiful copy of the May 1917 edition of The Delineator, a magazine published by Butterick, now best known for their sewing patterns. Well, you know that their magazine would have to have gorgeous fashion pages—over twenty of them!--and you’re right. So I thought it was time to have some slightly more recent Fashion Forecasts, which will continue through the summer months.

 

The fashion section begins with a look at the latest Paris fashions, with the headline, “Fleet-Footed are the Fashions that Defy the U-Boats”. Designers mentioned include Georgette, Marthe Wingrove, Magraine-Lacroix, Laferriere, and Parry.

 

One thing you’ll notice that differs from the 19th century prints that I post is that dresses are usually not labeled “Morning Dress” or “Walking Dress” or what have you. What started with this issue of The Delineator was individual breakdowns of the cost of making each pattern, including estimated cost of fabric, trim, findings and patterns, as a result of expected belt-tightening with the newly entered war. The dress at left has a total cost of $4.94, and the dress at right costs a mere $3.37.

 

Silhouettes are interesting in this year: though many of the dresses shown still have waists, the general lines are hinting at the coming “vertical”, straight look of the twenties. Busts are still low, an echo of the previous decade.

Parasols and creative millinery were definitely in. The pink hat at right very definitely resembles a type of military hat known as a “shako”; hardly surprising to see, the month after the US had entered the war.

 

Separates—blouses and skirts, or two piece suits—were also in vogue.

 

What I found especially interesting is that there was a separate section of clothes intended especially for teens, though that exact term is not used. Still, the pattern descriptions are for 16- and 17- and 18-year-olds--a definite change from 19th century fashion.

The biggest difference I can see between these teen clothes and the more grown-up patterns is that the hemlines seem to be a trifle shorter.

More “teen” fashions, along with some younger girl outfits.

 

Children’s clothing is also included, both for girls...

And for boys. Note the ringlets!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What do you think of May 1917’s fashions?

La Belle Assemblee, Up Close and Personal

Some months back I was fortunate enough to find a complete Ackermann’s Repository of the Arts <cue Marissa hyperventilating> and shared it here with you. Now, my heart is again going pitter-pat over another exciting (to me, anyway!) find: a complete, as it was published, copy of La Belle Assemblée!

The cover is a very sturdy paper, and features a logo of the Three Graces (this changed over the years—issues in its early years had an Egyptian-inspired design) and some hints of the treats within: a portrait of Lady Elizabeth Belgrave as well as two full-color prints of “female fashions.” We can see by this year (1825) that founder John Bell was no longer publishing La Belle Assemblée; rather, George Whittaker was at the helm, and had been since 1823. The back cover features advertisements of new-released books, and ads for the New British Library and Reading Rooms in Cheapside and for marble chimney-pieces (but very superior chimney-pieces, as the purveyor held a royal warrant.) The inside covers feature books published and/or printed by Mr. Whittaker.

The interior is of a lighter-weight but still very sturdy paper; most of the pages are still sewn in place, though a few signatures have come loose. The table of contents features stories, essays factual (Contemporary Poets and Writers of Fiction, No.1—a serial, no less) and humorous (Christmas in the Country), pages of original poetry, a section of fashion (and the featured fashion prints, this month an Evening Dress and a Morning Visiting Dress, complete with the protective piece of tissue paper between them, as can be seen above), and a sort of round-up of reviews and commentary on newly-published books, music, drama, and art as well as of “Literary and Scientific Intelligence”, in which we learn that Mr. Matthew Clarke was awarded an exclusive patent by the tsar to erect gas lighting in Russia (wow--that's a big contract!), and that a mummy unwrapping was held at the Bristol Institution. There’s an advertising supplement too, but I think I’ll save that for a future post because there are some wonderful ads in it.

Among my favorite parts of La Belle Assemblée are the Births, Marriages, and Deaths page (this month noting the death “At Worle, aged 103, Mr. Joel Bishop. He was the father, grandfather, and great grandfather of 180 children, of whom 115 are now living.”) and the note to Subscribers and Correspondents, where submissions were (quite publicly!) accepted or rejected, in terms amusing, kindly, or, on occasion, rather barbed. My favorite in this issue reads “From the extreme difficulty we find in decyphering the MS. of a tale which has reached us without either title or signature, we find ourselves under the necessity of retaining it for further consideration.”  Oops! 😊

Snippets: The Lady’s Magazine, January 1811

I do enjoy reading periodicals from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries—the articles, the stories, the illustrations, and even the ads. They don’t necessarily offer a completely accurate picture of their eras: overall, most general-consumption magazines present an aspirational picture of their worlds —how its readers would like their lives to be. After all, does any magazine you read truly reflect the reality of your everyday life?

Still, they do provide a window into the past that is often useful and informative. To this history geek, they can be at times surprising, eye-opening, and—sometimes—utterly delightful.

I have before me the January 1811 edition of The Lady’s Magazine, or, Entertaining Companion for the Fair Sex; Appropri-ated Solely to Their Use and Amusement (gotta love the snappy title.) The “top story” is the beginning of a biography of the then-General Viscount Wellington (on the first step up the ladder leading to his eventual dukedom) who was busily engaged in the Peninsula. Like most of the pieces in this magazine, it is one installment of a longer piece; aside from letters to the editor and a few shorter extracts from essays and books, most of the articles here are continuations from issue to issue. The accompanying portrait engraving, purporting to be “an accurate likeness”, makes him look considerably younger (and plumper) than most of the portraits I’ve seen!

Of universal interest, I’m sure, is a brief but alarming piece titled “Ladies’ Clothes on Fire”, advocating for heavy woolen “fire cloaks” to become an accepted part of the décor of “every parlour and ’drawing-room in the kingdom, and deemed as necessary an article of its furniture, as the hearth-rug, the fire-screen, or the fender.”

Then there’s a touching story of “The Remarkable Docility of a Sow”, detailing the story of pigs who have been raised alongside hunting dogs and trained to point as well as their canine step-siblings.

Of course, there’s a fashion plate, showing “London Morning and Evening Dress” in shades of black and gray as mourning for Princess Amelia was still in effect. The black velvet evening dress, trimmed “with velvet and gold cord twisted together” would pass muster today at an evening event, I think.

But the piece that surprised me the most was a brief item in the Births, Marriages, and Deaths section: on January 9 was listed the death “At Gretna Green, aged 79, the celebrated Joseph Pasley, first (it is said) a tobacconist, afterward a fisherman, and finally, without ordination or commission, a volunteer, self-constituted priest of Hymen, better known by the appellation of the Gretna-Green Parson*” The asterisk indicates a note reading, “On a trial respecting the validity of one of his marriages—on which occasion, he appeared in court as a witness—we recollect the judge characterizing him as a blacksmith.” This is, of course, the famous performer of clandestine marriages for eloping couples from England who fled just over the Scottish border—and out of the reach of English church law...and evidently a news-maker even then!

Now That’s an Ackermann!

I’ve been posting images and content from Ackermann’s Repository for a loooong time now...looking back, I see his name was first mentioned on NineteenTeen back in November of 2007, about a month and a half after this blog began. Most of what I’ve posted here have been from prints or pages from the original magazine that I’ve picked up in various antique and junk stores both in person and on-line; occasionally I’ll post something from a copy of Ackermann’s from an online archive. I’ve often seen (and sighed over) bound copies of entire years of Ackermann’s—what riches!

But in the dozen or so years I’ve been at this, this is a first. May I present to you...

A copy of Ackermann’s Repository as it might have been purchased in Ackermann’s store in the Strand, back in 1824!

All of the complete copies I’ve ever seen, be they individual or bound in a book, have started with the table of contents. This copy includes an outer cover made of a sturdier paper than the inner pages: the front, as you can see, includes this decorative engraving with the date, issue number and price (4 shillings). There is some color (brown and a smidge of blue) in the engraving; the rest of the cover is black.

Speaking of which...the back contains (as do magazines today)...advertising! Price and Gosnell, Perfumers to His Majesty, sold toiletries, from soap and skin lotions to dyes to toothbrushes and toothpaste.

And as for the binding...the interior pages are sewn together, and the exterior cover seems to have been glued. There is no printing on the spine.

Inside the front cover are more advertisements, from publisher J.Harding of St. James’s-street, and Urling’s Lace, a neighbor to Ackermann in the Strand.

Inside the back cover, we have more book ads from J. Harding, and sheet music from J. Willis of Covent-Garden.

I’m thrilled to be able to share this with you...but I have a few questions. How was the Repository mailed to subscribers? Was it enclosed in an envelope of some description, or wrapped in a paper band with an address? Or were subscribers’ addresses written directly on each issue? Or were they sent in a bundle (or singly, if necessary) to local post offices along with a list of recipients?

Questions, questions...but in the meanwhile, I hope you are as geeked out by this as I am!

EDITED TO ADD: At the request of a reader, I'm adding a close-up of one of the ads on the inside front cover: here you go!

 

Still Here, Part 4

In celebration of finishing my WWI set story, I'm presenting another set of ads for products and companies that are, remarkably, still here after nearly (or in some cases, more than) a hundred years:

I use it on appliances, not white shoes, but Bon Ami evidently didn’t scratch then, either (Ladies’ Home Journal, June 1917):

Those seem awfully pointy for men's shoes, don't you think? Florsheim Shoes (The Literary Digest, December 1, 1917):

If you didn't can those berries the way you were supposed to, might as well eat cake! Crisco (Ladies’ Home Journal, June 1917):

For cooking and desserts, yeah, sure.  For eggless mayonnaise...no. Just no. Carnation Milk (Ladies’ Home Journal, June 1917):

Ham, ham, ham, ham. Armour Ham (The Delineator, May 1917):

Thank heavens typhoid and cholera are no longer words frequently seen in product advertising. Lifebuoy Soap (Harper’s Weekly, February 22, 1902):

What I would like to know is just what tests the United States Patent Office ran to prove the board's "efficacy!" Ouija Board (Metropolitan, June 1917):

I love this one. It begins with INFECTION in large, ominous letters...discusses killing multiple types of bugs, assures us that it isn't poisonous, and ends by suggesting consumers write for a free fairy story book.  Uh huh. Black Flag Insect Powder (The Delineator, May 1917):

Still Here, Part 3

A few weeks ago we looked at the birth of the supermarket...now let’s see what items that were on the shelves of Piggly-Wiggly that we might still recognize today! Parts one and two of this series are available here and here.

As we head into cold season...Luden’s Cough Drops have been soothing coughs for a long time now. (Women’s World, August 1917)

Of course, if we want to keep germs at bay, we should have reached for the Lysol in the first place...(The Delineator, May 1917)

 Yes, they still make film, even in this digital age.  (The Red Cross Magazine, August 1917)

Spicing up sandwiches since 1867... (Ladies’ Home Journal, June 1917)

Though national Prohibition had not yet arrived, there were enough "dry" counties around... (Ladies’ Home Journal, June 1917)

Hmm. Shampooing with it?  (McCall’s Magazine, August 1910)

I just love this one--6,175 games played with one deck. Someone actually counted?  (Collier’s Illustrated Weekly, March 15, 1902)

And this week’s grand prize winner: I never knew that baked beans could be scientific...did you? ☺ (The Youth’s Companion, September 20, 1917)

Girls and World War I, Part 3: Getting Down and Dirty (in the Garden)

With the clarion call to American women to save food at home so that the starving of Europe and the troops fighting the Kaiser could be fed, 1917 could be called the year of the canning jar...sort of.

It started in the spring. American women were exhorted to plant gardens and preserve their crops, and by July, the women’s magazines blossomed with advice: July’s McCall’s article “Uncle Sam’s Kitchen Brigade” gave a detailed list of how each type of garden bounty could be canned, both fruit (apricots, plums, berries, and cherries) and vegetables (bean, peppers, asparagus, cabbage spinach, cauliflower, carrots, and beets).

The Independent featured an article on dehydrating foods in June as did The Ladies’ World Magazine in August which suggested dehydrating foods--including leafy greens like spinach-- to preserve them (as the lady above is doing, with wire mesh trays and a house fan!) for a very practical reason: because of the success of the canning campaign, there was a national shortage of canning jars! The Ladies’ Home Journal included an article about “the new containers”, primarily different types of coated paper--the forerunner of our paper milk and juice cartons today.



In addition to all the encouragement
to can, preserve, and dry, American women were also encouraged to change the way their families ate. Based on the number of articles and recipes published about salads this summer (in Women’s World and The Modern Priscilla in particular), I have to wonder if anyone actually ate them before 1917.  The salad was a somewhat different creature from today’s greens and chopped veggies: it tended more to be a collection of foods mixed together and served cold, thereby saving cooking fuel and using up not only the garden’s bounty but also anything else that happened to be lurking in the icebox.  How can you resist a tasty Baked Bean salad, presented by such a fetching young lady?

More on Needlework...

Back at the end of February, Regina posted about the genteel pastime of fine needlework for ladies. This week, I’m following up with some of the sources young ladies might have consulted for their fancywork: magazines!

La Belle Assemblee, The Lady’s Magazine, and of course Ackermann’s Repository all published needlework patterns in every monthly issue. Many were for specific items, as you can see below in this pattern for a collar from La Belle Assemblee:

Others were just nice patterns that could be used anywhere. Here are several for your viewing pleasure. I've supplied dates where I have them…enjoy!

Muslin Patterns from Ackermann's Repository, 1813:

Needlework patterns, Ackermann's Repository:

Muslin Patterns, Ackermann's Repository, 1818:



La Belle Assemblee, 1815:

La Belle Assemblee, 1812: