Travelling in Costume — at Christmas!

This blog, as you will notice from the header, is supposed to be about writing and travel. That’s been challenging over the last few years due to Covid restrictions. Especially in Australia, some parts particularly, we’ve been very limited in travel, or even leaving the house. It’s been very isolating.

I’ve been busy writing, I published two group anthologies while Sydney was in lockdown from late June 2021 to early October 2021, when there was ‘early release’ for those who have been double-vaccinated. I’m not going to discuss the rights and wrongs of the government directives. It just is, and merely sets the scene for what now follows.

I love to sing. I especially love close harmony, but that becomes increasingly challenging when ‘close’ conflicts with the need for social distance. I belong to two choirs which each give me something different, musically. One sings modern arrangements in a barbershop style while the other performs music from past centuries in multiple languages.

I’ve written earlier about my links with historical clothing. When we went into the latest, longest lockdown in Sydney, it was just after my attendance at Blacktown Medieval Fayre. I felt dissatisfied with my attempt at costume and resolved to do more. I wrote about this in Down the Rabbit Hole. https://wordpress.com/post/helenjarmstrong.home.blog/1529

First I repaired the medieval clothing of other family members who are regular historical reenactors. That gave me the confidence to try more.

Dressing/road-testing the new kirtle, about to go for a short walk in the neighbourhood.

St Birgitte coif. The band is sewn from an old, torn chambray shirt.

The coif, being worn. It hides a multitude of hair-colouring sins.

During the early part of the lockdown, I hand-sewed a 13^th century kirtle (think, Maid Marian). Then I think I went a bit crazy. I had some old, worn fitted sheets with ‘dead’ elastic. I spread them out on the lawn in a desperate attempt to keep involved with life and hopefully say hi to any passing jogger. Cutting out fabric, I hand-sewed several chemises, learning more in the process. A coif or two as well, using an old torn shirt and a ripped sheet. I found myself binge-watching historical videos and clothing history sewing videos while I stitched. As I adapted the discarded fabric in my life, I channelled my inner Scarlett o’Hara (remember those green velvet curtains at Tara?). One way or another, as God was my witness, I would never be costume-less again.

As we began to come out of lockdown, our Renaissance choir (ROH Ensemble) was able to rehearse once more (under very strict conditions). I showed photos of what I had been making, and sat at rehearsal finishing the hand-stitching on another St Birgitte coif.

“Would you make me a ruff?” one male chorister asked.

I thought about it. That would be stretching my skills. “I’ll have to find out more,” I told him.

More binge-watching. The information was frustratingly scarce. The process seemed frustratingly tedious and painstaking. The more I studied, the more I realised that ruffs, while worn by ‘ordinary folk’, were very much a status symbol because of the effort (and therefore expense) involved in their making.

I was determined to try, however. One video looked more useful.

The first day we were allowed to leave our local government area, we went to visit our daughter. She gave me an old cot sheet which I carefully unpicked. “While you’re sewing costumes,” she remarked, “Master Six wants to be able to dress up as a Tudor prince.”

Okay, another request for a ruff. And a Tudor cap. My to-do list was rapidly growing.

I visited a neighbour with whom I do a lot of community sewing. In her basement I rapidly machine-sewed a number of quick projects. Using her rotary cutter and very careful measurement, I cut the old cot sheet into as many lengths of 10-cm-wide strips as I could, then carefully machine-hemmed one side. The video had said there was no need to hem the other side. I’ve since found this is bad advice…

Finished ruff. For now… that curve is because I had to sew it to the band at an angle, because of the fraying.

As Bernadette Banner (noted dress historian and prolific YouTuber) so often says, “there is no such thing as true historical accuracy.” All we can do is study the past and try to extrapolate how it was done, and hope we can get as close as possible.

Back at home I sat and hand-stitched some more. I developed a technique of hand-stitching a ruff that let me carry it around in my pocket, so I could take it out and sew a little more wherever I was. I was almost manic in my zeal, when our choir director told us that we had two gigs in the city. We needed costumes! She was determined to improve the historical accuracy and the look of how the choir presented.

In our Renaissance choir, the look is very individual. We do not look like each other. Often, we’re not always from the same time period, our brief is medieval and Renaissance. I had originally planned for my own costume to be 13^th century, but now I was sewing a ruff, that put my costume in the Elizabethan period. Late Tudor.

At my neighbour’s place again, I raided her stash of upholstery samples and made some pockets. These were worn in medieval and Tudor times either under an over-dress or on the outside. When you hear the child’s nursery rhyme, “Lucy Locket lost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it”, it is referring to these old-style pockets which tied around the waist. According to reports, some women would even carry live chickens to market in their pockets. I figured I could use one to carry my medieval mobile phone and my medieval Opal card (public transport card). I sewed a couple more for other women in the choir.

I went shopping. Cautiously, wearing my mask and keeping my distance. Maybe I could make another dress… then I saw some lace, and some braid. I scurried home with my treasures. And did more sewing.

Kirtle with braid – it took exactly six metres. Trying to turn a 13th century costume into something that COULD be 16th century.

Another friend bought himself a new costume. There was nothing wrong with the old one, but he wanted a change. Unfortunately, it needed work. So that pulled me away. He also needed a Tudor cap, and in my fabric stash I found some royal blue corduroy and fuschia taffeta. An old music folder contributed some stiffening for the brim. It was brilliant. Sadly, too small (hopefully, it will fit Tudor-prince-loving grandson). So I started over, using two layers of plastic drawer liner as stiffener. This time — too big.

The lining and the outer layer — these are the same. We just tuck one inside the other and stitch together.

Finished Tudor cap. This first one (too small) had to be finished in green bias binding,
I was only able to use what I had in he house. No shopping permitted.

My other choir, Endeavour Harmony Chorus, was also booked to perform in the city, on the first night of the Sydney City Christmas program, which was very exciting. Getting the costumes organised was a lot easier for a choir where everyone dresses the same. The City of Sydney was providing t-shirts for us.

The City of Sydney also offered t-shirts to ROH Ensemble but our director graciously declined. It would have looked so wrong with a ruff.

Ready to travel, in costume. My character back-story is seamstress. Of course!

On the day our Renaissance choir performed Christmas carols in the city, we did our best to travel in as a group. With Covid restrictions still in place, there was nowhere sufficient, or with enough time, for us to fully change into our costumes so we travelled in to the city by train already in medieval and Renaissance costume. People were carefully not looking at us.

On Sydney’s public transport we still need to wear masks. Next to the performance area a hotel gave access to two toilet cubicles and a warm-up space. The hotel required QR check-in, proof of double vaccination and masks. But as performers, we also needed to put on some make-up. Masks make a big mess with lipstick, especially.

We managed. We managed it well, I think.

Post performance. Will the rain hold off? Note the pocket. I also carried my musical instrument in there.

Endeavour Harmony Chorus has now performed twice this year in this Christmas tree space, and each choir has one more performance to go in the city. It’s been exciting, challenging (fitting in song sets in between the large city clock striking every quarter hour, and an over-enthusiastic programming of the giant musical Christmas tree). On our next Renaissance performance, apparently a nearby cathedral has brought in bell-ringers from around the state, and they will be enthusiastically pealing bells while we sing of Christmas. In costume.

It’s different. But it’s wonderful to sing again, and to be out and about. What a Christmas gift!

After our next performance in Renaissance costume, I’m taking the ruff apart. It needs more work to ‘floof’ it out a bit more. However, each time I do something or make something, I get better.

Tired after a busy day. Returning home on the train. The ruff didn’t come through too badly, but it needs more work.

I have a long way to go, but it will be a fun time getting there!

Last night one of the other sewer choristers gave me three boxes of fabric for costumes… *sigh*

An old doona cover. I’m thinking maybe red underskirt, brocade overskirt and boned brocade stomacher…

Down the Rabbit Hole…

In Sydney, Australia, thanks to Covid and the outbreak of the delta strain, we’ve been stuck in isolation for nine weeks so far, with the prospect of another nine to go, at least.

What’s a writer to do?

The excitement of a medieval faire — Skill-at-Arms at Ironfest, Lithgow 2017. That’s a kirtle the lady warrior is wearing.

On 22 May, a few weeks before the lockdown, we went to Blacktown Medieval Fayre. We went with my friend, the director of the Renaissance choir, and we wore costumes from our choir performances, blending in totally. However, as is often the case, I felt my dress was a little too modern, I felt a bit of a medieval fake. Once again, I resolved to do some sewing. I bought a hat, a capuchon with a long liripipe, it looked easy to sew another like it. But I also knew that there are many ways to wear a capuchon. Very exciting! The capuchon was very much headwear for all weathers. it could be worn over the face in cold, wet weather, or rolled back in warmer weather. And to be different, it could also be worn upside down, in much the same way as a baseball cap these days is deliberately worn backwards.

I spent some time looking at displays with relevance to my Scottish ghost story, where my protagonists have to live off the land in an effort to survive harsh conditions.

Woodwork, medieval-style. Making a leg for a stool. Blacktown Medieval Fayre, 2021.

There have been some things about my fifteenth century Scottish ghost story that have been bugging me. Did they have chimneys in farm cottages in Scotland in the fifteenth century? What about clothing?

I had thought I’d had it right, but going back over my manuscript, I realised that some details were too modern. But, of course, the more I researched, the more I found that was peripheral to my area of study.

Family selfie at Blacktown Medieval Fayre, 2021. Myself, hubby and hairy older son (a Templar).

With nothing else to do (other than edit two anthologies, neither of which can be launched during lockdown anyway) I explored everything and discovered some wonderful personalities in the process.

I can now also make an egg fried rice that Uncle Roger would acclaim. But that’s another story entirely.

They say write what you know. So when we went into lockdown, I knew there was no time like total isolation in the present to immerse myself in the past via the internet and YouTube and really get to grips with all the life skills I might need in order to survive a fifteenth century Scottish winter.

While looking up exactly how to wear a capuchon (would my protagonist have worn one, perhaps?) I found other videos only peripherally connected to my area of study. But outside the house, the days were short and cold, so I snuggled under heavy clothes and studied on. Meanwhile I grabbed the medieval costumes of family members that were sadly in need of repair, and got to work with needle and thread.

One video I found which I went back to, was Elin Abrahamsson and how to sew a medieval kirtle. Worth a try.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRvzUQ8v9Ss

Along the way I learned that hand-sewing could actually be very strong. In medieval times and even later in the Renaissance, clothing was kept carefully, what people wore was a reflection of their status and, unless you were nobility, people made their own clothes. How hard could it be?

I rummaged through my fabric stash. Hmm. Not much there. Shops closed, so no trips to Spotlight. I rang a friend who has a larger fabric stash and asked for help. We did a Covid-safe fabric hand over, and I found some heavy cotton fabric, a sort of tan-coloured canvas.

The instructions on the video were simple — don’t waste fabric. Rectangles and triangles. You measure how high you are, how round you are, work out how much hem you want and calculate it out. Then mark it on the fabric with chalk and a ruler, then cut it out.

I got out the sewing machine. The only place I could set it up in our crowded house was the driveway, on a sunny day. Hubby hung a sail overhead and I did my best. I really tried. But the sewing machine needs to be serviced. Again, not possible in lockdown.

Sketching in the desired neckline with a pencil.

I had to sew by hand. With one sewing needle left and no matching thread, again I had to make do. I chose a thread colour as close as possible in tone, but darker. I sat and hand-stitched long seams in every spare minute. Watching TV or looking over my husband’s shoulder while he fell down the same rabbit hole as me. We started with Vikings, worked our way through Queen Victoria’s cuisine (there was a lot of it) then worked our way back again. As I worked my way through the Tudors I noticed some detail on various styles of headwear worn by the women. I’d had plans to make one of those box-style headwear things worn by various wives of Henry VIII until I found out how they’re put together. That’s a big NOPE from me. You needed a dresser, a seamstress and a large packet of pins just to get dressed each morning. Nothing elaborate for me. After the dress I’m going to sew myself a light linen coif, the small white cap that all people wore on their heads, men and women. Underclothing, on body and on head, was necessary in order to keep the more expensive outer wear clean and in good condition.

Hand-stitching while I wait in the car for my son to get his Covid shot. It was a wait of several hours each time.

In lockdown we have had strict limits on where we could go. One exception (and I rang officials to check) was getting vaccinated. On the day my son had to get his first Covid vaccine, he had to go into inner Sydney. Public transport would not be a good idea, so I drove him. Of course I stayed in the car, listened to the car radio and sewed the seams on my kirtle. He got needlework done on him (Covid vaccination) while I did my own needlework. Travelling there and back was strange, driving on empty roads which normally would be choked with traffic. We shopped for groceries on the way home and it was his turn to wait in the car. Only one person per household permitted to shop. One person per day.

Back at home, after some long study of the Plantagenets (the Henrys, with a few Richards and a John thrown in) my husband was working his way through Scottish history, notably the border rievers. It felt oddly familiar to be hand-stitching a kirtle while watching a docudrama about Rob Roy. The dress I was sewing looked like the ones in the video.

Hand-felled inside seams for added strength.

Attaching sleeves. Again, pin while wearing and adjust fit individually.

One thing I learned through this whole process was that history is so often about the rulers, the leaders, the manipulators. Whereas I am writing about the ordinary people, the day-to-day lives of the majority. I felt glad to immerse myself in the process of sewing my own dress.

The finished kirtle. Finished except for ornamental trim.

Kirtle with capuchon. Our friend thought I had dressed as St Benedict. Apparently it was the right day…

I’ve now started to go back through my novel (the Scottish ghost story from the fifteenth century) and refine the details on clothing and lifestyle. When I mention the young woman mending her brother’s undershift by the fire, I want people to feel the scorch of the fire on their faces, hear the crackle, see the flash of firelight on needle and smell the burning peat. Writing has to be immersive, if the reader’s experience is to similarly be so.

With inside seams finished, I sewed the hem of the dress during a Zoom writers meeting this afternoon. When we went outside to photograph the dress, an old friend was walking his dog past our fence. He didn’t bat an eyelid when he saw me in kirtle and capuchon. Perhaps he was questioning my sanity, after so many weeks of lockdown. We chatted from a safe distance while we got ready to take our photos.

Of course, the dress project is not finished. There’s still another nine weeks to go, at least, in this lockdown. And now it’s time to trim the dress. I’m going to have a go at tablet weaving. But first, that coif…

Cité de Carcassonne – Fairytale Fortress

I’ve written about Carcassonne, France, in the past but it definitely bears a longer examination.

Our travel agent, knowing I have difficulty walking, had booked our accommodation ‘within the walls’. We had learned in previous city stays that while this can be more expensive, we save a lot on cab fares, energy and time, a very precious commodity.

We turned off the autoroute onto a lesser road which wound through vineyards and small villages. The sat nav only showed roads, no topography, so when we turned the corner to see the glowing confection of castle towers on top of the hill we were blown away. After seeing so many ruins with just a suggestion that once there was a functioning castle there, here was the Real Deal.

Carcassonne when first seen. It doesn’t look real. France, 2019.

After leaving our car in a tourist car park, we walked in through the big Double D gatehouse of the city walls. The castle is another enclosure inside, with a lot of quaint, historic buildings jettied out over the street.

Jeff, pointing to the many-layered main city gate.
The square holes in the wall above would have held the supporting beams for the timber battlements.

Multi-walled defences — outside the Cité de Carcassonne, France, 2019.

Inside the first wall, another fortress wall. They could keep out anything in Carcassonne.
Note the timber hoarding on the first tower along from the gate, to the right.

A relief map of the double-walled Cité de Carcassonne. The palace itself is at the top of the image, the cathedral to the left. And yes, that is a Roman amphitheatre. They were here too.

Medieval building with jettied upper storey. The former cathedral is just beyond, the car is outside our hotel.
Carcassonne, France, 2019.

The altar of the old cathedral, now Basilica St-Nazaire. Just beautiful.

There were multiple walls, multiple large gates and giant doors on our way into the inner sanctum. It was another scorching hot day and we were exhausted and sweaty by the time we got to the Hotel de la Cité, beside the old cathedral, now called Basilica Ste-Nazaire.

The hotel was a slice of medieval heaven. Air-conditioned (not a medieval thing but very welcome) with the benefit of thick stone walls, we felt cooler immediately inside the front door. We were handed a glass of iced water each, with a slice of lemon. Even before they asked our names for the register!

I had carried a few loose bags of precious things (computer bag, handbag etc) which the hotel reception minded while we went back to our car. Absolutely no parking inside, so we had a parking space allocated outside the walls, with a transfer minibus.

The town of Carcassonne, outside the walls. Our hire car was down there somewhere.

Coming back in by minibus was quite an experience. The walls of the gates were so close we could have touched them. I could see streaks of various car paints on them from drivers less skilled than ours. There were officials guarding the gates from unauthorised vehicle access. The difficulty was made greater by a right angle within the entrance, so you couldn’t simply drive straight through.

The view from the window of our room in *Hotel de la Cité*. The front door of Basilica Sainte-Nazaire.

Once inside, we were within the walls of the old city but still outside the castle itself. The area inside the walls is much smaller than for other old cities we visited (such as Avignon) but still allowed for a number of shops and the former cathedral.

Up on the walls. We entered via the castle. In the background is the former cathedral.

We’d arrived just after midday so we had plenty of time to explore. I’ve already described our exploration of the castle towers and city walls, but suffice it to say, we were having a ball. So many features of castles that I needed to better understand for my writing, things I had only seen as ruins in so many areas, were here restored to glory. In fact, Carcassonne never fell to arms: only once, to siege in 1209 during a time when the city was controlled by the Cathars. That siege was led by Simon de Montfort, who was perhaps the greatest, most capable knight and tactician of his time. It would have taken someone of his capability to even have a chance. The city was forced to surrender due to lack of food getting through. The people were allowed to leave, but with no possessions and clad only in their underwear. Reports say “in their shirts” but this is a reference to the undershirts, or shifts, that people wore next to their skin as underclothing. Simon de Montfort, of course, was rewarded with stewardship of Carcassonne and promptly began making his own improvements to its fortifications.

From around C13, close-up of knight’s effigy on a tomb. inside the palace, Carcassonne, France.

Inside the castle. Now open to the sky, this would have been two levels that we see here, a large fireplace on the first floor directly in front with two bench seats by a window to its left. The square blocks would be where a floor once was.
Above is a guard walk. The large windows indicate an outlook of relative safety.

We began our walk of the castle walls and learned, too late, that it was a one way path. Up stairs, down other stairs, up more stairs. Walking along the battlements, looking at the places in the outer walls where the temporary wooden hoardings were erected, hung off the top of the stone walls, to give defenders an even greater advantage to drop projectiles onto attackers below. Carcassonne was the first castle to ever do this, and to great effect.

Section of timber hoarding or battlement, which hung out from the outer wall of the castle. As if it needed even more defence!

Contrary to popular opinion, they did not drop boiling oil through the murder holes and macchiolations. Oil would have been too precious to waste. However, burning hot sand would be just as effective at getting inside maille or between plates of armour. Stripping off scalding hot metal to save blistering skin would have been equally fatal, with defending archers just waiting for that opportunity.

On top of the walls. Beautiful stonework.

The archer’s eye view, covering the gate below.

A view through arrow-loop to the inside of the city walls, just in case the enemy got this far.

The top of a lookout tower, facing outwards.

Guarding the approaches. “None shall pass!”

Never forget, this is rich wine country.

I could sympathise with the attacking soldiers being rained with burning sand, as the heat climbed higher into the afternoon, and no way back. The walls of Carcassonne are double-layered, with strong defences in between. Any enemy soldier making it that far wouldn’t have stood a chance.

We did wonder, as we clambered up yet another long, spiral staircase, at how ladies in long, layered skirts would ever get back down. The towers were well-supplied with garderobes, those long-drop toilets handing off the side wall. Something else to drop on attackers… but at least there would be no need to head downstairs to find a loo.

We were almost at the heatstroke stage by late afternoon when we got back to the hotel pool. A quick swim to cool off, then we explored the former cathedral.

Seen from up on the walls — our hotel courtyard. So near, yet so far…

The view of the Pyrenees in the distance.

A saunter around the old city, and a sunset dinner with the Pyrenees on the horizon as a backdrop. Oh, I could have stayed for so much longer! My mind kept going back to Hilaire Belloc’s poem, Tarantella.

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of the tar?

Costumes were available for sale everywhere. I did check the price of this kirtle and cloak. Out of my league!

Next morning we were driven back to our car, in the car park outside the walls. Sad to leave, but off to our next adventure in ancient walled cities of France.

As I write this, we’re in lockdown in much of Australia and, unable to sally forth from my own ivory tower, I’ve been going down various rabbit-holes familiarising myself with history, losing myself in the past. My own fiction writing is currently involving various aspects of medieval life, and so it has been productive research.

More to follow…