It is I, your friendly neighborhood Not-Actually-A-Witch-I-Just-Look-Like-One, Apparently! I’ve recently moved into this
lovely old Edwardian house, formerly occupied by my dear friend Emily, who is actually a
witch. I don’t know what kind of spellwork or whatever she put on it before she left,
but I can feel it affecting my Aesthetic Choices, such that I have been struck with the urge
to sew myself a Witchy Edwardian Blouse . . . I’ll be using Truly Victorian’s 1908 Countryside
Blouse pattern, one of their newest, and making it up in this jet black cotton lawn with a
subtle crosshatch slub pattern, found at my local independent fabric store. I’ve gone
for the elbow-length sleeves, because someone as messy as me should never be allowed in
long sleeves . . .
There are a great deal of marks on this pattern for where to place gathering stitches and
such, but graphite transfer paper won’t show on this dark fabric and my colored wax
transfer paper would stain it when ironed. So, I’m drawing over the marks in chalk,
then lining up the pattern piece on the fabric and pressing firmly over it to transfer the
markings. For the other side, I’ll use graphite transfer paper to put the markings on the
other side of the paper, then chalk over them the same way.
I went first to the ironing board, to press right and left side front plackets. They have
one set of fold lines marked, but the left side folds are in totally different places
. . .
So, people have been on at me for a while about how Microtex needles are the greatest
things ever. But, I don’t know if you can see what just happened . . . Um, this thing
literally just broke itself sewing through cotton lawn. So the broken needle has unfortunately
created this, like, super gross-looking hole in the center front. I really don’t want
to have to recut the entire panel so what I’m hoping is when I— when I flip it to
create the placket like the directions say to, I’m hoping . . . that will just cover
it up a little bit. Because it’s not super evident from this side. So we’ll try that,
and if I have to recut the center front, I’ll recut the front piece.
With that situation sorted, I topstitched the right placket down, and did the considerably
simpler left side too. Victory at last!
The blouse is gathered to a yoke, so I ran double rows of gathering stitches where indicated
across the top of the front and back pieces. They’re gathered down to match one yoke
piece, right sides together, and then the front pieces are sandwiched between the first
and second yoke. The same is done with the back, but it’s only sewn to the outside
yoke piece. The inside yoke is turned under, and felled
down to the seam allowance. You could topstitch this, but I like handsewing and don’t like
looking at my messy topstitching.
I now had the sleeve plackets to contend with, and if I thought the front ones were complicated,
I was about to eat my words. There are So Many fold lines, some of them crossing eachother,
and then it’s just unfolded and attached to the sleeve. The placket is then cut, much
like a welt pocket, and turned to the outside. Even more like a welt pocket, it’s now folded
across over the gap on both sides, creating an overlap. Are “welt plackets” a thing?
The top corners are folded into a point, which requires incredibly fussy topstitching to
hold in place. Hence, me hunched over the sewing machine like the grouchy old lady I
am.
Let’s get on with the blouse. The sideseams are sewn with a straight stitch and then finished
with machine overcasting, and the bottom edge is finished with my old nemesis, the rolled
hem foot. The cuffs and collar are prepared by pressing the indicated edge of one of each
piece under by half an inch, then matching the pairs back up and sewing round all the
other edges. To get crisp, sharp corners on the cuffs,
I’m turning them using a trick taught to me by the very wise Jalea Ward— fold sharply
along the stitch lines and hold the corner with your thumb as you turn it.
With my different-sized front and back pieces, the blouse fit perfectly everywhere but the
neckline. I asked for help in Truly Victorian’s Facebook group, and Heather McNaughton-Stewart
herself showed up in my comments and told me to just recut the neckline. So I’m using
a compass to redraw it 1/2 inch wider. The unfolded edge of the now-correctly-sized collar
is then sewn to the neckline. Back to the sleeves— they’re gathered
at both the cuff and sleeve head, so double rows of gather stitching on each, skipping
over the placket. We might be here a minute.
It was now time to get the cuffs onto the sleeves, and the sleeves onto the blouse.
I matched the ends of the cuff to the placket and the sleeve seam to the notch, except it
wasn’t actually the notch, just a mark the same distance away from the other end of the
cuff! Sometimes I get things backwards. The cuffs are then sewn on in the same way as
the collar, just with more floof . . and more tea breaks.
The sleeves are set into the armscye, gathers pulled in,
and sewn in place like you’ve seen me do several times before . . .
The collar and cuffs are meant to be topstitched in place, but given the chance I will choose
a clean hand-done finish over my disastrous topstitching every time . . .
I also opted for hand-done buttonholes. Perhaps someone will tell me if machine-sewn buttonholes
were a thing around the turn of the century? But you will never convince me hand-sewn ones
aren’t prettier.
Behold, in all it’s gothy glory, the Witchy Edwardian Blouse! Perfect for gliding about
your turretted living room , pondering arcane mysteries, such as “Why is it so cold in
here? I just weatherproofed every one of these windows!”. I imagine that, were you an Actual
Witch, this blouse would suit you very well as you went about your Witchy Business, although
the most magical thing I’m likely to do in it is make tea. Maybe garden a little.
Perhaps some DIY . . . While I’m here, let us congratulate Missy of Bones and Lace, the
only viewer so far to guess the name of the fiddle tune in the last video! If you enjoyed
this little foray into the Realm of Spoopy, please like, subscribe, and leave a comment
telling me about any Unnecessarily Goth things you’ve made. Until next time! Happy sewing . . .