Silver purses, 1890s and 1920s

As promised last week, here is another handy-dandy belt accessory. This silver mesh purse is attached to a matching chatelaine, allowing the stylish woman-about-town to carry a few discreet necessities, hands free.

Our example here is marked “G. SILVER,” or German silver, a nickel alloy. Metal mesh bags became popular in the 1890s – along with other “medieval” fads, like the chatelaine itself – and stayed popular well into the 20^th century, thanks in part to the invention of a mesh-making machine in 1908. We have several metal mesh bags in the collection, ranging from the 1890s to the 1950s; this one is on the earlier end, due to its combination of hand-linked mesh, chatelaine attachment, and Art Nouveau-esque floral decorations. (The chatelaine bag may have had renewed popularity in the 1890s, but it was not new; see below for an example from 1876, a “chatelaine pocket” illustrated in Harper’s Bazaar.) Unfortunately, this purse was donated without an accompanying history; its original owner is unknown.

Another 1890s trend based on someone’s idea of medieval accessorizing was the finger purse.  Unlike the hang-from-your-belt chatelaine, which fizzled somewhat in the 1900s, the finger purse fad lasted into the 1930s. Evening bags are designed to be discreet in size, but not necessarily in appearance; the finger-ring adds a “look at my great bag” novelty factor, and has the added benefit of being rather more difficult to lose than an envelope clutch.  (Though personally, if I was dangling something like this from my hand I’d probably just end up whacking someone with it by mistake.) This delicate little evening case is sterling silver, with space inside for a mirror, a memo pad and pencil, and two little pockets for calling cards or bills – all the essentials (though I do wonder where you were supposed to put your lipstick). It belonged to Mrs. Helen Slattery Dawson (1903-1986) of Rockville – who conveniently wrote her name and address on the little memo pad inside - and was most likely used in the late 1920s.

Like chatelaines, the finger-ring method was applied to other accessories – as you’ll discover next week, as our How To Carry Your Belongings series continues!

And now, some more photos: the promised 1876 “pocket chatelaine,” a close up of the chatelaine bag’s frame, and the interior of the 1920s finger purse.

 

 

 

Chatelaine, 1892

Today we have a fabulous silver chatelaine, from the 1890s. Designed to hang from the belt, it supports a pencil holder, a buttonhook, a scent or smelling salts bottle, a pill box, and a celluloid or similar memorandum pad (“aide de memoire”).

The clasp-and-chains chatelaine and the attached pieces may have been purchased separately (different silver marks appear on several pieces).  The little bits and bobs are attached to the chains with clips, so they could be removed and changed when necessary. However, it all goes together fairly well; the clasp has Greek or Roman motifs – including what looks like an infant throttling two . . . dragons? Griffins? – and the bottle and aide de memoire continue the theme, with a griffin on the latter and a Greek/Roman-type head (with a dragon on the helmet) on the former. (Photos are merrily scattered throughout this post.) The hallmarks on the clasp are hard to decipher – especially as the entire piece is suffering from an overdose of silver polish residue – it looks like it might have been made in Birmingham, UK though I’m not prepared to swear to it.

The piece was given to Mrs. Sophie McQueen Van Hoesen in 1922 by Miss Katherine McQueen (1874-1954), possibly her aunt. The only further hints of earlier ownership are the inscription “A.B.K. 13.2.92″ on the cover of the aide de memoire, and “ABK” on the lid of the pillbox; the identity of this person is unknown, and while the 1892 date might be the date of acquisition, it might be something else significant like a birthday or wedding anniversary.  Chatelaines were quite popular during the 1890s, however, so I’ve gone with it as an artifact date.  Mrs. Van Hoesen, who lived in Capitol View for much of her life, donated the piece to the Historical Society in 1962.

When we think of chatelaines – if at all – we may envision a bunch of large metal keys hanging from the housekeeper’s waist. Technically, a chatelaine is defined as basically the mistress of a chateau or other large estate, or “a clasp or hook for a watch, purse or bunch of keys.” Some earlier sources define it as the chain about the waist, rather than simply the belt hook. The name for the belt hook stems from the idea that the “mistress of the chateau” kept the keys about her person at all times. The concept of the conveniently-hung-at-waist set of tools dates from the 18^th century, though their popularity was not constant (they don’t look so hot hanging from a diaphanous, empire-waisted dress). Chatelaines came back into fashion in the late 19^th century (along with voluminous skirts and normal-waisted gowns) and became highly decorative.  The ultimate accessory: practical and attractive!  They were used to hold all kinds of objects. Ours here seems to be sort of generally useful; other examples are geared toward specific tasks, like sewing or nursing. Options for your chatelaine were numerous; in addition to the pieces shown here there were coin purses, spectacles cases, timepieces, key rings, flasks, whistles, baby rattles, vinaigrettes, match safes, mirrors, lockets, pocket knives, face powder boxes, and an assortment of needlework and sewing tools. (Stay tuned next week for a regular-size purse attached to a chatelaine.)

Sadly I couldn’t find a good photo in our collections of a County lady sporting a useful chatelaine, and my beloved Victorian fancy-goods catalogs have let me down today, but if you’d like to see some examples of chatelaines in both artifact and vintage-catalog form, click here.

So if you’ve always longed for a utility belt, consider bringing an antique chatelaine back into fashion. Or if you’re of a crafty bent, you can make a brand new one for yourself. (While you’re at it, make me one for my work keys; I may not be the “mistress of the chateau,” but I do have a lot of keys.)

 

Child’s dress, 1842-46

This little red cotton dress was worn by Ann Maria Jones, who was born in 1840 and died in 1846.

The handmade dress is simple, but not plain. The six buttons up the front are decorative (the dress fastens in the back with five plainer buttons), and piping was added at the neck, waist and arms. The skirt is full, and would have fitted over a petticoat and, most likely, a pair of bloomers. (Click here to see the overall effect, albeit with a fancier gown.)

In the mid 19^th century, both boys and girls under the age of 6 wore dresses like this one. Children’s clothing followed fashions just as adult wear did, but relatively simple dresses like this one were made for several decades. How, then, do we know that it was worn by a little girl in the 1840s? A previous owner took the time to write us a note – and not just any old note on paper, but a message written on the lining of the bodice: “Little Ann Maria’s dress. She was Grandma Jones’s oldest child. Died with typhoid and effects too much calomel. Age 6 years.”

The clues given here point us to Ann Maria Jones (1840-1846), daughter of David Trundle and Mary Ann Dawson Jones. Mary Ann (daughter of James Mackall and Ann Nancy Allnutt Dawson) grew up in “Mother’s Delight,” in the Boyds/Dawsonville area, and married David in January1840. Ann Maria was the oldest of their seven children; she, her mother, and three of her siblings are buried in Monocacy Cemetery, along with earlier family members who were moved from the graveyard at “Mother’s Delight.” Since the donor, Lawrence Elgin, is also descended from the Allnutt/Dawson family, Ann Maria Jones is almost certainly the original owner of this little dress.

Why was this dress saved? We don’t know. I know that typhoid (and other) patients were quarantined, but did you get rid of all their clothes and belongings while you were at it? (Or do I only think that because of The Velveteen Rabbit?) This dress seems a little small for a six year old; maybe it was an earlier gown, untainted by association with the disease. . . but in that case, why didn’t Ann Maria’s younger siblings wear it? Or maybe they did, but the lasting association was with Ann Maria. The message in the dress provides some good clues, but it doesn’t tell the whole story.

As for the mortal “effects of too much calomel” – calomel was a common remedy in the mid 19^th century, a heroic medicine used for many diseases (especially bowel illnesses like typhoid fever). Unfortunately, calomel contained mercury, and too much of it caused mercury poisoning; you might survive the illness but die of the treatment. Poor Ann Maria, not quite six years old, probably didn’t have much of a chance.

 

Picture postcard, 1909

We have a lot of postcards in our collections.  Those that features local scenes are accessible in our research library, as part of our photograph resources.  I love postcards, and while I appreciate the photos on the front, it’s the messages on the back that are the best part: little snippets of life; some clear, some cryptic, almost always entertaining.  (And yes,  I will be one of the people enjoying archived Twitter accounts at the Library of Congress in 50 years.)

Here’s a great card. First, the more obviously ‘useful’ aspect:  This photographic card shows High View House Hotel, Burdette, Md.  Montgomery County was home to many summer resorts in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, enticing D.C. residents out of the sultry city and into the fresh air of the countryside; many of these hotels were down-county, but the Metropolitan Line railroad meant that up-county communities could get in on the game as well.  In 1887, Somerset T. Williams built a 22 room hotel in Burdette, outside Boyds (a stop on the Line).  He named it High View thanks to its, well, high view over Ten Mile Creek.  It was also known as the Burdette Hotel.  (The building is still standing, I believe; it is a private residence.)  This photo shows a small crowd of people (and possibly one or more dogs) sitting on the porch; doesn’t it look nice and shady?  I’d stay there.

Now for the fun part.  The card is addressed to Miss Wottie King, Germantown, and postmarked Boyds, September 9, 1909.  The message reads: “Dear Wottie – come down with Norman when he brings my skirt, for I want to see you.  Mabel.”

Fantastic!  Who are Mabel and Wottie?  Is Mabel staying at the hotel, or does she live near it?  Did she meet Wottie at the hotel, or do they know each other some other way? Who is Norman, and why does he have Mabel’s skirt?  We may never know (at least not about the skirt), but it’s fun to try and find out.  I get a teenager vibe from this, perhaps wrongly.  I’ve started poking around the census looking for Wottie and Mabel, with no definitive results as yet though I may have found a pair of 14 year olds who fit the bill.  Anyone have an idea what name “Wottie” might be short for?

 

Calendar plate, 1909

It’s almost time to say goodbye to 2011, and hello to 1909!

This 8.25″ diameter calendar plate, “Compliments of W. Hicks, Rockville, Md.,” was given or sold by Washington Hicks, owner of a general store in downtown Rockville, 104 years ago. 

Calendar plates have been made since the late 19th century, and are still produced today (though in my experience, modern freebie advertising calendars tend to be paper, not ceramic).  They were particularly popular as an advertising medium in the early 20th century; a search of the internet, or your local collectibles/antiques store, reveals many such plates, with their pleasant images, useful (if often extremely small) calendar markings, and an added “Compliments of…” inscription.  The history of our plate between leaving Mr. Hicks’ store and arriving at the Society (donated by Mrs. Merritt Techter) is unknown, but the wear marks indicate that it was used as a plate, not as a decoration (though perhaps it did spend a year serving as a functional calendar).

Washington Hicks operated his general or dry goods store in Rockville from the late 19th century until 1940 – hey, when you’re 90 years old, I guess you can retire (he died in 1944).  His son W. Guy Hicks continued to run the store until his own retirement in the late 1950s.  We have a few other odds and ends from the store, including letterhead from the 1900s proclaiming Hicks to be a “Dealer in Foreign and Domestic Dry Good, Notions.”  The photo below shows the storefront in 1910; signs above the door advertise “Dry Goods, Notions, Shoes, Clothing, Etc.  Crockeries, Queensware, Hardware,” and displayed outside are rakes, wash tubs, a lawnmower, and what I think might be ice cream makers. 

Charles Brewer collection, MCHS Library

 

Season’s Greetings from 1919

Good morning, blog fans!  Happy second day of Hanukkah and Merry four days before Christmas!

These seasonal greetings are brought to you by the Carson Ward General Store in Gaithersburg, 1919.  The remarkably un-festive image above (donated by E. Russell Gloyd) shows, from left to right, Russell Plummer, John Ward, Robert Case, Laura Ward, George W. Darby and Carson Ward in front of the store on Frederick Avenue.  Added to the lower right corner of the postcard is the inscription, “Seasons Greetings, Christmas 1919.”  (In case you weren’t sure which season.)

The building, which is still standing, sits on the east side of Frederick Avenue (Rt 355), just north of the railroad crossing.  It has had a varied history: opened as a dry goods and general store in 1890 by Carson Ward, it also served as the Town Hall, a public library (on the second floor), and the first meeting place of the local lodges of the Knights of Pythias and the Masonic Lodge.  Today it is a mattress store, still recognizable thanks to the distinctively uneven double gable roof.  (Carson Ward himself was important to the city’s history, serving as Mayor from 1904 to 1906, on the town council for several terms, and in the Maryland legislature from 1921 to 1924.)

I was interested to see that the more generic “season’s greetings” was used in 1919 (though whoever designed the postcard did qualify it with “Christmas” immediately following).  There were Jewish merchants in Gaithersburg around this time (sorry, I’m not in my office and I forgot to email myself the notes on those stores) but Mr. Ward may not have been trying to appeal to his neighbors; versions of the phrase appeared on Victorian Christmas cards, and by the 1920s “Season’s Greetings” was commonly used in advertisements.  (Here’s an article on holiday greeting cards.)  Maybe the fact that there’s virtually nothing “seasonal” about the image called for a less specific greeting. It is also one of the reasons I love this picture.  We have a variety of similar images – “Hey, everyone, let’s stand in front of our home/store/place of business and have our picture taken!” – which are great, and the imposed festivity here just makes it all the better.

 

Compote, 1820-1840

We’re in the throes of Holiday Party Week here at MCHS, so in honor of the season, here is a glass compote (or footed serving dish), a little over six inches tall, from the early 19^th century.

First, here is the history provided by the donor, Deborah Iddings Willson of Sandy Spring: “My great, great, great, great, great grandfather George Peirce came over with William Penn [and] settled on land given him, which is now Cecil Co. MD but was then in the Colony of Pennsylvania. There he bought this punch bowl, which was Maryland glass. [Peirce] came to America in 1684 so this was probably bought in the late 1680s or early 1690s.”  Many descendants of the Peirces (yes, that’s spelled correctly) settled in the Quaker community of Sandy Spring in the early to mid 19th century.

As is sometimes the case, the donor’s understanding of the artifact doesn’t quite match up to that of historians.  Based on style, pattern, and manufacturing technique, this piece is most likely a compote, made by the Bakewell, Page and Bakewell company of Pittsburgh, PA, between 1820 and 1840.

Calling this a punch bowl is not really a problem; the Peirce family may well have used this for serving punch, and the form is sometimes a referred to as a “footed punch bowl” or a “compote or punch bowl?” (complete with question mark). However, research by our long-time volunteer glass curator, Clare Armstrong, shows that the family’s belief that the compote is a 17^th century Maryland piece is off base.* The pattern is one often attributed to the Bakewell company, or to other Pittsburgh glass companies (for more info on the history of Pittsburgh glass, click here), in the early 19^th century. Clare assessed this piece as “freeblown, then tooled into shape,” which narrows the time frame to the early 19^th century, and a recent informal appraisal by a glass expert confirmed the 1820s-30s date. An internet search today found a few examples of very similar vessels likewise attributed, including this one in the collections of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

You might think it makes a curator feel superior or something, if and when we have to tell a donor that their story is not quite correct. To the extent that research has ‘solved a mystery,’ yes, there’s a certain satisfaction, but telling someone that their story is wrong… not so much fun. And the mismatched facts do not, to my mind, invalidate the story. Maybe there was another punch bowl in the family that was a 17^th century Maryland piece, and over the years the histories were mixed up. Maybe an uncle or great-grandfather was trying to impress someone via a little exaggeration, and the story stuck. Very rarely are donors knowingly perpetuating an incorrect tale; their version should be respected as part of an artifact’s background, even if there’s another version to be told. It’s like a game of telephone, only the fun part is trying to trace exactly where and how “hot potato” turned into … well, okay, I have no idea what that would turn into, but you see what I mean.

* The compote itself is off base, too. Mrs. Willson made no reference to the tilted bowl in her information, though it was donated in this condition. The tilt is the result of repairs to the stem over the years, and the fact that the bowl is not exactly centered on the stem.

 

Robe / graduation present / so much more, 1938

This cotton robe or yukata, and the history shared by the donor, are examples of how a single artifact can be used to tell multiple stories, including unexpected ones. Taken by itself, it is a simple cotton yukata (summer kimono) or robe, with a small tag reading “Japan” inside the neck. It has a narrow belt made of the same material, and wide, straight sleeves. Without knowing its provenance, it looks like a piece made for American (or otherwise non-Japanese) audiences, as a simple version of a traditional garment. That in itself provides avenues for exploration of fashion history, cultural exchange, and the like.

The piece was donated to MCHS in 1990 by Alice A. Harmon, who informed us that it was a gift received by her sister, Helen Anderson, upon graduating from Bethesda-Chevy Chase High School in 1938. Now we have a place, a time, and an occasion, and a way to talk about the importance of high school graduations in American culture, the kinds of presents people give, and the kinds of presents teenage girls actually want to receive, as well as some insight into the personality of the owner (who, presumably, enjoyed the gift enough to keep both the garment and the story behind it).

The information from the donor goes further, however, to tell us more about the neighbor who gave the yukata. Minnie Robinson Usuda (1888-1974) was the daughter of a British Army officer and his Spanish wife, and grew up in Korea. She moved to the United States, and married Yoshisada Karlo Usuda (1884-1962), who worked at the Japanese Embassy in D.C. During the 1930s, Mrs. Usuda “sent away” to friends in Korea for “house goods and clothing” to sell, and help support her family. This yukata given to Helen Anderson – who was a neighbor, and possibly also a friend of one of the same-age Usuda children – was probably one of the pieces sent from overseas.

According to the donor, Mrs. Usuda became a naturalized U.S. citizen, and her four children were also citizens. Mr. Usuda, a Japanese citizen, spent World War II in an American interment camp. So far, I have found little in our library to corroborate this part of the donor’s story – which, to my mind, makes this artifact all the more interesting. Although it has little to do with the Usuda family’s experience during the war, the yukata was the catalyst that prompted the donor to share her knowledge with us; otherwise, we might have nothing about the family at all. I’ve found a few references to the children at B-CC High School, in newspapers and yearbooks. Mr. and Mrs. Usuda, and their son Charles (1919-1940), are buried at Rockville Cemetery. Mr. Usuda’s brief obituary in the Washington Post makes no reference to his wartime experiences, and his name does not otherwise appear in that paper; perhaps there is something on the family in the more-local Sentinel, but that is a research avenue for the future. For now, our library yields only the 1944 Bethesda phone book, which lists the family under Mrs. Minnie R. Usuda; presumably she was regarded as the ‘head of household,’ in the absence of her husband.

 

Bank deposit bag, 1950s

This jaunty little canvas pouch with drawstring closure is a bank deposit bag, manufactured by Rifkin & Co.  It measures 10 inches tall (long?) and a little over 6 inches wide.  Lest you forget which bank you’re aiming for, it is printed with the name and image of the Farmers Banking and Trust Company of Montgomery County, Maryland.

Though three locations are given (Poolesville, Rockville and Kensington), the image shown is of the 1931 Farmers Bank building in Rockville, which is still standing (and is still in use as a bank, complete with fabulous 1930s lobby decor).  Farmers Bank was founded in Rockville in 1900; the slogan “Over FIFTY YEARS of Banking Service in Montgomery County” at the top of the bag gives us our dating clue for this particular item.  The original building was on the courthouse side of Commerce Lane (a.k.a. East Montgomery Avenue, or Courthouse Square), but when the 1931 “Gray Courthouse” was built, the bank moved across the street and erected a fancy new building.

This view of the corner of N. Washington St and E. Montgomery Ave, circa 1955, was taken from the front of the Gray Courthouse and shows the Farmers Bank at left, behind the town clock. 

As for the bag itself, the Rifkin Company is still in existence and still manufacturing bank deposit bags; I love a company with a good online corporate history.  This bag might seem flimsy compared to modern deposit bags, but the canvas is sturdy, and the cord closure – which seems newer than the bag, but appears to have the original (or at least vintage) plastic “R” caps on the ends - is heavy-duty, and not easily broken. 

This bag was donated to us several years ago by Arthur Green.  In a nice bit of continuity, the old Farmers Bank is now a . . . well, I’ve lost track of what bank it is actually, but it is where the Society does its banking today, and we walk our deposits down there ourselves.  (Though not in this bag, however amusing that might be.)

 

Turkey parasol, early 20th century

Just a quick post today, before we head off to the Thanksgiving holiday!

Our “turkey” parasol is one of the more fanciful artifacts in our textile collections, though unfortunately we know very little of its history. It has a modified-pagoda-shaped silk cover, a long (just over four feet) wooden shaft, and metal spokes and ferrule. The carved handle is shaped like a standing turkey, complete with colored paint and glass eyes.  The parasol itself is not in good shape, as is often the case with such fragile, and well-used, items; the spokes are too bent and broken, and the (rather fabulous) silk cover too tattered, to open the shade all the way.

The metal spokes, brightly patterned silk, and extreme length of the shaft put this sunshade in the early 20^th century. The only clue to its provenance is the name “B. Altman & Co.,” meaning it was purchased at that store, probably in New York City. Other than that, its past is a mystery. During the early years of the Historical Society we were happy to accept almost any artifact or collection, and were occasionally – shall we say – lackadaisical in our pursuit of the written record. No doubt someone knew this parasol’s history at some point.  Every so often I am able to match up the unknown artifacts with the what’s-this paperwork; perhaps one day our little turkey’s history will be identified once again.