I’m sure I’m not the only person here who’s been given, or who has held onto a fat, fluffy, scruffy plushie-pet or soft-toy animal. Plush-toys or soft-toys, cuddle-toys…whatever you want to call them…have been popular children’s toys and childhood keepsakes for over a hundred years!
In this post, I thought I’d talk a bit about them, where they come from, and my own little plushie-cleaning journey that I had recently.
Anyway, first, I’d like to introduce Mortimer, and Crumpets…
These two little fellows were presents to me, at different points in my life. The first one was when I was five, and was a gift from my dad. The other was when I was 25, and was a gift from some friends when I told them that my Chinese Zodiac animal was a rabbit.
Today, on a pure whim, I decided that I should give these two chaps a jolly good clean. Neither of them had been cleaned in many, many years, and they were both starting to look, and smell a bit funky. I hold onto them for sentimental reasons and whatnot, but I’d still like for them to at least look and smell clean!
After consulting a few videos on YouTube, I concluded that the best thing to do was to wash them by hand. To this end, I filled up a basin with warm water, laundry powder and liquid soap and dumped them in. Along with a scrubbing-brush, I got to work.
I have to say that this is by far the most effective way to clean plush-toys. For one thing, you can actually see how dirty they are! After less than 15 minutes in hot soapy water with plenty of squeezing and scrubbing, the water had turned from a clean, soapy white, to…um…well this:
That disgusting, toffee-brown tinge is what the water looked like after it flushed out years of sweat, drool, dust, and god-knows-what-else from inside these plushies! If you never thought plush-toys could get dirty — THEY CAN!! Oh God…!
After a lot of scrubbing and rinsing, I sat them up on a towel-rack, on top of a folded towel to drip-dry…
As you can see, the water looked pretty horrific! This was after I think, two or three rinses. I gave it at least another two or three after this, making a total of five or six rinses in total to flush out absolutely as much grime as possible! Then I sat them up on the towel-rail to dry. My friend saw this on Facebook and said that Crumpets looked like a dressed game-animal in a butcher’s shop window! 😮 Egad!
Anyway, suffice to say that if you collect plush-toys, if you have younger relatives or siblings who have plush-toys, or if you or they sleep with plush-toys (what? They’re cute!), then every few years or so, give them a damn clean! I mean do you really want to have THIS in your bed??
Anyway. Plushies. Where do they come from!?
A Brief History of Plush-Toys
Plush-toys, cuddle-toys, stuffed toys, snuggle-toys…whatever you wanna call them. Vintage, antique, and even modern plushies are highly collectible among both children and adults – I have a cousin who collects them and her room is jammed full! So where do they come from!?
The first plush-toys of a kind were simple homemade, handmade affairs, made out of whatever was lying around, stuffed with whatever was soft, and accessorised with whatever was close-to-hand. These were traditionally called rag-dolls, since most of them were quite literally made of (and perhaps even stuffed with) rags.
The first commercially-manufactured plushies came out in the 1880s, manufactured by the famous German toymaker Steiff, headed by company founder, Richard Steiff. The Steiff company was among the first in the world to use a new fluffy fabric which simulated animal-fur, to make soft toys.
Most previous efforts used just…ordinary fabric, which was flat, untextured and…boring. By comparison, these new toys had bodies and fur which looked realistic, which was soft, fluffy and huggable. Some plushies had glass eyes, and articulated limbs which could move and bend so that the toy could sit up, or hold its arms in different positions. Some early toys had pull-cords on them which activated bellows or voice-boxes inside the toys, which allowed them to make various animal noises.
The Teddy Bear
We all have our favourite plushies growing up. Rabbits, kittens, mice and so-on, but the most famous plush-toy by far has to be the venerable teddy bear!
Invented in ca. 1902-1903 by Morris and Rose Michtom (candy-shop owners) in the USA, and by the Steiff Company in Germany, the animal was named after then-US-president Theodore ‘Teddy’ Roosevelt, who loved going bear-hunting. After one of his more spectacular hunts was publicised in the newspapers, both Michtom and Steiff were inspired to create a toy bear and name it after the president, calling it ‘Teddy’s Bear’.
The first American teddy bears were sold by Michtom out of his candy-shop – they sold so quickly that in 1907, Michtom and his wife set up the Ideal Toy Company, which became one of the biggest manufacturers of plush-toys in the world!
Cleaning Your Plushies!
We all have a plush-toy that we love. It’s some sort of cute, woodland animal most cases, or some TV or movie-character reincarnated in plushie-form. And we give them cutesy, cuddly names to go along with their cutesy, cuddly appearances. And in many cases, we’ve had these toys for years and years and years, we’ve grown up with them, we’ve grown old with them, and they’re often the one toy that we’d never throw out or give away, no matter how old we get! A friend of mine openly admitted that she’d held onto the same teddy-bear for sixty years!! That being the case, we should probably know a thing or two about how to look after them!
Plush-toys are highly collectible. They’re nostalgia-triggers, they’re bedtime companions, they’re thunder-buddies and stormy-night snugglers! They scare away monsters and keep us safe at night. For doing so many amazing things, one thing that you can do for your furry fantastical friend is to at least give him a damn good clean once in a while! Plush-toys are very collectible and if you ever try and sell one online, or if you collect them actively, it’s best to buy and sell and collect and own – clean toys!
So, how do you clean your own plushies? While you can just stick them into a pillowcase and toss them into the washing machine, this isn’t advisable for especially large, small or possibly delicate plush-toys, and some washing machines can be overly aggressive in their cleaning, which doesn’t do the poor little fellows any good at all!
That being the case, it’s generally better to hand-wash your plushies. Fill up a sink or a large basin with warm water – as warm as you can stand without hurting yourself – and dump in a small amount of washing powder or liquid soap. Dump the animal inside after assuring him that he’ll be just fine, and start scrubbing.
You’re trying to scrape and scrub off all the crud on the surface of the toy – so you might want to use a brush with fairly stiff bristles, but nothing so stiff that’ll damage the toy. Scrub in one direction only, so that you don’t accidentally yank out any hair or rip the toy open accidentally.
At the same time, submerge the toy fully and squeeze it firmly up and down its entire length with your hands, hard and fast, several times. This will force water and soap in and out of the toy under pressure, and will shift and force out as much grime, dust and other nastiness that might be lurking inside.
Once the initial cleaning is done, lift the toy out CAREFULLY with both hands. It will be much heavier and floppier than usual, and if it’s an old toy, it’ll have to put up with a lot of extra weight that it won’t be used to – this might be dangerous if it’s been patched up over the years or had seams resewn or reinforced.
Pour out the water and refill with fresh water to rinse. Repeat the scrubbing and squeezing to remove as much extra grime and soap as possible, changing the water as necessary until it’s as clean and as clear as you can get it. Finally, give the toy one last hose-down with a tap and then sit it on a thick, folded towel to air-dry. If necessary, rotate or fold the towel occasionally to wick away as much moisture as possible.
Last but not least, once the toy is completely dry, make sure to deliver it into the arms of its primary caregiver and instruct him or her to give the toy several deep, heartfelt cuddles – this will serve to replace any deep-seated affection which was accidentally washed out of the toy during the cleaning process.
In looking back over my blog, it kind of shocks me that in eight years almost, of writing this crazy thing, I have not once, ever made a blog-posting about one of my favourite and most prized possessions – which I think is pretty ridiculous, considering it’s one that I carry almost every single day, and have done for the past seven years.
I have mentioned it in passing in one or two of my other blog posts, probably, but I never went into detail about it, so that’s what I’m going to do now.
My Swiss-made Ball Railroad Pocketwatch
One of my most prized possessions for nearly 10 years is this pocketwatch, manufactured in Switzerland by the Record Watch Company, for the famous Ball Watch Company of Cleveland, Ohio, in the United States. In this posting, I’ll be going into detail about what this watch is, and what makes it unique, or different. So, let’s get started.
It’s Swiss but it’s American but it’s…wah…??
Yeah it can get pretty confusing, I know! The lettering on the dial quite clearly says “BALL OFFICIAL RR STANDARD / CLEVELAND”. This was the decal used by the Ball Watch Company of Cleveland, Ohio, a company which distributed watches to various American and Canadian railroad companies from the 1890s up to the end of about the 1950s. While the Ball name became famous for accuracy, ruggedness and high quality, one thing that Ball was not famous for was…making watches!
I know, crazy isn’t it? One of the most important watch companies in the world made no watches! Nope! In fact, the vast majority of Ball-branded watches were actually made by other companies, sold to Ball, and were then re-branded as Ball watches and then sold to the public (or to people working on the railroads). Companies included Elgin, Illinois, and Waltham, to name just a few.
…So why was this made in Switzerland?
Well after the Second World War, the American watchmaking industry really started to fall apart. It wasn’t able to effectively compete against European watchmakers and bad management and marketing decisions made by various company executives meant that the output and quality of watches made in the United States in the 50s and 60s started to falter. By the 1970s, almost none of the traditional American watchmaking firms was still in operation. More and more work, and eventually, whole companies, were sent out to Europe to fulfill orders and keep up with manufacturing, rather than do it in America.
That is why an American watch ended up being made in Switzerland.
What is this Watch?
This watch is a Swiss-made Ball-Record Model 435c. In terms of the railroad pocketwatch – a specially designed pocketwatch used by people who worked on railroads between about 1890-1960, this watch represented not only the pinnacle of the style, but also the end of it. It was one of the last major-production railroad pocketwatches still produced in the 1940s and 50s after the Second World War.
Who Used This Watch?
The Ball-Record 435-series of Swiss-made pocketwatches were manufactured as railroad-standard, meaning that they could be used, theoretically, on any railroad operating on the North American continent. This particular watch, however, was likely used in Canada, and specifically, on the Canadian Pacific Railroad. I think this for two reasons:
1). The watch has a 24-hour dial. This was a feature which was only mandatory on Canadian-use railroad pocketwatches. America, for whatever reason, never had this as part of their railroad watch regulations.
2). The Ball-Record 435-series is actually listed in Canadian Pacific Railroad documentation as being an officially-approved timepiece. In the 1957 listings of approved CPR timepieces, it’s entered as: “BALL – 16s [16-size], 435C, 21j [21 jewels]”. And that’s how I know!
What is a Railroad Pocketwatch?
Alright, so that’s the watch. What is a railroad pocketwatch, and what makes such a watch what it is?
I covered this in much greater detail in the blog posting I did years and years ago, which is also the first, last and until now, only time I’d ever mentioned the watch which is the focus of this article. If you want to read that posting, it’s here.
But to sum up really fast:
The railroad chronometer, or railroad-standard pocketwatch was a specialised timepiece developed in the late 1800s to combat the very serious issue at the time, of railroad punctuality, and by extension – safety. Remember that this was a time before radio, before telephones, before GPS tracking and electronic sensors. The only way to know where a train was, at least in theory, supposed to be, was to know what time it was. And the only way you could do that was if everyone had the same time. And the only way you could do THAT was to ensure that everybody working on the railroads had the most accurate watches available.
After a series of disastrous train-wrecks in the United States in the second half of the 1800s, safety was ramped up, and in 1891, Webster C. Ball was made the Time Inspector for railroads in the United States. A jeweler and watchmaker of renown, Ball established the watch company which now bears his name, and was the first person to try and set nationally-recognised standards for railroad watches. Every watch had to have these features in it. They were updated and changed throughout time, but by the early 1900s, they were pretty much standardised. These criteria were numerous, but they were:
A large watch. 16 or 18 size. (18 size was later considered too large, and railroaders could trade them in for a smaller, more comfortable 16, if they wanted to. 18s were jokingly called ‘woodburners’ since only the old-timer railroad men, who operated wood-burning locomotives held onto them!)
Open-faced. No hunter-case lid to cover the dial.
Crown-wind, lever set. For ease of maintenance and safety in time-setting.
At least 17 jewels. This was raised to 19, 21 and 23 jewels as time went by. But basically, 17-23 was considered RR-grade.
Bimetallic balance-wheel for coping with temperature-extremes.
Six position adjustments so that the watch kept time in all possible orientations.
Temperature-variance adjustments, so that the watch kept time no matter how hot or cold it was (34-100’F, in case you’re wondering).
Isochronism (mainspring-tension variance and the ability of the watch to keep time regardless thereof).
Bold, easily read numbers, and easily-read minute-markers.
Bold, easily read hands.
Micro-regulator for precise calibration.
American-made watches ONLY (some leeway was given for European-made watches, so long as parts were commonly available).
That is the list of basic regulations. As time went by, more were added, but those were the starter-points. Along with all the regulations about the watches, there were loads of regulations about how they were to be used, and how they were to be serviced! Among other things…
The owner, a railroad employee, could not set the time himself. He was responsible for winding his watch and nothing else. Time-setting in the event of letting the watch run down, or from inaccuracy, was only done by the time-inspector for that railroad.
The watch had to keep time to +/-30sec a week, or about +/-4sec a day.
The owner was not allowed to tinker, repair, adjust or regulate the watch in any way whatsoever.
As you can imagine, with all these regulations, railroads, and the men who operated them, became famous for their punctuality and accuracy of timekeeping. From the late 1800s up to the 1950s, if you needed to know THE time, you asked an engineer, a station-master, or a railroad conductor. Almost certainly, he’d have the right time in his pocket, down to the minute, perhaps even the second!
Railroad watches died out after the Second World War. Improved wristwatches and improved signaling systems meant that railroad pocketwatches were no longer needed as much as before. By the 1960s, they had almost all gone.
Do you use this watch every day?
Um…Yeah, most days, yes! When I’m not using it, it hangs on a little brass stand on my desk. When I do use it, it’s on the end of a chain in my waistcoat pocket or inside the watch-pocket on my jeans or trousers. It’s big, it’s easy to read, and it’s also a great conversation-piece! I don’t think I’d ever trade it for anything else in the world…except for a nicer railroad watch! But I don’t think that’d be happening anytime soon.
One of the biggest things which I love…and perhaps sometimes hate…about studying history is that you get to clarify, learn and debunk all the rubbish about history that you thought you knew as a child. Once you’ve done that, everything else that you’ve learned either makes a whole heap more sense, or makes you start questioning everything else. Not everything that we’d like to imagine about history is actually true.
Here are ten really common historical myths, and why, or why they aren’t, rubbish!
1). People wrote with big fluffy feathers!
This is a really common one, thanks to Hollywood, and big-time historical dramas. I’m thinking stuff like The Tudors, The Borgias, Master and Commander, and so-on. But did people really write with big white (or other-coloured) feathers, back in the old days?
Yes…with a ‘but’.
YES. People did write with feathers – they’re called ‘quills’, by the way – but NO, people did not write with feathers which still had all the frilly, fluffy bits (‘barbs’) still on them. During the Middle Ages, right up to the early 1800s, writing with a quill was the most common way of writing anything that had to be done with ink. The feathers used were typically large flight-feathers from big birds like geese or swans. They were large, long and thick enough to be worthwhile turning into quills.
The first step was to remove all the barbs. Barbs got in the way of writing – they were big, frilly and unnecessary. They also added a lot of weight to the pen, which isn’t exactly comfortable when you could be writing for hours at a time!
Once the barbs – the frilly pretty bits – had been cut off, the naked feather-shaft was buried and filled with hot sand. This dries out any moisture in the shaft and hardens the material (which is the same stuff which your fingernails are made of, by the way), so that it’s ready for the next step: Carving.
The point of the quill was then cut with sharp, short-bladed knife – a pen-knife. At least four cuts were required to turn the shaft from a quill into a pen. Shaping the pen-point would determine how the pen would write.
Of course, as you wrote, the pen-point would soften. Eventually, the point would be come so soft, it’d be like writing with cooked spaghetti, and it’d be pretty useless. So you cut off the point you made, and then you started cutting another one. And then you went back to writing…and then eventually that point would wear out, and you’d cut another one…after some time, the quill would get shorter, and shorter, and shorter, with your hand slowly creeping up the shaft, until it finally became too short to be practically used.
This is why the barbs on quills were often removed – to make them easier to use, and last longer as writing instruments. The notion in the Middle Ages, that you’d write with a feather that still had the barbs growing out of the sides would’ve been as ridiculous then as trying to write today with the cap still on the pen!
2). Loads of things about Knights!
Forget the U.S. Marines or the SAS, SWAT teams or the Royal Navy – knights will always be the ultimate battlefield heroes! And like any other hero, there are loads of ridiculous rumors that have come to surround knights in the centuries after their dominance. What are they?
Knights in Shining Armour!
Sorry to upset you, but knights in shining armour were not always a thing. In fact, for much of the Middle Ages, most knights did not wear the classic depiction of ‘shining armour’ – what is properly called ‘plate armour’ today. Most knights would’ve worn a tunic, hose, a thick, padded, quilted overjacket called a gambeson, and over the top of that – a shirt or jacket of mail (NOT ‘chainmail’, just ‘mail’), which was composed of thousands of steel rings linked through each other and riveted together with tiny steel rivets. This was basically the medieval equivalent of your bulletproof vest.
Last but not least, there’s no evidence that the military salute comes from a knight raising his helmet-visor, or removing his helmet altogether. A knight only removed (or even opened) his helmet when it was absolutely necessary – since it’s kinda important to protecting his head and all – so the likelihood that this is the origin of the salute is flimsy. It’s much more likely that the salute came from the time after knights, when it was common practice to sweep off one’s hat as a gesture of greeting and respect. The modern military salute is simply a much-simplified version of this.
Knights are Chivalrous!
As Mr. Gibbs says in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, ‘they’re more like guidelines, than actual rules’!
And that is the truth. The idea of knights being all romantic and noble, chivalrous and dashing is…honestly not as true as you’d like it to be. Sorry folks. Knights are humans just like the rest of us, and just like the rest of us, they followed these guidelines when it was convenient to them, and not because they had to.
Chivalry actually came into play after knights had been around for a while. Without wars to fight, knights became restless and would often just go off raiding to find something to do. To keep knights in line, the Catholic Church decreed that from then on, knights were religious warriors, bound to a certain ‘code of conduct’, although there is no proof that all knights followed this code. The chivalrous knight might sound extremely noble and romantic, but it has little to do with the actuality of knighthood.
An Armoured Knight Could Not Move!
On the surface, you can kind of see how this thing plays out – a knight typically wore three to four different layers, at least two of them made from heavy steel mesh or plate, and at least one from heavy fabric. How on earth did they move around!?
Actually, armour was not as heavy as you might think. The modern soldier on the battlefield carries more crap with him than the knights of old! Although they’re typically thought of as being horse-mounted warriors, knights did have to be able to fight effectively on foot, so mobility and flexibility were extremely important. A knight which couldn’t move was of no use to anybody!
Knights were Older Men
Training for knights started very, very young, and typically had two or three stages. A boy becoming a knight started at the age of seven. He would be sent away to the home of a nobleman-knight, who would oversee his education. This included things like swordsmanship, horse-riding, reading, writing, serving, and other important skills.
At the age of fourteen, the boy (then called a ‘page’) would step up to the rank of ‘Squire’. A squire was an apprentice-knight. He had to learn to wear, clean, and repair armour, he had to know how to fight, he had to know how to attack someone while riding on horseback, and had to physically assist the knight who was training him, in any number of ways, so as to fully understand what he was getting himself into.
Finally, at the age of anywhere from 18-24, usually at 21, a squire became a fully-fledged knight.
As a result, the average knight was probably no older when he started, than your typical raw military recruit these days, something which really hasn’t changed much throughout history.
Despite the Armour, Knights could be Killed on the Battlefield.
Well, yeah. Sure, they could. But in actuality, it was more common for a knight to be captured on a battlefield, rather than killed. Knights were the military elite of their day, and as such, typically earned great sums of money, land, titles and courtly positions. This made them far more useful to the enemy, alive, rather than dead.
It was common practice for knights to be captured and then ransomed back to their family, or whichever person was their immediate superior (such as a king or higher noble). Because of this, it was far more important to keep a knight not only alive, but also comfortable during his imprisonment.
3). Spices were used to disguise the taste of rotten meat
Food during Medieval times could be scarce. Effective farming and knowledge of cattle-rearing and breeding had not yet become a thing, and because of this, the availability of food could vary significantly from season to season, and year to year.
Because of this inability to reliably produce or store food year-round, absolutely nothing would’ve been wasted. Every part of an animal would be eaten, and every part of a plant or vegetable which was not otherwise dangerous or inedible, would be consumed.
This possibly led to the myth that medieval cooks would even go so far as to mask the taste of rotten meat by lacing it liberally with spices in an effort to waste absolutely nothing at all.
Now, I’m not sure exactly why this myth is so common, but…I can tell you that it isn’t true.
The fact is that spices were hideously expensive in the medieval world. They came from places like China, India, Madagascar, and Indonesia in long, long voyages and treks which could take months to complete. The price-hikes that were paid on spices at each exchange from merchant to merchant were huge, so much so that by the time they reached Europe, spices were so expensive that only the wealthy could afford them – and they certainly weren’t going to waste something which came halfway around the world, and which cost so much – on meat which wasn’t worth flavouring!
4). Chinese Emperors ate with silver chopsticks, to detect poison!
On the surface, this sounds really sensible. You eat your food with a metal which changes colour when it comes in contact with poison – that way, you prevent assassination! Real smart, yeah?
Well, it would be – if it worked.
Chopsticks have been made out of all kinds of things over the years, bone, ivory, rare woods, porcelain, and yes, even silver, so silver chopsticks certainly did exist – but there’s no proof that they were ever used to detect poison. And that’s for one very good reason: loads of things turn silver black!
The myth goes that when the silver chopsticks come into contact with the poisoned food, the silver tarnishes and turns black, and this warns the diner that he’s about to be poisoned. But actually – loads of foods, poisoned or not – turn silver black. Especially things with sulphur in them. That means anything flavoured with, or cooked with – eggs, garlic, onions, and various types of meats and vegetables, would all sooner, or later, turn a set of gleaming silver chopsticks – black. For this reason – poison-detecting silver chopsticks just simply wouldn’t work; they’d be too unreliable.
5). Columbus Found America, and Proved the World Was Round
Actually, neither of those things is true. Through geometry and sheer looking-aroundedness, mankind has known that the earth was round for centuries before Columbus. Knowing that Earth was round goes back to the Ancient Babylonians and Ancient Greeks. By the time Columbus showed up in the 15th century, it was a widely-accepted fact.
Along with this, neither was Columbus the first to discover America. In fact, he never did discover it! Vikings got there first, via Greenland, and Columbus only ever landed in the Caribbean, although he did eventually end up in what is today, Florida, on future voyages.
6). Loads of things about the Titanic
The most famous ocean-liner in the world. And with fame comes rumor and scandal, and the Titanic has loads of that! Here are some of the more persistent Titanic rumors, and why they are, or aren’t, garbage!
The Titanic and its Lifeboats
The Titanic has constantly been criticised for its chronic lack of lifeboats. But how many was the ship actually supposed to hold?
On the fatal night in question, it had twenty lifeboats of varying capacities, eighteen of which were successfully loaded and launched, with the last two being floated off the sides as the ship went down.
The Titanic was designed with Welin Double-Acting davits. These davits (winches or cranes, basically), had the ability to swivel both out (over the side of the ship) or in (over the deck). They were designed to lower multiple lifeboats. Had the Titanic been stocked the way that some in the White Star Line had desired, she would’ve carried approximately thirty-six lifeboats, which, if they’d been fully-loaded, would’ve been enough for everyone on board.
The Titanic was going too fast!
Actually the Titanic was not going ‘too fast’, the Titanic was going at its cruising speed. Which was absolutely normal. It was nothing which any other ship of the time would’ve been doing – it’s still standard practice today! The only reason for a ship to slow down was if it was departing, arriving, or if there was any imminent danger.
If the lookouts had had binoculars, the Titanic would’ve been saved!
Um…no. And for one very simple reason – the whole point of binoculars (or telescopes or any other such distance-viewing equipment), is to sight a specific item, object or location in the distance. This is tricky enough to do during the daytime, never mind at night. And on top of that, the lookouts on the Titanic were not sighting a known object.
You can’t look for something which you’re not even sure exists. Binoculars would only have been of use to them if they know that something is definitely out there and they have some sort of reference-point with their eyes, with which to find it. Since they didn’t know there was an iceberg out there, they didn’t know where to look to find it with a pair of binoculars, which means even if they had them, they would’ve been useless, up until the time they’d spotted the iceberg with their eyes, which as we know, was already too late.
The Titanic was trying to win the Blue Riband
Another common (and completely pointless) myth is that the Titanic was trying to win the Blue Riband, which at the time, was the unofficial speed-record for ships steaming between the United States and Europe across the Atlantic Ocean.
While the Blue Riband certainly did exist, and was competed for, the Titanic did not, and could not, have won it. For one very simple reason: It simply didn’t have the speed to do so. The Titanic was built first and foremost for luxury and comfort, and to have the latest, and greatest technology available at sea during the early 20th century: Electric lights, elevators, telephones, radio, electric heaters, a photography darkroom, and the latest in safety innovations, but the one thing the Titanic did not have, was record-breaking speed, and this was part of her design. Even if she had wanted to, the Titanic would never have won the Blue Riband.
7). Loads of things about the Wild West!
Aaah, the Wild West. Where men were men, and where gun-toting outlaws shot it out in the streets and stuck up steam trains, stagecoaches and riders, relieving them of their gold, silver, watches and jewels. But how much of all this is actually real?
Everybody and their momma was packin’ heat!
Actually, despite the depictions shown by Hollywood and big-name Western films…everybody and their momma was more than likely, NOT packing heat. Believe it or not, but a lot of Western cities and frontier towns during the days of the ‘Old West’ (ca. 1865-1920), actually had extremely strict gun-control laws.
It was not illegal to own a gun. It was not illegal to own ammunition. It was not even illegal to fire a gun! But it was, in many towns, illegal to carry a gun openly in town. It was seen as threatening, hostile, and inviting danger. Because of this, town sheriffs actually enforced strict no-carry laws, regardless of open, or concealed.
The murder rates were super-high!
Actually…no. While murders certainly did happen, since people were not allowed to carry loaded guns in public, they were not nearly as common as Hollywood would have us believe. Most towns had less than five deaths a year!
Cowboys and outlaws were hot-blooded, white Americans.
Sure. Some were. But actually, there were also a lot of other ethnicities. Mexican, African-American and other, lesser ethnicities and nationalities were all represented in the Wild West – even gay cowboys were apparently a thing!
Remember that a lot of these people lived very rugged lifestyles. Towns were days apart by horse and cart, and trains were not always as frequent as you’d like them to be – sometimes they didn’t run at all! Because of this, long cattle-drives and long journeys between towns relied on competent, reliable, sober men, if the stock (and the men driving it) were going to reach their destination alive.
This meant that they didn’t have time to piss around with things like racism or homophobia. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen – sure it did – but in such a harsh environment, most people didn’t have the luxury of complaining about it. What was far more important was whether this guy on your team could do his job, more than anything else!
8). Loads of things about Pirates!
Just like with knights, pirates are also drenched in myth. But which ones are actually true?
Pirates buried treasure, and drew maps to it!
Nope. Instances of pirates burying treasure are phenomenally rare – there’s maybe one or two recorded instances of buried treasure in all of classical pirating history (ca. 1600-1800), and even those are contested. It’s certainly true that pirate ships sank, loaded with treasure, and that some of this treasure has been located, recovered, and put in museums, but that’s not the same thing.
Pirates walked the plank!
Nope. Pure fiction, and an invention of Hollywood.
There was a Pirates’ Code!
Actually…yes, there was! Well, yes, and no. At no time in history was there ever ONE specific pirates’ code. Such a thing never existed. But individual pirate captains did have codes of conduct on their ships which they expected to be obeyed. Articles listed in these codes mentioned everything from health insurance, bedtime, dividing the spoils of victory, a strict no-rape policy, and that every pirate was responsible for keeping their weapons in working order.
Pirates were marooned on desert islands.
Yes, this really did happen, and there are recorded instances of this happening throughout history. Admittedly not often, but it was a recognised pirate punishment. As is the bottle of water (or rum) and the pistol with one charge of powder and one shot.
Pirates spoke like they do in the movies! Yarrr!!
Sure they did!…Buuuut…only in the movies. A lot of that comes down to early Hollywood ‘talkies’ from the 1930s, 40s and 50s.
Pirates were obsessed with ‘Pieces of Eight’.
Probably, yeah. The ‘Piece of Eight’ is the slang term for the Spanish 8 Reales coin, millions of which were minted in South America, and shipped back to Spain by the galleon-load. They certainly did exist, and you can certainly go and buy one, if you look hard enough. Spanish treasure-galleons loaded to bursting with gold and silver coins like these were often targeted by Dutch, English and French pirates and privateers.
Pirates wore eyepatches, had peg-legs and hook-hands.
Again, probably yes. While some of this has certainly been dressed up by Hollywood, it’s also true that pirates (and seasoned seafarers in general) did have eyepatches, peg-legs and hook-hands. Losing a limb during naval battles was extremely common, and crude prosthetic limbs would’ve been made out of whatever materials would’ve been available on the ship at the time.
Pirates wore eyepatches so that they could retain night-vision in one eye, and day-vision in the other. This was to make sight clearer when going above, or below decks, and switching between the darkness of the ship’s interior, and the brightness of the open decks.
9). Stuff about the Model T Ford
The most legendary car in history, there have been quite a few myths and misconceptions about the old ‘Tin Lizzie’. What are they?
‘The customer may have any colour he desires so long as it’s black!’
Actually, the Model T was available in a wide array of colours. While black was certainly one of them, it was also available in blue, red, green, grey and maroon. Ironically, black was NOT the first colour which Ts came in!
Model Ts were rickety, unreliable, fiddly machines.
While they were certainly fiddly to operate (the controls are NOTHING like those of a modern car), Model Ts were actually manufactured to be amazingly robust and long-lasting! Their engines were simple, their controls were…not exactly straightforward, but at least not dangerous to operate…and they were designed to cross open country! Remember that in the 1910s when most Ts were made, roads were often little more than dirt tracks. As a result, cars had to be built extremely tough to drive over them safely.
Model Ts could run you over when you started them.
Yes they could, if you didn’t follow the correct starting procedure. The handbrake had to be engaged (pulled all the way back) before the engine started (if you cranked it), or else the car could very well run you over!
10). The British Government once had a Window Tax!
Actually…yes! During the 1700s, with the British fighting an increasingly large number of very expensive wars, all kinds of taxes were introduced. One of them was a window tax, whereby every house which had more than a specific number of windows had to pay a tax for the privilege of having them. Some people got around this ridiculous law by simply employing the services of a competent bricklayer, and blocking up the extra windows!
Other taxes from the 1700s included ones on candles, watches and clocks, soap, newspapers, wigs and wig-powder, personal income, and the employment of male servants!…this final one lasted until the 1850s! During this time, candles, soap and newspapers became so expensive that they were virtually luxury items until the mid-Victorian era.
As far as functional telescopes go, this is probably the oldest one that I’m ever likely to get my grubby little mitts on! I have no idea how old this thing is – it was sold as being early Victorian (1840s). However, research suggests anywhere from 1800-1850, with the style becoming increasingly uncommon from the 1850s onwards. What I do know is that this telescope is definitely of a much, much older style than I’m used to, and which hasn’t been seen in at least a hundred and forty years.
The way it’s constructed, the way it operates, and its various component pieces, and features, screams just how different it is from any other telescope which I’ve ever had the privilege of handling.
So, what do I know about it?
This particular type of telescope is pretty freakin’ old. That much I do know. In some respects it’s not too different from the others I have, in other respects, it is very different!
It’s a two-draw wooden-barreled naval telescope with brass fittings, with an eyepiece cartridge, erector cartridge, and two-piece objective lens, which were all common features of antique telescopes of the 1800s. Where it differs is in how these pieces are assembled and fitted.
For a start, let’s look at the eyepiece mount. It’s much larger and more elaborate than most such mounts, and the eyepiece lens which it protects is also fitted differently into the cartridge which holds it.
The eyepiece cartridge has two lenses which magnify the image seen by the big objective lens at the front of the telescope. On later telescopes, both these eyepiece lenses are fitted into rims of roughly the same shape and size, and are screwed into either side of the cartridge which holds them.
On this telescope, the eyepiece lenses are not only of dramatically different sizes, but how they’re mounted into the cartridge is also markedly different. This style of fixture is something you just don’t see in telescopes which come from the second half of the 1800s.
The second major difference between this telescope and others which I’ve handled, and which points it out as being an older style, is how the lens-caps are mounted and operate on the telescope.
Most telescopes have one big round objective lens-cap, which just covers the front of the telescope, to stop the big, light-catching lens from getting dirty, gritty, scratched or damaged, and a smaller cap at the other end, for the same purpose. To use the telescope, it’s necessary to remove the lens-cap at the front, and to slide the lens-cap built into the eyepiece mount, to one side. The cap or shutter pivots on a screw-post into the side of the telescope’s eyepiece and is hidden neatly away.
By comparison, this telescope has rectangular, sliding lens-shutters on both the front, and back end. They slide open and shut and they stick out the sides of the telescope instead of tucking neatly away. I’ve seen some people call these ‘guillotine-style’ shutters, on account of how their operation resembles that of everyone’s favourite full-sized vegetable-chopper – so, I’ll call them guillotine-style shutters too!
They really are a very whimsical piece of telescopic history. They’re a feature that you simply do not see on modern telescopes – and not on many antique ones, unless they’re really old, like this one! I’m pretty sure I’ll never find another one like this – at least not at any price which I could comfortably afford!
Another feature which I like about this telescope is the fact that the lens-cap that protects the objective lens at the front of the wooden barrel has two purposes. First, it acts as a lens-cap, to keep the lens free from dust, scratches and breakage – second, it acts as a rain and glare-shield! It’s not actually necessary to remove the lens-cap from the front of the telescope, in order to use it. You simply slide up the shutter on the front of it!
This feature would’ve been common on telescopes designed for naval use at sea, where sea-spray or rain could easily have obscured the view of the telescope’s user. Protecting the telescope’s lens from the full force of the rain or sea would’ve allowed for clear vision even during inclement weather.
Given all these factors, how old is it?
I honestly don’t know. My guess is the 1820s or 1830s. I have no evidence to back this up beyond what I’ve seen from similar telescopes which were dated to this era, and which match the design elements which I’ve seen here. But that said, that would make this about 180 years old…which is impressive, any way that you slice it!
This has certainly been a fascinating piece to tinker with and pull apart, fix and clean. Hopefully I’ll have a video about this coming soon on my YouTube channel, so watch out for that! 🙂
This weekend just gone, I went to the Kyneton Lost Trades Fair in Kyneton, country Victoria, where I got the chance to see all kinds of ‘lost trades’. Blacksmiths, cobblers, bell-makers, potters, glass-blowers, knife-makers, carvers, carpenters, chandlers, weavers, spinners…the list goes on and on and on.
Anyway, while I was there I ran into some friends and got the chance to film them. This is the result!
I love antique telescopes, I just think they’re so cool. Their construction, their beauty, their intricacy, and the levels of embellishment put into their design. I’ve always had an interest in all antique optical equipment because of my poor eyesight, but there’s a romance about telescopes that you just don’t get with binoculars. They make you think of ships at sea, people on clifftops looking out over the coast, of trekking across the countryside, and the mysterious, far-off places which they’ve seen.
In this posting, I’m looking in detail at antique telescopes. A bit about their history, their construction, repair, refurbishment, etc. So polish your eyepieces and hold onto your lens-caps…
Antique Telescopes: The Basics
There are two basic types of telescopes which most people will be familiar with: The refracting telescope, and the reflecting telescope. The refracting telescope uses lenses of glass, whereas the reflecting telescope uses finely-polished mirrors. In this issue of TAT Antiques, I’ll be covering the more common refracting telescope, as this is the kind that you’re most likely to come across in antiques shops and flea-markets.
So, what do you need to know about antique telescopes?
Antique Telescopes – Context and History.
In an age before aircraft of any kind beyond a hot-air balloon, all travel beyond shore, and all delivery of cargo beyond shore relied on sailing ships and steamships. Before GPS, RADAR, satellites and transponders, mariners relied on maps, compasses, chronometers and sextants to find their way around the world. However accurate these aids might’ve been, arguably the most important maritime aid was the refracting telescope. Knowing where you were supposed to be, or where you had to go, or simply identifying where you were at all, was almost impossible without a telescope. Mariners needed powerful, long-distance vision-aids to help them scan everything from far-off flags, cliffs, hills, buildings, and other ships as they sailed around the world.
For all these reasons, from the 1600s up to the mid-20th century, telescopes were actually pretty important, and they were made by a wide range of manufacturers. Telescopes could see things great distances away, and with impressive clarity, important when you’ve sailed halfway around the world, and you’re trying to identify the harbour that you’re meant to dock at, which might be several dozen meters away. Mariners prized the telescopes, and on any given ship, they would’ve been among the most important and treasured possessions owned by the common sailor.
Telescopes were seen as the badge of office for sea-captains, admirals and naval officers, and such officers and captains might even receive telescopes from their colleagues as rewards for heroic deeds, tokens of good esteem, or presents to mark important events. In such instances, details of the deed or event which warranted the presentation of a telescope (which would’ve been an expensive item in its day!) would’ve been handsomely engraved on the barrel or draw-tubes of the telescope, as a form of commemoration.
The invention of the refracting telescope is generally attributed to famous Italian astronomer and engineer, Galileo Galilei, in the early 1600s. Whether or not this is true is up for some debate – chances are he probably invented the first one which was any good – as is often the case with great inventions – like the telephone, automobile and telegraph – great inventions can rarely be attributed to just one person.
At any rate, throughout the 1600s, from the time of Galileo, other inventors took his basic design and improved on it. Early telescopes were far from perfect – the images were often blurry, or even flipped upside down by the lenses! Knowing what type of lenses to use, and in what sequence they had to be placed would be worked out over the next century or so, until quality telescopes capable of clear views were developed.
Really early telescopes, such as those from the later 17th and early 18th century differed greatly from those of later decades in that they were much, much, much larger! The manufacturing limitations of the time meant that they could be several feet long, and quite heavy! It wasn’t until the later 1700s that collapsible telescopes which were more compact and also more powerful, were possible.
Although they were primarily used at sea for navigation, spotting landmarks, reading signals and sighting far-off, potential dangers to the ship, telescopes were also used on land, both in warfare, and for recreation. Field commanders used them in battle to watch the progress and direction of combat and to direct troops, and people used them for sightseeing, birdwatching and other leisure activities. How these telescopes all differ will be covered later on.
Antique Telescopes – Materials and Construction
From their earliest days, right into the second half of the 20th century, the vast majority of telescopes – almost all of them – were made of brass. Brass tubing, brass coupling-rings, brass rims for the lenses, brass screws and fixtures and brass lens-shutters and caps. The decision to use brass was twofold – for one thing, brass was relatively cheap. For another, brass did not corrode or rust like other metals might. This made it ideal as the metal from which to make telescopes, which might spend years and decades at sea, surrounded by moisture, humidity and saltwater.
The barrels, rims, coupling-rings, draw-tubes and other components of a telescope were all made of brass and the lenses were made of glass. But antique telescopes often had another component in their construction, and that was the barrel-cladding.
The barrel is the main body of the telescope. To make it easier and more comfortable to hold for long periods of time, the brass tubing was often clad in another material. This would stop the hand from slipping on smooth metal and provide better grip, and would also stop your fingers freezing to the brass if the weather was particularly cold. Popular coverings included thin sheets of Morocco leather, and various types of wood. Wooden blocks were spun on a lathe and rounded off, then bored out into a tube and slipped onto the brass barrel before being either screwed, riveted or glued into place. Mahogany and rosewood were popular.
One reason why telescopes were more popular than more compact binoculars was because telescopes were much more powerful. Most telescopes had up to half a dozen different lenses inside them, which magnified and clarified the image, as well as kept it steady, with minimal distortion from light. These series of lenses were screwed into double-ended cartridges or rims which could then be slotted and screwed into the telescope.
To clean the lenses, one simply unscrewed the telescope, unscrewed or slid out the cartridges, unscrewed the lenses, cleaned them, and then screwed and slotted everything back together. Since everything could only go back together in one very specific way, the chances of accidentally mixing up the lenses was minimal. Telescopes were expensive and were expected to last for many years. For this reason, they were really designed to be user-friendly, and easily maintained.
Many antique telescopes came with friction-fitted lens-caps over the large objective lenses, and usually – sliding lens-shields over the eyepiece. Older telescopes had sliding lens-shutters over both the front and back lenses, similar to guillotine blades, whereas more modern ones had detachable lens-caps on the fronts, and sliding lens-shutters on the back. This is one way to guess roughly how old a telescope is, as sliding shutters front-and-back became less common as time went on.
From the late 1700s right up to the middle part of the 1900s, how refracting telescopes were made (and indeed, how they’re still made today) hardly changed at all. The materials and finishes might have come and gone and changed with the times, but in essence, a telescope was made of drawn out brass tubes with threaded coupling rings, a barrel, glass lenses and brass lens-caps and shutters to protect the glass.
Because of this, it can actually be surprisingly difficult (and in many cases, impossible) to tell how old an antique telescope is. One made in 1770 would in all likelihood, be indistinguishable from one made in 1880, which would look very similar to one made in 1920 or 1930. There are subtle ways of guessing how old a telescope is, and I’ll cover that later on.
Different Types of Antique Telescopes
Antique refracting telescopes came with a surprising array of features and design-variations. The most basic ones simply slid out and back and had lens-shutters or caps at each end. However, there were differences and nuances.
Smaller telescopes (approx. 6-8in closed lengths) were typically sold as pocket telescopes. They were designed to fit into a jacket or trouser pocket for someone who might ride on horseback, who went hiking, or for someone who simply wanted a smaller, more compact spyglass.
Some telescopes were sold with sliding shields that extended beyond the end of the barrel, over and around the large objective lens at the front of the telescope. Such shields were typically three or four inches long, and were meant as sun-shields or rain-shields. Their purpose was to keep sun-glare off the lens, and to keep rainwater off the glass in instances where the telescope might be used in inclement weather.
Maritime or naval telescopes were much larger than pocket telescopes. A pocket telescope was typically 6-8 inches closed, stretching out to about 15-20 inches at its fullest extension. By comparison, a larger naval telescopes, which had to see much further distances, had larger, more powerful lenses installed in them. They would measure up to 10 or 12 inches closed, and might extend to over a meter when fully opened!
Occasionally, you’ll see a telescope on a tripod or stand. These can range from small tabletop ones, to much larger floor-models. What are they?
These are called library telescopes. Their design dates back to the days when gentlemen astronomers in country houses pursued stargazing as a hobby. They were designed to stand on a table, or on the floor near a large window in your library or study (hence the name). The tripod held the telescope absolutely steady so that the viewer could scan and track the heavens, looking for stars, constellations, the phases of the moon, or distant planets in the far distance.
They’re impressive, but beyond these applications (or scanning the bounds of one’s vast country estate, or looking out to sea from your lighthouse or seaside home), they’re not especially practical these days.
One device which most people probably don’t think about when they think of telescopes is the sextant – and yes, I do mean that curved navigational instrument – but yes, even that has a telescope built into it. Granted, sextant telescopes were not especially strong (they’re only meant for looking for the sun, after all), but they are telescopes nonetheless.
The sextant was invented in the 1700s as an instrument for determining latitude (north-south position), and in this, they work pretty effectively. To operate a sextant at sea, you waited for the noonday sun to be high in the sky. You sighted the sun through the telescope, and then pulled a lever on the side of the sextant. The lever adjusted the position of a mirror built into the frame of the sextant.
You pulled on the lever until the reflected sun was level with the horizon. When this was achieved, it meant that the angle between the sun and the horizon had been calculated. Then, you simply checked the lever to see what angle it had stopped at, and this gave you the angle of the sun above the horizon. From this, you could calculate where you were.
Sextants became extremely popular in the 1800s and 1900s. Provided that the sea was calm and the sky clear, they were relatively easy to use. Their use lasted for so long because they were basically failsafe. Even today, they’re still one of the most reliable navigation devices to use at sea, two hundred years after they were invented.
Last but not least, we have day/night telescopes, and their name directly reflects their function – they’re designed to be used both day, and night! Now all telescopes can be used during the day, but what makes a night telescope?
As I said earlier – everything we see is a result of rays of light reflecting off of an object. The more light we see, the more reflection, the more object. To this end, a night-time telescope (for example, those used in stargazing) differs from a daytime telescope in that it is usually much larger, both in length and lens-size. The larger the lens, the more light you can capture, the more stuff you can see. This is why those astronomical telescopes at observatories are so massive!
The Anatomy of a Telescope
Your basic antique refracting telescope, of the kind that you’re likely to find at most flea-markets and antiques shops has a surprising number of parts! Knowing what they are and how they operate is important to knowing how to clean, fix and use your telescope. So, what are they?
The barrel is the main body of the telescope. Depending on age, it will be clad in either leather, or wood. Most antique telescopes will have a ridge at the front of the barrel. This ridge or lip is there to catch the lens-cap when you slide it on to protect the objective lens from dust, chips, cracks, and scratches.
Extending out from the barrel are the draw tubes. Most antique telescopes will have three draw tubes, some will have two, some will have four, some will have half a dozen or more! The number of tubes is how you describe what the telescope is. So if your telescope has four draw tubes, you’d describe it as a four-draw refracting telescope.
Between each draw tube, and between the main draw tube and the barrel, you will have couplers or coupling rings. These couplings are what hold the draw tubes together. They screw in and out and stop the tubes from sliding apart. You unscrew these to pull the telescope apart for cleaning.
At the back of the telescope is the eyepiece cover. This is usually just a threaded lens-cap screwed over the eyepiece lens, usually with a small, sliding shutter built into it. This is to keep dust and grit out of the eyepiece lens.
Immediately in front of the eyepiece cover is the eyepiece cartridge. This is a tight-fitting tube inside the smallest draw tube of the telescope. You should be able to just pull it right out (some telescopes might have you unscrew this to get it out). The tube will have two lenses in it that will magnify the image coming down the tubes.
At the other end of the smallest draw tube, opposite to the eyepiece cartridge is the erector cartridge. Now this one DOES screw into the tube (because the lens-rim also doubles as an end-stop for the first coupler) so be careful when you try and pull it out for cleaning! Again, it’s a brass tube with two lenses in it. These two lenses are the erector lenses, meaning that they flip the image seen through the objective lens, the right way up.
Right at the front of the telescope, you have the objective lens. This is the one that captures all the sunlight. On all but the earliest telescopes, the objective lens will almost always be what’s called an achromatic lens – that is, one lens made out of two parts. The reason for this is to sharpen clarity and improve focusing, and also to prevent what’s called ‘chromatic aberration’. Basically, two lenses help to sharpen the focus, and bring all the rays of light to a single point. If you only had one lens, the rays of light would all focus at different points inside the telescope, and you’d end up with a blurry image.
The finder scope is something that you occasionally get on larger, tripod-mounted library telescopes. It’s the little baby telescope that’s sitting on the top of the main telescope. These little fellows are low-powered telescopes with wide fields of view. They’re used to search for an object in the far distance (to find them, as the name suggests), and the object, once being found, could then be viewed more easily through the main telescope (which is mounted directly underneath).
Telescopes: Care and Cleaning
You just bought your first antique telescope! Oh boy! You can finally live out your pirate fantasies, or go to sea on your rich friend’s yacht, or go birdwatching or stargazing after sundown. But, being a newbie at this, you perhaps bought your telescope without really thinking about how to look after it…woops! Now what?
Don’t worry, this chapter is all about how to clean and maintain your beautiful new antique telescope.
The good thing about antique telescopes from the 1700s and 1800s is that they were really designed to be user-friendly. For the most part, lenses, barrels, couplings and other parts can all be unscrewed, cleaned, polished and reassembled relatively easy. But there are some things which aren’t covered in the care-and-feeding manuals!
To service and clean your antique telescope, you will need:
One bottle of sewing machine oil, or a can of WD-40
Tissue-paper, toilet-paper or paper-towels
Brasso metal polish.
Rubber gloves (optional).
Small, flathead screwdriver (optional).
Masking tape (optional).
These things should be all you need to get your telescope working great again, provided of course, that there is no damage to the body, the barrel, tubes or lenses. So, how does this work?
Step One: Cleaning the Lenses
To begin at the beginning – you should first clean all the lenses. On the vast majority of telescopes, these will simply unscrew from their housings, and you can simply pop them out and clean them with a damp tissue to remove any grit and dust. Make sure you clean the lenses inside and out, and be really thorough – all it takes is one tiny speck of dust to interfere with the optics of your telescope, so you want to blow out or wipe off any grit and grime that you see. Once this is done, carefully screw the lenses and their housings back into the telescope.
Step Two: Cleaning the Draw Tubes
This is one of the most important cleaning jobs that you can do on your antique telescope – cleaning the draw tubes. I will warn you now that it will take a lot of time, a lot of effort, and that if you don’t do this thoroughly, you can seriously damage your telescope.
Antique telescopes are made of brass. Brass rims, brass bodies, brass tubes, brass coupling-rings. Brass is everywhere. Brass was used because brass did not rust or corrode easily and it was easy to clean. But the problem was, brass is shiny, and manufacturers didn’t want light bouncing around inside shiny brass tubes in their telescopes. The reflections would drive you nuts! To stop this, they painted the insides of the draw tubes with a cheap paint made from lamp-black – basically, the soot that builds up inside the glass chimneys of old-fashioned oil-lamps.
Now over time, this sooty coating crumbles away. It’s caused by constantly opening and closing the telescope, as well as just by time and wear. Combine this with the fact that telescopes are not air-tight, and the tubes of your telescope will pretty quickly fill up with gunk and dust. This acts as an abrasive and creates friction. If you do not clean out all this gunk, then the dust will cause your telescope to jam when you try and focus it. And if you try and force the telescope to move, you stand a very good chance of breaking the coupling ring and ripping the telescope in half – and this would be nigh impossible to repair.
To prevent this, and to make the telescope easier to use, you need to clean out all this gunk. The easiest way to do this is to simply open the telescope to its fullest extent, and then drip or spray oil up and down the draw tubes. Then close the telescope, twisting and turning as you go, to distribute the oil all around the tubes. Then pull the telescope open, twisting and turning as you go. Repeat this several times and then using a tissue or paper towel, wipe off the oil. And then stare in shock and disgust and the black, oily grime that comes away in your hands. This is the gunk that is jamming your telescope. You must repeat this process until all the grime is gone, and the paper comes out clean.
In some cases, this may involve completely disassembling the telescope right down to its component parts to clean out the grime. This is not a process that you can rush, and it is not one that you can skip – because if the telescope jams and you try and unjam it with an overenthusiastic tug, you could very well damage it irreparably.
Once the tubes have been thoroughly cleaned and wiped down, the telescope should open and close fast and smooth – You should hear a sharp, smooth clicking sound as the tubes extend and collapse. This is the sound of the coupling rings snapping into place against the end-stops of each draw tube.
Step Three: Fixing Worn-Out Couplers
Some telescopes – not all, but some – suffer from worn out coupling rings. Every draw tube comes with a coupling-ring and an end-stop. The coupling ring slides over the tube and down to the end-stop. The ring has corrugations on it to help unscrew it, and it has threads on it, which connect it to the next draw tube in the sequence. On some telescopes, these threads can get worn out from years of screwing and unscrewing for cleaning and maintenance.
One way of repairing this is to unscrew the worn out coupling ring and wrap masking tape around the threads. This builds up a very thin layer of paper over the threads, which will provide the friction and grip necessary for the thread to bite, and hold, and stop coming apart! Now masking tape is the cheap solution – if it doesn’t work, you can go to your local hardware shop and buy threading tape which is specifically designed for sealing loose threads (they use it in plumbing to stop leaks). Whether you use painter’s masking tape, or plumber’s threading tape, the important thing to remember is to apply the tape smoothly over the threads. Any folds, kinks or twists in the tape will cause the threading to jam, and then you’ll be in real trouble!
Step Four: Fixing Jammed Couplers
Just as how coupling rings can get worn out, they can also get stuck! It isn’t uncommon on antique telescopes for coupling rings, lens-housings and other threaded components to get stuck and jammed on. This is usually because nobody cleaned it for decades, and the dust and grime got into the threads and the friction is so bad that you simply can’t unscrew it!
To get over this, simply drip in a couple of drops of sewing machine oil. Let the oil seep into the threads – put in a couple of drops all the way around and let it dribble inside. Then, with a firm grip, simply twist the threads open. If you’re still having trouble, use rubber gloves to provide extra grip.
Having opened the threads, make sure that you add more oil, to the threads and then wipe it clean with tissue-paper! Again, you’ll get the same, black, oily gunk that came out with the draw tubes. Once you’ve unjammed all the threads, you should clean out all the grime before screwing them back in, to prevent them jamming in the future.
Step Five: Polishing the Brass
The last step is optional, but it’s the process of polishing the brass on your telescope – which is basically everything that isn’t glass, or leather! Despite what you might think, polishing antique brass is perfectly acceptable, and in some cases, even necessary, although for the most part, it’s largely to do with aesthetics and visual appeal. It is up to you, but most collectors and sellers of antique telescopes that I’ve come across would prefer their telescopes polished, rather than dulled. It just looks that much more awesome.
Antique Telescopes: Storage and Usage
So, you’ve bought yourself a beautiful antique telescope. You’ve pulled it apart, cleaned it and wiped down the lenses. Now how do you use it? And once it’s been used, how do you store it?
To use your telescope, slide off the lens-covers on both ends and then pull it out to its fullest extension. Hold it up to your eye and look through it. Does everything look all blurry in the distance?
Of course it does, that’s because you haven’t focused it! Provided you’ve cleaned out all the gunk inside the telescope, and the tubes are sliding smoothly, focusing your telescope will be really easy. Simply slide the smallest draw tube into the one ahead of it. Eventually, the distance between the lenses will sync up, and the image will come into focus. The other tubes will remain stationary. In most cases, focusing the telescope to view things further and further afield will simply be a matter of sliding the first draw tube back and forth to find the ‘sweet spot’ for each different distance.
Storing Your Telescope
Once you’re done using your telescopes, to protect the lenses, make sure you slide the shutters and caps back on (if the telescope came with them, that is – most will not have their original objective-lens caps). Ideally, you should stand them upright when you’re not using them. This will stop dust getting on the objective lens, and will also stop the telescope from rolling off of any shelves or tables that you decide to display them on.
Researching Your Telescope
So, you just picked up an antique telescope. Maybe it was at auction, maybe at the flea-market, maybe from an antiques shop or from some place on the world wide web! However you got it, you have it now, and you suddenly realise you don’t know the first thing about it…woops! How do you research how old your telescope is, where it was made, and what it was used for?
Well, I’m sorry to say this, but in many cases, this will be next to impossible to find out. The problem is that a lot of companies manufactured telescopes for all manner of customers and markets. Sailors, soldiers, sportsmen, hunters, sightseers, the leisured country gentleman on his estate, ranchers, birdwatchers, stargazers…the list goes on, and on, and on. Because of this, many telescopes were made and sold anonymously. It’s not uncommon at all to buy an antique telescope with absolutely no markings on it whatsoever.
That said, some manufacturers did put their names on their products, and did it loud and proud, too! Names like ‘Dollond’, ‘Broadhurst, Clarkson & Co’, and dozens of other smaller manufacturers would’ve engraved their details proudly onto the barrels or more commonly, the draw tubes of their telescopes.
But even without a name or address to research, is it possible to date a telescope? That really depends. The challenge is that telescopes made from the 1700s to the 1900s really didn’t change that much. Draw tube numbers rose and fell and it wasn’t uncommon for the same basic designs to be used for years, and years, and years! However, there are some small details which can guide you on rough dating of your telescope.
The Size of your Telescope
The earlier a telescope is, the larger it tended to be. Those from the early 1800s and earlier tended to be exceptionally long, and with only one or two draw tubes. The quality of manufacturing available at the time limited the size and complexity of telescopes and how compact they could be made. As manufacturing techniques became more advanced and refined, smaller and more intricate telescopes with improved optics became possible.
Engravings and Inscriptions
One of the most reliable ways to research the history of a telescope is if it has an engraving or inscription on the draw-tubes. As mentioned earlier, telescopes were popular as gifts in maritime circles, to commemorate promotions, milestones, long service, or were given as rewards for great deeds done at sea. Such inscriptions often included the date, the recipient’s name, the name of the party presenting the telescope, and the reasons for the presentation. Depending on the amount of detail given, there might be enough information provided to research the backstory of the telescope, as well as give us a rough date as to the telescope’s era of manufacture.
The position of a manufacturer’s engraving is also one way to determine a telescope’s age. Up to the end of the 18th century, manufacturer’s engravings tended to be on the ‘right’ side of the telescope, and after the start of the 19th century, manufacturer’s engravings tended to be on the ‘left’ side of the telescope.
“Uh, Brainiac – telescopes are ROUND. They don’t have sides”, I hear you say. And you’re correct – they don’t – but nevertheless, the positioning of an engraving on a manufacturer-marked telescope is one way of telling how old it is. From the 1790s and back, maker’s names and their details (addresses, etc) were engraved on the ‘right’ side, meaning that the first letter of the first word in each line of the engraving was closest to the eyepiece.
After the 1790s, for reasons unknown, telescopes tended to have their maker’s details engraved on the ‘left’ side, meaning that the last letter of the last word on each line of the engraving was closest to the eyepiece.
It’s a crude dating mechanism at best, but seems to hold up, in all the examples I’ve seen, both online and in antiques shops.
This excerpt was originally published in the February, 2017 edition of the TAT Antiques Magazine, and was reproduced here by the permission of its author…me! 🙂
When I was attending university a few years ago, for the first time in my life, I found myself doing a lot of travelling and walking around every day. Going to the campus, going to lecture halls, going to classes, the library, the store, the cafeteria for lunch, all kinds of places. And it was during this time in my life that I started to realise just how many things I needed to cut open. Lunch packets, sauce packets, that super-annoying skin-tight plastic wrap that adorns almost every single type of manufactured product these days, from POST-IT notes to writing supplies, and I began to wish more and more that I had some sort of pocketknife on me.
I never had a pocketknife as a child. I never saw the point, I never saw the need, and for almost every cutting job around, I used a pair of scissors. But as I got older, and started moving around more, I began to realise just how handy it would be to have a portable blade on me with which I could do things. And so I started hunting.
At first I really didn’t know much about knives, but with my historical bent, I knew that I’d like a pretty, antique one. The good news was that antique pocketknives are really common. The bad news is that finding a decent pocketknife that you like enough to buy, refurbish, maintain and use can be a bit tricky. There are loads of different styles, models or patterns out there, each one suited for different purposes. After a lot of hunting around, I bought a knife at the local flea-market. As I said, vintage pocketknives are really easy to find, the trick is finding one you like. The good thing is that most of them really don’t cost much at all.
What Did I Buy?
I ended up with a neat, medium-sized ‘Barlow’-pattern knife. It’s rounded off at one end of the knife (designed this way so that it’s easy to slip into the pocket), and has a pair of bolsters at the other end. The scales (decorative panels) on the sides of the knife are covered in panels of polished bone. Would be nice if it was ivory, but we can’t all be that lucky!
The Barlow knife is one of the oldest knife-patterns still manufactured today. And I mean really old! The first Barlow knives were invented back in the 1600s and were owned by such people as George Washington, and mentioned in the works of Mark Twain. Although it was actually invented in England, the Barlow became an icon of Americana by the middle-1800s, and was liable to be owned by thousands of people.
The classic Barlow has a handle with a rounded end, and two folding blades which both pop out of the same end. The style of the blades changes from manufacturer to manufacturer, but in the end, they comprise of one larger main blade, for general use, and one smaller blade, about half the size. This smaller blade was originally intended as a pen-knife, used for sharpening, cutting and shaping pens and pencils, in the days when writing was done with either quills, steel dip-pens or pencils (before the widespread availability of pencil-sharpeners).
The reason the Barlow was so popular was because it was effective, simple and cheap. The two blades did just about everything that most people in the 1600s, 1700s and 1800s needed of their knives, and it was also small enough, and cheap enough for most men, boys and probably women too, to own one. It’s qualities like this which have seen it last into the 21st century.
Cleaning the Knife
Any antique pocketknife that you pick up at an antiques shop or at a flea-market is bound to need cleaning. In most cases, the knife won’t have been properly maintained in decades. Cleaning the knife is important for a number of reasons.
First, it makes it easier, and therefore, safer to operate – an essential importance when anything with sharp blades is concerned.
Second, it improves the look of the knife and keeps your clothes clean. Nobody wants to carry a pocketknife in their pocket when it’s full of grime, and liable to transfer that to your jeans or slacks. And for something so small, a pocketknife can come with a whole heap of crap packed into it, and I’m not talking about the blades!
The first thing you’ll want to do, if you can, is to open all the knife-blades and toss it into an ultrasonic bath, ideally with warm water and liquid soap to blast out all the gunk inside the knife. Turn the machine on and watch all the dust and grime and crud come shaking out. You may need to do this two or three times, and change the water in between washes. This should clean out most of the grit inside the knife. Anything extra you can pick or scrape or wipe out with tissues, cotton-buds, or pins (useful for getting into the tiny cracks).
Once you’re removed all the grime, it’s time to remove all the tarnish and rust. This can be done using either hard abrasives like extra-fine sandpaper or steel-wool, or liquid polishes like Brasso, depending on how bad the the tarnishing is. Like the cleaning, polishing and rust-removal may take a few applications to get the look that you’re most comfortable with.
Sharpening Your Pocketknife
Once you’re done cleaning your pocketknife, the last thing to do is to sharpen it. There’s a million ways of sharpening a knife and half a billion ways of testing how sharp it is, so I won’t be going into this in great detail. YouTube is always a great place to find more, if you need it.
But to cover the basics – I sharpen my knives using stones of three different grits – coarse, then fine, then extra-fine, staring with the roughest, and progressing to the finest, with about 20-30 strokes of the blade across each surface on both sides. It’s important to keep the stones lubricated while you sharpen them. If you’re the sort of person who sharpens blades regularly, it might be useful to keep your stones soaking in a bucket of water somewhere, so that they’re always ready for use. If not, you’ll need to soak them for a few hours before you start using them.
Once you’ve given each blade of your pocketknife a thorough sharpening on both sides, now is the time to test it. The classic way is to see how cleanly it slices through a sheet of paper. A well-sharpened knife will produce a clean, straight cut and the paper will have sharp, clean lines either side of it. A knife which hasn’t been sharpened properly will simply tear the paper, or fail to cut it at all. As you cut, make sure that you pull the blade along so that you can test that its entire length has been properly sharpened. If it cuts cleanly, then congratulations, you’ve sharpened your first vintage pocketknife!
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Life during the Medieval and Renaissance eras is often romanticised as being quaint, quirky, idyllic, relaxing and easy. A simpler time where simpler people with simpler pleasures led simpler lives. But what were the realities of life during the Medieval era and the Renaissance which followed, a period of time lasting 1,200 years?
Before the Industrial Revolution, technological innovations were slow. It wasn’t uncommon for things to be done the same way that they’d always been done, for hundreds of years. The same building techniques, the same methods of cooking, the same basic styles of clothing and countless other practices remained unchanged for generations.
In this posting, I’ll be looking at some aspects of daily life as it would’ve been lived during the Tudor era, from roughly 1485-1600.
Housing in the Tudor Era
In the 1500s, the majority of people would’ve lived in humble wattle-and-daub houses, often with a thatched roof. The walls were made of thick posts driven into the ground, and braced with wooden beams. Rods were driven up and down between the open spaces, and reeds (the ‘wattles’) were woven in and out of the rods, back and forth, up and down, a bit like weaving a basket. It was easy work and could be done relatively quickly. Wattles (reeds, essentially) were always sourced green, and never dry. Dry reeds, like dry wood, cracks and breaks really easily. The reeds had to be green when they were woven, or they wouldn’t have the elasticity to be bent back and forth between the rods.
Once the walls of the house were rodded and wattled, then came the daub – a mix of water, mud, grass or straw-clippings, and excrement – usually horse, or cattle – which was easily found almost anywhere in Tudor England! The mixture was trodden and mixed underfoot, and then toshed up onto the walls, packed into the reeds and wattles and rods to create a thick, weatherproof layer to set and dry and harden. Entire houses were built using this method, with gaps in the framework for windows, doors and passageways.
What about windows?
Glass for the most part, was extremely expensive. If it couldn’t be made locally, then it would’ve been imported from Europe (most likely Italy), so most people didn’t actually have glass in their windows. They might’ve had lattices, and at night – shutters – but for the most part, windows were open to the breezes. At night, it was common practice for the head of the household to go around ‘locking up’, which meant barring the doors, and shutting and bolting the windows.
For people who were a bit better off, and could afford glass, windows were often leadlight – meaning that they were a lattice of dozens of square or diamond-shaped panes, held together by strips of lead, melted and crimped into place. Glass was expensive, and large panes of glass were difficult to transport over bumpy and pothole-riddled streets, so smaller panes which could be clipped, chipped and broken down to smaller sizes, and then simply ‘glued together’, essentially, by strips of lead, were easier to produce.
Okay, not everyone had nice glass windows. But what about flooring?
Again, that varied according to what you could afford. If you were absolutely dirt poor, then you had…a dirt floor! Usually just earth, packed and compacted and rammed down with sledgehammers. If you were a bit wealthier, then hardwood floors were common. If it was possible or necessary, your floor might be made of stone, or if you were of the upper echelons of society – marble or granite, or fancy tiles.
Every home in Elizabethan times would’ve had at least one fireplace. Temperatures during this time were a lot colder than they are today, due to a phenomenon known as the ‘Little Ice Age’. In fact during Stuart times, the weather in winter could be so cold that the River Thames in central London would freeze over solid! ‘Frost Fairs’ were held, where people could go skating on the frozen river!
Fireplaces had been rare in the medieval era. They had to be made of stone or brick, which was expensive, so most people had open floor hearths, with the smoke just finding its way up out of the house through the roof, but by late Tudor times, fireplaces and the materials to make them were becoming cheaper, so it was now possible for most people of moderate means to have at least one fireplace in their house, usually in the kitchen.
Fireplaces were of course used for cooking, heating water, keeping warm, and providing light, but one thing they couldn’t be used for was baking! The inconsistent heat from the fire being stoked and fuelled and dying down meant that baking was not possible at home. It was for this reason that most people took their bread, cakes or pies to the local bakehouse to be baked by their local baker. This is why you prick it, and poke it, and mark it with ‘B’, so that you knew which pie was yours, so that you could get it back when it came out of the oven!
Houses in the Tudor period could be surprisingly large. It was common for houses to be two, three, or even four storeys high, often with the upper floors being wider than the lower ones. The result was that in especially narrow streets, your bedroom could be almost kissing the bedroom of your neighbour, which could be as little as just a couple of feet apart! Often, houses doubled as shops, so the ground floor of a building was often the family business, whereas the upper floor or floors, contained the family home.
But what about rooves?
The majority of rooves were thatched. This meant that bundles of straw were sewn to the roof using yarn, to keep the rain out. Thatch could be extremely thick, and while it was surprisingly weatherproof, it would still have to be replaced occasionally, as old bundles wore out, and new ones had to be brought in to replace them.
With the majority of houses built in this manner, you can bet that fire was a huge risk. Close-packed wattle-and-daub constructs with straw rooves are highly combustible, and it was what caused, a hundred years after the start of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, the Great Fire of London, in 1666.
Water and Sewerage
Clean water and removing sewerage are the two biggest challenges of any city in the world. In Tudor times, water was sourced from springs and rivers far from the city, or else from the River Thames. Finding clean drinking water was such a problem that most people didn’t even drink water – well into the 1800s, the drink of choice for most people was alcohol – either wine, beer or ale. The boiling process for making beer and ale, as well as the alcohol content that it contained, killed bacteria and made it safe to drink.
Alright. What about going to the toilet?
The majority of houses in towns had either a cesspit or a chamberpot. Cesspits were dug out as frequently as every three to six months, to maybe once a year. Any filth on the streets was swept and shovelled away by streetsweepers. But what about the sludge in your cesspit?
Enter: the nightman.
Sewerage was meant to be carted out of the city by gong-scourers, muck-rakers or nightsoil-men, who worked the night-shift, digging out cesspits, clearing crud off the streets, loading it onto carts and then driving it out of town where it would be used as fertiliser. Nightsoil labouring was dangerous to one’s health, pretty unpleasant, and very physically demanding! For this reason, anybody willing to carry out this unenviable occupation actually got a pretty impressive weekly wage! Provided you didn’t mind shovelling crap all night long, you could earn yourself quite a lot of money…or if you were Queen Elizabeth’s personal gong-scourer…an impressive amount of booze…he insisted that half his wages were paid in alcohol!
So, how much could you make as a gong-scourer? Well, it depended on who you worked for. If you worked for the City of London, for example, you were paid by quantity. Two shillings paid for every ton of excrement removed. If you worked for the Queen at Hampton Court, you earned sixpence a day, or 3/- (three shillings) a week (if we assume a day off on Sundays). Not a bad wage in an era when most daily expenses were counted out in farthings, ha’pennies and pennies and most people earned maybe two or three pence a day! Keeping people clean and hygienic might’ve been unpleasant and messy, but at least the job paid well!
The occupation of nightman or nightsoil-man persisted in London into the mid-1800s, and in other parts of the world, right into the 20th century, although it’s now mostly relegated to history, except in some undeveloped countries.
Travelling Around, Tudor Style
Travelling anywhere in Tudor England was slow and dangerous. Unless you had a horse and cart, your speed and how much you could carry was entirely up to how fit you were. The fastest way to travel was arguably by water. Travelling in London was particularly difficult due to the filthy state of the roads, and the sheer congestion of people. London Bridge, the only bridge across the River Thames for hundreds of years, dating all the way back to Roman times, was the only nearby river-crossing in Tudor times. The bridge had shops and houses built on it, and traffic was often so congested, it was faster to jump from boat-to-boat across the river, than wait at the bridge! The bridge also had to abide by a strict curfew. The gates were locked each night and unlocked at dawn. If you were unlucky enough to fall foul of the Tudor courts and end up with your head on a spike…that spike was driven into the bridge, so that everyone passing could see it.
Cooking and Cleaning
For most people in Elizabethan England, food comprised of pottage, vegetables and bread. Meat was often a luxury as animals such as chickens, sheep and cows were more important alive rather than dead. The only exception to this was the pig – which could be fattened and slaughtered regularly. Pork and bacon were the most common foods you were likely to come across in Tudor England.
Okay, what about cooking, then?
In theory, if you had a fireplace at home, then you could do most of your cooking at home, too. Cooking was traditionally done on a round-bottomed pot called a cauldron, hung over a fire on an iron hook and chain. Raising or lowering the hook (and therefore, the cauldron) determined how much heat was transferred to the pot (and the contents), thereby varying temperature and cooking-times. Most people just ate pottage – whatever they could find to chuck into the pot. Fish. Meat. Vegetables. Peas. Bread. Oats. Barley.
It’s the origin of the modern word ‘porridge’.
As mentioned, most homes did not have ovens. Ovens were larger and generally harder to work properly. Part of the reason was that most ovens (not all) required you to rake out the flames, embers and burning wood, before chucking the bread in and closing the door, not like the wood-fired pizza-ovens we know today, where you keep the fire going while the bread bakes. The danger was that an errant spark could set the whole house on fire, and obviously this could only really be done safely in homes with dirt or stone floors.
Well that’s cooking. What about cleaning?
Although it would be centuries before knowledge of microbes was available, that did not mean that people back in Tudor times did not at least try to keep clean, although their concept of hygiene was somewhat different to ours.
Contrary to popular belief, people did wash and bathe, and keeping clean was considered important, but at the same time, bathing was not done as often as we might do today. Even into the 20th century, it wasn’t uncommon for most people to have just one bath a week. This was because of the expense of water, soap and firewood or coal to heat the water.
In Elizabethan times, personal hygiene as well as keeping a clean house were just as important then as now. Bathing was often done whenever and wherever it was practical to do so – a pond, a stream or river, or simply by heating water up in the copper (the enormous copper basin in the scullery or kitchen) and bucketing it into a tub for a quick scrub-up in the kitchen.
Cleaning the house involved many of the tasks we still associate today with cleaning – hot water, rags, brushes and brooms, however the Tudors did have some other rather more interesting cleaning methods, which they used in an era before soap and detergent.
For scrubbing wooden surfaces such as chopping boards, tables, benches, buckets, milk-churns and other wooden food-preparation items, salt and boiling water was used, one after the other, to sterilise and clean out an item thoroughly. They of course did not understand sterilisation, but the Tudors did know that improper cleaning spread disease.
For cleaning clothing, linen and fabrics, the Tudors used lye, an alkaline solution created by straining water through wood-ash, which was simply scooped out of the fireplace. The concentrated alkaline-water solution created by this straining process was added to the laundry and it helped to loosen up grease and sweat stains to make washing clothes easier.
Along with the lye solution, another common cleaning agent, for a whole host of things was…urine!
Stale urine, usually collected and left to sit for a few days, up to a few weeks, was the Tudor washing-liquid par excellence! Urine degrades over time, turning into ammonia (which gives it its delightful fragrance), and it was this concentrated ammonia that was useful in shifting stains, polishing metals, fulling cloth, and a whole host of other household tasks! Urine was also actively collected out in the streets, the nitrate inside it was concentrated and added to charcoal and sulphur to create gunpowder. Householders were encouraged to donate their urine to the State for gunpowder manufacturing. Public houses, inns and taverns often had large, communal piss-pots parked outside the front door where the gentlemen of a community could make a contribution to the safety of the realm and aid in the production of gunpowder!
During the Tudor era, the majority of people wore garments made of wool and linen. Cotton wasn’t generally available, and silk was extremely expensive. For most men and boys, the typical outfit was the doublet and hose, complete with underclothes, stockings, a belt and boots.
The hose was a pair of leggings with an opening at the crotch, which was covered with a removable pouch or flap of fabric known as a codpiece. Underneath, one wore one’s linen underwear, and a linen undershirt. Over the top, a man would wear his doublet – a short jacket made of a double-layer of wool (hence the name ‘doublet’). The doublet was buttoned at the front, and then to keep everything together, short cords were looped and tied through eyelets at the top of the hose and the bottom of the doublet, holding everything together. This was reinforced with a belt, onto which things like knives, pouches or pockets could be tied to, or hung from. Garments with pockets included in them would not be a feature of clothing for another few centuries!
If it was cold, a man might wear an overcoat, or a cloak or cape on top, along with a hat. If it was sunny and hot, he might remove his doublet and just wear his hose and undershirt, however to be seen in one’s shirtsleeves was tantamount to being seen in one’s underwear – It wouldn’t be until the 20th century that the shirt would gain any sort of respect as a garment in its own right. Even in the Victorian era, it was considered impolite to show off one’s shirt in public, without a waistcoat to cover it.
Women on the other hand wore a whole host of fabrics! An undershirt or blouse known as a chemise typically went on first. Then came a corset stiffened with reeds, whalebone, or wooden stays. Then came petticoats, a stomacher, an overskirt and then another jacket or blouse to go over the top. Everything was held together by drawstrings tied in elaborate knots, or else by clothespins which were sharp little brass or steel pins designed to keep everything from coming apart at the seams. Pins were essential for proper dressing in those days, especially for women, which spawned the expression of ‘pin-money’ (a bit of cash on the side), but which came from the days of the Tudors, when you actually needed money for pins, otherwise your clothes wouldn’t stay together!
The rhythms of life were very different five hundred years ago. In general, people woke up earlier and went to bed later. Waking up at dawn or near to it, was common. Work was started early and the main meal called ‘dinner’ was taken at late morning or midday, and another meal of ‘supper’ was had in the late afternoon, before one went to bed in the early evening.
The reason was light. The availability of light affected everybody. It affected when and how long you could work, when you woke up, when you went to bed. The only forms of light were either oil lamps, candles or rushlights – cheap reeds (rushes) drenched in tallow (animal fat), dried, and then lit to provide illumination.
For most people, the main source of light was either an open fire, or candles, either made of beeswax, or tallow. Tallow candles were cheaper, but as with anything – you get what you pay for. Tallow burned horribly, it stank to high heaven, and it was never very bright. It was basically a candle made of animal fat! Eugh…
Beeswax could be melted and purified, it could be coloured and scented, and it burned and melted more cleanly. This gave beeswax candles a much brighter, purer light. But this light came at a price, and candles were taxed…five hundred years later and we still have electric light bills…so not much changes! Because of the expense of candles, however, people, rich or poor, burned as little light as possible at night, and generally retired early. This was what dictated the rhythms of everyday life.
This article was originally posted in the September, 2016 issue of TAT History, and was reproduced here by permission of its author…me!