Probably Not a Haithabu (Hedeby) Bag

When I bought the wooden frames I used in my Viking period bag, I assumed that the maker was correct in attributing them to a Haithabu (Hedeby, Denmark) find.  I made this assumption because the shape is similar to frames shown in photographs of finds from the harbor that are displayed in the Hedeby Museum.

Yesterday, however, I found some infographics on Pinterest claiming that the particular shape of frame that I used is from a find, not from Hedeby, but from Sigtuna in Sweden. This infographic in particular. The shape they attribute to a Sigtuna find is an exact match for my bag frames.  Unfortunately, I have not yet been able to find additional information to confirm whether the infographic is correct. 

In addition, if the infographic is correct, my frames are much smaller than the original find. The infographic claims the Sigtuna find was 48 cm long--that's nearly 19 inches. My frames are 22.5 cm (9 inches) long.  So at best my bag is 50% historical, and it may well be based upon a find that was nowhere near Hedeby!

I will see whether I can find out more about the particular find that inspired the frames I bought.  In the meantime, apologies for misleading anyone.

EDIT (7/5/2018): Thanks to the commenter who pointed out that I'd incorrectly stated that 48 cm is nearly 12 inches (it's significantly larger). I've changed it above.

The Haithabu Bag--A Progress Report

Bag with frames pinned on, via the wool tabs

Though I have missed the April deadline for HSM projects featuring unusual closures, the bag I intended to make using reproduction wooden frames based upon Hedeby archaeological finds is well underway.  I have sewn together the outside of the bag (i.e., the wool felt part) and have sewn the amber strip of wool to the edge of the bag opening, but have not sewn the bottom edge to the bag lower down.

The pictures show the amber strip as pinned down on the bottom.  One of the pictures shows the frames pinned onto the bag via the felt tabs.  That picture gives the truest impression of the color of the amber wool; the picture showing the bag from the broader side without the frames gives the truest impression of the shade of the brown wool.   As usual, each picture is clickable to get a larger image.  The picture quality is not as good as I'd hoped--my digital camera is old and getting crotchety, and trying to take a photograph before your batteries crap out is not the best path to quality photography.

Inside of the bag.  No lining yet.

Bag showing one of the narrow sides.  

Bag from the broader side.

Because the felt is stiff, the bag looks more like the flat-bottomed clasp bags of the 1950s and 1960s than I had expected, but in my opinion it remains a plausible design.  Possibly it would be more useful and look less odd if it were made up in leather; after all, the leather Sami bag Kristine Risberg discusses on her blog looks rather like a modern "hobo" bag.  The stiffness of the felt also means that the seams are quite thick, which may affect how the frames sit on the bag when the tabs are sewn down.  I probably will turn under the ends of the tabs before stitching them down, to give a more even look.

I've spent about two hours on this project so far (exclusive of planning and blogging).  That may mean that for many people, making such a bag is not a one-afternoon project, especially if one makes one's own frames.  One can simplify the task by selecting materials that are easier to work with, or that one has more experience working with than I have with sewing wool felt!

At the rate I'm going now, I will probably finish the bag by the end of June, if not before.  That makes for awkward timing in terms of the Historical Sew Monthly challenges.  April's challenge was "Buttons and Fastenings", but I missed that deadline.  I could probably have justified submitting the bag for May's challenge, "Specific to a Time [of Day or Year]," because the Vikings probably didn't use bags of this type except when they were traveling someplace (e.g., to a marketplace such as Birka).  But I didn't finish in May either, so the applicability of that rationale is also a moot point.  June's challenge is "Rebellion and Counter-Culture," which doesn't apply because there's nothing rebellious about making or using a functional item such as a bag, and there was no "counter-culture" in Viking Age Scandinavia so far as I am aware.  September's challenge ("Hands and Feet"; make an accessory for either) and November's Challenge ("Purses and Bags") are good fits for the project, as I've said before, but I'm not going to refrain from finishing this item for that long if I can finish in June.  So I guess I'll call this a late submission for May's challenge.

I'm happy with the bag so far.  It's quite sturdy, and I think I will like the look of the amber and brown wool combination when it is done.  There will be more pictures then, and I will definitely post on the HSM Facebook page also.

The "Bag" Part of the Hedeby Bag--Construction

Bag pattern

Over the last few days, I have been thinking about cutting my fabric for the wooden-framed Hedeby bag, and how the bag should go together.

A lot of the people who have made such bags simply cut a piece of fabric for the body of the bag that is twice as long as the intended depth of the bag, fold the piece in half, and then sew up the piece on both sides.  This type of construction has the advantage of not requiring any seam along the bottom of the bag, making the resulting bag stronger.

The downside of this construction is that the amount such a bag can contain is very limited relative to its depth.  It would be fairly simple to give the bag additional volume without making it deeper by adding bottom gores (thus making the bottom of the bag much wider), but doing so would create structural weakness by adding seams in areas that need to be weight-bearing. 

Outer layer with gores pinned in.

The Sami bag Kristine Risberg talks about in her post uses a somewhat different approach to increase volume.  It appears to have a circular or oval piece set in along the bottom of the bag.  This way, there is no bottom seam, just a seam that runs along the bottom edge of the bag, all around the sides at the bottom of the bag.    For a small bag that is unlikely to need to hold much, this much labor struck me as excessive for some reason.  And it also adds potential structural weakness.  Now, instead of having one piece of fabric for sides and bottom, there are three pieces; one for each side and one for the bottom.  That still seemed to create weakness.  On the other hand, the gores in the sides approach, though still involving three pieces, allows one large piece to be used for the wider sides and bottom, preserving much of the strength advantage of the fold-over design.

Then I started thinking about ways to add side gores.  The most attractive possibility that occurred to me was to add gores on the side that are narrow isosceles triangles.  This gives width to the bag without surrendering the strength and integrity of the folded bottom.  Though I'm no graphic artist, it is easier to explain what I mean with a diagram (see the graphic to the right of this post).  I've also included a photograph showing the gores pinned where they will be sewn.  Poor quality though it is, the photo gives a better idea of the finished bag's shape than the pattern sketch.

Under this plan, the lining will feature the same shapes as the exterior felt fabric, but since linen frays while felt does not, the lining pieces will have to be cut a bit larger than the main bag pieces--enough to allow for flat-felled seams.  That is desirable because linen, unlike wool felt, does fray, and the lining will suffer closer contact with the contents of the bag than the outer bag will.

I really like the bag shape the side-gore setup provides, so I'm going to use it.  After sewing the out and inner bags together, I will turn the outer bag right-side out, and stitch the frames to the bag using the tabs.  Once that is done I will insert the sewn linen lining (which will be a second bag, in effect), turn the top edge of the lining over, and whipstitch the lining and bag together along the top edge all around.    I have not yet decided whether I will apply the amber wool strip before, or after, stitching the frames on.  If I do so afterward, the top edge of the amber strip will lie against the bottom edge of the wool tabs holding the frame in place.

This approach will be different than that used on any of the bags I've seen pictured on line.  I'm excited to find out how (or whether) it will work.  

Reflections on "Birka" and "Hedeby" Bags

A wooden purse frame and parts of other purse frames
found in the water outside Birka. Image: Christin Mason, SMM

Recently, reenactment vendors, reenactors and costume enthusiasts interested in the Viking age have started to make their own versions of ... bags!  These bags are inspired by wooden and bone finds at Birka, Hedeby, and other places which, it is currently believed, were bag handles.  The photographs to the right show what some of those items look like today. They are roughly 20 cm (approximately 8 inches) to 30 cm (approximately 12 inches) long.

Most of the bag reconstructions seem to be about 12 inches (~ 30 cm) deep and have long strings attached to the wooden handles, like a handbag designed to be carried over the shoulder. The opening of most of these bags is a few millimeters narrower than the length of the wooden handles, and the pouch is made from a single piece of folded fabric with seams only on the sides, though there are exceptions.   The most common material used for them is a sturdy wool, sometimes with a linen lining, though a few are made from leather.  Some of the bags are attractively and ingeniously decorated, with a sewn-on strip of silk or tablet weaving, embroidery, or even fringe.

Because all we have of any of these bags (to the best of my knowledge) are the wooden handles, it's hard to say how close to the actual Viking originals these reconstructions actually are.  They are attractive, and probably useful to the Viking reenactors who use them.

I personally suspect that most of the current designs have been made to allow women reenactors to carry modern items (such as smartphones, keys, and wallets) in a convenient, period-plausible way at events. But I wish there was even more experimentation in their design!  Instead of just making lovely items that may not reflect the way the Vikings actually used such bags, we should think about considerations that would affect the construction of these bags. For example:

• Who used them?  There seems to be a common assumption that these bags were used by Viking women. This may be a reasonable assumption, since bags found in male Viking graves tend to be more securely closeable (e.g., nomad-style pouches made to be worn on a belt).  The answer to this question in turn makes it possible to make at least limited responses to other questions, such as:
• For what purposes were such bags used?  Consider a few examples.  A bag intended to carry a lot of silver coins, or hack silver, or tools, would need to be more sturdy than a bag intended to carry a woman's embroidery project and sewing supplies.  If the bag was intended to carry root vegetables, it would need to be both sturdy and stretchy.  Leather would be good for carrying heavy coin or woodworking tools, while a mesh design would be better for vegetables.
• What materials were used to make them?  Wool fabric is plausible, but so is linen fabric, or leather.  And there are other options.  If such a bag were used to carry root vegetables, for example, it could have been made of sprang, or nalbinding.  






Antler purse handle from Sweden. 

Photo:  Historiska Museet database
 (Object No. 604,027)  

• Would a lining be necessary?  Appropriate?  If the fabric from which the bag is made is loosely woven and the planned contents are sharp metal, or have pointed edges, it might be necessary to make a lining.  The properties of the contents, the potential bag material, and the potential lining need to be kept in mind.

Function would determine whether these bags really had long cords for carrying, as all of the modern reconstructions I've seen on the Internet have had.  If the bags were used as work bags, shorter cords might have been used.  If they were used to carry heavy objects, narrow leather straps might have been employed.

It is interesting to look at 20th century wooden handled bags, which were made in a variety of styles over decades and also had a variety of purposes. This model, made during the 1940s of imported silk, might have been used for sewing or knitting work. This bag from the 1960s was crocheted from jute and, given the differences in taste between the 40s and 60s, might have simply been a handbag. In the 1980s, there was a vogue for much smaller "preppy" bags that were carried by the wooden handle and often had changeable fabric pouches, like these.   And to this day similar wooden handled bags are still being sold, as this modern design, sold in 2016, shows.

There is a place for thoughtful experimentation here, maybe more so than with regard to apron dress design, and I hope to see more of it in the coming years.  Eventually, I will purchase a replica set of wooden handles and make one for myself.

EDIT:  (6/4/2017)  Added some additional thoughts I had upon re-reading parts of this post.

The Hedeby Apron Dress, Completed

Here are pictures of the completed Hedeby-inspired apron dress. (Excuse the weird expressions; I was looking into afternoon sunlight, and didn't realize how far shut my eyes were.)

At the last minute, I decided not to apply my trim around the entire top of the dress, since so far as I know there's no evidence that Vikings used trim on the back of their garments (with the arguable exception of the Pskov dress, which was trimmed with silk strips and not tablet-woven trim). Instead, I applied it only to the space between the places where the brooches will rest when the dress is worn. I can't say that this placement is more authentic than putting trim around the entire top edge of the garment, but it is consistent with Viking finds that apply tablet weaving in short lengths to the front of a garment, and I've decided I rather like the look.

As for the fingerlooped braids, none of them ended up being long enough to extend all the way down the side of the dress, but I used them anyway, because I know of nothing in period aesthetics that would see problems in side trim ending above the hem. Despite that decision, I ended up fingerlooping several more braids for the dart seams before I got two that I felt were long enough to use. (I used one of the old ones to help fasten my hair into a bun; I pulled my hair into a ponytail with a modern ponytail holder, wound the ponytail around the holder, wound the braid over that, and tied the ends of the braid together. It came out looking surprisingly tidy and symmetrical; I bet I'll never do so well again.) In contrast to my previous braid attempts, both of the braids that ended up on the garment were made with two red loops and one yellow loop. I decided to do that partly because my red yarn is stronger than my yellow yarn, and I'd been having breakage problems. However, I also discovered that I like the look of the mostly red braids better than the look of the mostly yellow ones.

If I had decided to strive for greater authenticity, I would have made each braid with one red loop, one yellow loop, and one half-red, half-yellow loop (because the original braid was composed of three red and three yellow strands). However, I decided I didn't want the hassle of trying to braid with a two-part loop, particularly given the yellow yarn's propensity for breakage. The breakage rate did, however, lead me to make the last braid using two strands of yellow yarn for the single yellow loop. That ended up working well because the yellow yarn was significantly thinner than the red yarn; as a result, the last braid was both the longest and the most even (though I sewed it on in such a way that it extended only as far down the outside of the dress as the braid on the other side).

Speaking of loops, the linen loops that come over my shoulders to hook over the brooches are about a centimeter longer than they should be for optimal comfort. They are long enough that I can actually cross them (i.e., fasten the left-hand one to the top of the right brooch, and vice versa) in wear. However, it's a bit uncomfortable to do so, and it looks odd, because the top edges of the rear loops come very close to the sides of my neck.

Finally, in addition to its other virtues, the dress is of a good color to harmonize with the caftan I already have, as well as the Birka caftan I plan to make in the (near?) future.

Final observations about the dress, and about what I learned from this project in general:

1) Beatson's pattern makes a viable garment. However, if I made another dress using it I'd make each of the four starting panels 35 cm wide, instead of 30 cm wide. Because of my wide hips, 30 cm panels were simply too narrow, even though I'm small-breasted.

2) The narrow seam treatment I chose helped to make the dress possible. I'm not sure one could make a dress this way with modern seams, unless each panel was very wide (and then the "gores" might still pose problems).

3) It's fairly comfortable despite being very snug. That's probably due to the stretch in the wool. I suspect that, because of the snugness, the lifespan of this garment will be limited. Still, the skills I learned in making the dress (improving my back stitch, learning herringbone stitch, and learning enough fingerloop braiding to make the side braids) make the effort I put into the dress worthwhile.

4) Sewing the braid onto the side darts does seem to have a function--it obscures the fact that there are "gaps" at the top and bottom of the torso darts, and makes the dress fit better. I really like the overall effect of the braids, and I'm pleased that my improvisation in making the dress with a wider back panel resulted in giving the braid-trimmed seams more prominence than they otherwise would have.

5) It is surprisingly difficult to sew braid onto a dress seam where the "seam" only extends partway down the dress. Once I got past the bottom of the tuck, the braid kept twisting away from my needle, the stitching would wander and the fabric along the braid would pucker. This may be partly because I sought to sew the braid on from the inside of the garment, because I couldn't think of any way to couch the braid from the front that wouldn't look really awful. Beatson's article says that the braid was "whipped" onto the dart but the sketch of the relevant fabric piece isn't clear about whether the whipping was done from the outside of the garment, or from the inside the way I have done it. In any event, I found that it was easiest to tack the braid down at about three-inch intervals, and then proceed to sew it down segment by segment. As for the puckering, thank heaven for my trusty steam iron! Otherwise the puckering would be even more noticeable. ;-)

6) Overall, the dress looks rather attractive when worn (at least, when I stand straight, as a Viking probably would have done), even though I didn't achieve the closest fit with my darts, and despite the fact the dress molds to my buttocks, thighs, and hips in a way I'd find embarrassing in a modern skirt or dress. However, I probably will experiment with inserting a few extra gores into the skirt if I make a dress using this pattern again. (I normally prefer wider skirts to narrow, shapely ones, both in my garb and in my mundane wardrobe.)

7) This project could not have been done without the Internet. I learned about the Hedeby fragment through the Internet. I obtained Peter Beatson's pattern from his website, and purchased the yarn, diamond wool trim, and fabric over the Internet. In addition, I could never have completed the braids so successfully (and so quickly) without the advice of Katrin and Teffania. Thank you both!

So now, back to the mantion! Or am I going to yield to temptation and start my "fitted wraparound apron dress" next? Right now, I don't know either! Stay tuned....

EDIT:  After I finished the dress, I came across a reference on someone's web site (was it Kass McGann's?) noting that, if you sew cording on fabric with large stitches, you always get puckers; very small stitches are required to avoid this problem.  So I'm restitching the braids on the dress, taking care to make at least 12-15 shallower stitches per inch.  I was afraid to cut the original threads for fear of opening the tucks, so I just stitched over the original stitching.  I've completed one side so far, and it still seems to have helped!  I'll see what it looks like when I've finished both sides and pressed the dress again.

SECOND EDIT: (months later) I tried wearing this dress over just a shift, instead of over both a shift and tunic, and it looks better and feels more comfortable that way. Another thought to be filed away for future reference.

Seam Win

Yesterday, I was looking at Heather Rose Jones's Archaeological Sewing page and noticed that it mentioned a seam treatment for wool fabric that looked awfully familiar. The seam treatment in question is described about a third of the way down the page listing seams that were documentably used on wool. The description reads as follows:

Medieval: Wool, right sides together: running stitch seam, raw edges turned under together and overcast. [Hägg 1984, Hedeby (northern Germany), (11)]

I was pleased to see this because this is the exact seam treatment I've chosen to construct my Hedeby-inspired dress. Granted, I chose the method because the pattern I was using required me to use very small seams if I was to succeed in making a garment I could wear at all. But I was pleased to see that I chose a construction seam that the original garment that the Hedeby fragment came from probably used.

Hedeby Apron Dress--The Fitting

Meanwhile, other than my difficulties in braiding trim for the sides, progress continues apace on my Hedeby-based apron dress. I have the top and bottom hems sewn now; all that remains to be done are to sew on the front and back loops, sew in tucks at the sides from bust to waist, and sew on my braid and wool trim.

Tonight, I wriggled into the dress while wearing the tunic and shift I'm likely to be wearing it with, to see where to place the loops and try to figure out where to put the tucks.

The first problem I ran into is that the long straps I had originally sewn to go over my shoulders from the back are at least 12 inches too short (i.e., when doubled for sewing onto the dress, the resulting loops are six inches too far from the tops of my brooches). So I am going to have to cut and sew a new pair of long straps. Since I have plenty of linen off-cuts in neutral shades, this problem won't be hard to fix.

The other problem is that the "sides" of the dress do not fall precisely down the sides of my body. This is undoubtedly because I cut the rear panel wider than any of the other panels, but it does make it challenging to figure out where the tucks are going to go. (On the other hand, it also means that my pretty (?) braids, when they are completed and sewn over the tucks, will be at least partly visible from the front.)

Except for the waist area which is currently rather baggy, the rest of the dress is snug--at least around the top of the bust and through the hips and buttocks. I've decided that this isn't necessarily a problem (though it definitely limits the parts of my Viking wardrobe with which I can wear the completed dress). I kind of like the look--it's much more womanly than the baggy dress designs I've been experimenting with. Hopefully, I'll still feel the same way when it's completed.

Quick Update--Hedeby Apron Dress

I'm heading off on a trip in two days, and we'll have company tonight and tomorrow so I don't know how much sewing I'll get done. That means it's time for a quick update on the project that's closest to being done--the Hedeby-inspired apron dress. I have all the seams sewn. I gave the dress a quick press with a steam iron (which certainly was not done in period!), and am surprised and pleased at how elegantly the dress falls and how straight and well-finished the seams look.

Just a few minutes ago, I began to hem the top with a herringbone stitch, just like the original. I'd never tried herringbone stitch before, and am pleased to note that it's not as hard as it looks. My stitching isn't in a perfectly straight line, but since the stitches are nearly invisible from the right side and will be partly covered by the trim I plan to sew on top of it, that doesn't matter much.

The trim is the only element of this dress that isn't going to be based on the original find. It's a woven, 100% wool trim (hard to find) that features a simple line of diamonds--a period motif. A picture of it appears above, positioned on top of a piece of the same fabric as the apron dress. The photograph shows both the trim and the fabric as being a bit lighter in color than they really are, but is otherwise true to the actual appearance of both trim and fabric.

After I finish the top and bottom hems I will need to sew in the darts along the sides, place and sew the loops for the brooches, and, finally, sew on the braid. Hopefully, I will have the dress finished by the end of the month.

Hedeby Apron Dress Update

Tonight, I experimented with pinning side darts into my in-progress dress based on Peter Beatson's proposed cutting diagram based on the Hedeby fragments. I pinned darts in each of the two side pieces, extending from the top of the dress to waist-level, with the deepest part about a inch above the waist.

The result is surprisingly attractive. I need to test it while wearing the shift and/or gown I am likely to be wearing with it, to confirm that it will fit, but I can probably let the darts out quite a bit if I have to. I think I will also make braids to apply on top of the darts and down the sides of the dress, also.

I will be away from home (and projects) for the next week. I expect to make progress faster after I return.

Progress Report on the Hedeby-Style Dress

At this point, I have all of the seams sewn on my Hedeby-style dress based on Peter Beatson's proposed pattern except for the two seams that attach the rear panel to the rest of the dress. So I carefully unpinned the rear panel on one side, and tried the dress on.

It's clear that there won't be enough room for the dress to go all the way around my body unless I cut a larger rear panel, even with the narrow (about 1/2 inch) seams I'm using. So I will be cutting a new back panel for the dress, which I can do. I will probably make it 45 cm wide; that should be enough to give me a little ease, and possibly justify some darts.

The good news is that the dress fits *very* nicely through the front. It is twisting just a bit along the seams connecting the triangular gores, but I think that pressing the dress with a steam iron will cure that sufficiently.

The Braid on the Hedeby Dress

I was thinking about my project to sew a fitted apron dress based on the Hedeby find, using the pattern Peter Beatson recently suggested.

I remembered that the Hedeby find shows a piece of whipcord-style braid (I take no position whether it was made by the whipcord method or some other means) sewn onto a part of the dress, but I couldn't remember whether the braid was sewn over a seam or somewhere else.

I was thinking of this, because it occurred to me that if the braid was sewn over a seam that might be further support for the idea that the Hedeby fragment came from a fitted, closed-tube type apron dress that had to be wriggled into. Why? Because braids were sometimes sewn over a seam to strengthen the seam.

However, the braid on the Hedeby fragment was *not* sewn over the seam; it was sewn over the *dart*. Beatson observed:

The top margin, which is made from the selvedge of the fabric, is turned under once and fixed with an elaborate hemming seam. The sides - one is cut straight and perpendicular to the selvedge, the other somewhat curved - must have been seam positions, as they still bear traces of stitch holes. Parallel to the straight edge, and starting about 7cm from the top, a simple dart has been formed using running stitch, and a braided cord has been applied to the ridge thus formed using whip stitch.

Based upon these observations, Beatson suggests that there was a line of braid extending down each side of the dress, starting over the dart positions, and continuing up to the top edge and down to the hem.

I'm not sure what to make of this. Was the braid purely decorative, or did it actually serve a function in this position? The herringbone stitch at the top edge hem likely did serve a function--it secured the top edge, which, if the dress truly was fitted, would receive a lot of stress, while preserving some stretch to aid the fit. Beatson observed: "Ingenious use of a selvedge [for the top edge] made this margin firm, and the sewing technique with which it was hemmed acted like modern zig-zag stitch, able to stretch without breaking."

That observation does tend to support the idea that the dress was a slightly flared, but fitted, tube. But why put the braid over the darts? To discourage twisting of the dress in wear?

Maybe I need to place braid on my dress (when I resume sewing it) and find out. I did place a selvedge along the top edge, but it's a fairly soft selvedge, so I'm not sure it will have the same effect Beatson suggested this use of the selvedge had for the original garment.

Viking Apron Dresses--Revisiting the Hedeby Fragment

Just when I'd thought I'd done as many styles of Viking apron dress as would be useful to do, I ran across Peter Beatson's article suggesting a different cutting pattern for an apron dress based on the trapezoidal fabric piece from Hedeby, which is believed to have been part of an apron dress.

Now, the Hedeby fragment has inspired a lot of apron dress cutting patterns; I've even tried one myself. Beatson's pattern was different, in that he suggests that the dress is just four long rectangles, all of roughly equal size, with triangles cut off of the corner of two of them, flipped, and sewn onto the bottoms to give flare to the skirt.

I was skeptical about how well this would work, so I took some brown wool flannel I had no better use for and have tried cutting out such a dress for myself. It's hanging on a hanger in my room now, pinned together partly because I wanted an idea of how big the final product would be and partly because I bogged down in sewing narrow seams into the wool by hand. What I have so far looks awfully narrow, too narrow to be wearable, and since most of it is still pinned together, I can't risk trying to wriggle into it unless I wish to risk the death of a thousand pin-pricks.

But I intend to persevere. Best of all, I still have some of the flannel left. What I plan to do is try the dress on, carefully, one day after I have sewn three of the panels and the gores together, with the last panel pinned in place. If I can't manage to get into the dress that way, and/or if there is no way to make the dress fit on me if I unpin the fourth panel, put the rest of the dress over my body, and re-pin the the fourth panel in place, I will simply cut a wider panel to take its place and finish the dress that way. Then, I will take pictures.

Viking Apron Dresses--Early Experiments With Gored Designs

Now that I have a blog where I can easily post images, I intend to start by featuring some completed projects I have only discussed previously on other people's web sites.

One of my long-standing projects is to make a Viking apron dress for each major theory of apron dress design. Since these projects are complete, I can post them with a minimum of time and effort.

The first ones I made out of cottons and synthetic fabrics back in the 1990s, when I had no good sources for wools and linens and relatively little knowledge about Viking era costume. The one on the left, in cotton denim, was an early attempt to make a semi-fitted apron dress, based on the Hedeby harbor find. It originally had wide straps; I later created narrow single straps with loops to better match our knowledge of other apron dress finds.

Another early effort (seen here on the right) was based on a long rectangle, with right-triangle-shaped gores sewn on either end, creating a trapezoidal piece which was then sewn into a tube and had darts sewn into it. The most interesting property this dress has is that, if I had made it longer, it likely would have a short train--reminiscent of period artwork. Again, this dress had wide straps that I narrowed later on. It is made from a mystery polyester that is meant to imitate linen. Both dresses are machine sewn; even the trim is sewn on by machine. The seams are only partly finished; I wasn't very good with seam finishing, back then.

I'll talk about some of my other apron dresses in other posts.

CONTENT EDIT: All of the photos are clickable for a larger version. In some cases, the larger version has a lot more detail. In others, it doesn't because the original was crappy. I apologize in advance for photo quality. My current digital camera is pretty good (it's a Canon Power Shot A540), but almost all of the photos were taken by either me or my husband, Eric, and neither of us are photographers. :-)