More thoughts on wool

My fill-in blogger Rowen has agreed to do a semi-regular post on medieval fabric matters. Here's her second column. (BTW, we're trying to think of a snappy name for this feature - suggestions (via the comments mechanism) are welcome!)

=======================================================
Rowen again. . . .

I know I said, next time, linen, but I've been having a few more thoughts on wool.

Over thirty-some years of historic re-creation, I've heard many folk say things along the lines of, “ugh, wool, itchy!” or, “I just can’t wear it – I’m allergic!”

Well, a person in the Middle Ages who was genuinely allergic to wool would indeed have had quite a problem, but I wonder, how many people *really* were?

I used to think I was. I have uncomfortable memories of wool skirts worn to school as a child, and frantically itching from the waist-bands. Wool jackets, wool slacks, wool sweaters. . . all of these caused discomfort & scratching. I’d about given up wearing wool at all, until one day about 25 years ago, when I mentioned this to a co-worker. “Allergic to wool?” she said. “Nonsense!” And then and there she whipped off her handsome hand-knitted sweater (she was wearing a shirt under it) and handed it to me, saying, “try this.” Now, her sweater had been made from the fleece of ‘Fred the Sheep’ – some friends of hers kept a flock for wool, and every year she purchased ‘Fred’s’ sheared fleece, which was a lovely charcoal grey, and washed, spun, and knitted the wool herself. No weird chemical dyes, no dry-cleaning, no commercial processing. So I clapped ‘Fred’ to my stomach, expecting an itchy reaction – and didn’t get one. To shorten the tale, it turns out that I wasn’t allergic to wool – I was allergic to dry-cleaning fluid! Nowadays, all of my woolen clothing, whether modern or medieval, is cold-water washed and air-dried. No itching, no problems. (Admittedly, there *are* some folk now, and doubtless were a few then as well, who *do* have a genuine allergy to wool, lanolin, etc., and are simply going to have to avoid it.)

But consider – medieval wool was washed, yes, and often dyed – but never dry-cleaned, never treated with any amount of the chemical substances currently used somewhere along the path between the sheep and the shirt. True, ascetics often wore wool without linen under it (linen inner garments were considered upper-class, and maybe just a bit decadent in the 6th and 7th centuries in Britain) and fine soft wool was always to be preferred over coarse or hairy wool, but I doubt very much that there were all that many folk in medieval Europe suffering from itching – or at least not from their woolen clothes. But that’s a thought for another day.

Rowen

What were they wearing? : some thoughts on wool

Rowen here, filling in a bit (yes, I borrowed the sign-on.)

More specifically, what fibers were Gwernin's people using to make cloth & clothing? And where were they getting them? Archaeological evidence for 6th c Britain gives us two main fibers, wool and linen, and very, very rare bits of silk. Just now I'm going to talk a bit about wool.

Woolen fabric, for the most part, would have been locally produced, and a great deal of it worn in "sheeps'-color", i.e. the shades of the natural fleeces. This does not mean that folk would have all been wearing the same light grey-brown; sheep that have not been specially bred for *white* fleeces can produce a wide range of cream, charcoal, pale grey, russet, or rich brown wool. Wealthy folk, however, would have had specially-dyed, possibly imported, fabrics for their better garments. (Wealthier folk would also have had more than one or two sets of clothing, as well, but the idea of a new outfit for every occasion is quite a modern one!)

In addition to dyed or natural colors, garments could have been – and were – decorated with stitchery or embroidery, contrasting bands of fabric or tablet-weaving at the neck and sleeves, or enhanced by the pattern of the weaving: a broken twill or herringbone, or diamond-twill pattern took more time and skill on the part of the weaver than a simple tabby (basic over/under) weave. Deep, rich colors were more time-intensive to dye, and might call for (expensive) imported ingredients. The easiest and most common local dyes produced a range of yellow/gold, brown, and greenish shades, but some herbs and lichens could produce astonishing purple, cerise and orange tones.

Modern taste often leans toward the irregular weave or dye-lot as looking “more hand-made,” but in a world where every single thread of every single piece of fabric – a queen’s coronation gown, an infant’s swaddling bands, sails for ships or sheets for beds – had first to be spun on a drop-spindle before it could be woven, the smoother thread and the even weave or dye-job were a sign of greater skill, and produced an object of higher status.

Next time: some thoughts on linen.