Because of the strong theatrical/geographical influence, costuming at the faire was more along the lines of hollywood medievalish than authentic to begin with.In recent correspondence, Sharon told me:
I believe that the drawstring approach to léinte making developed out of the popularity of drawstring clothes in everyday life during the 60's and 70's, combined with the original, primarily theatrical focus of Faire costumes. The theatrical approach is primarily concerned with giving an impression of the period in question to assist the audience in the suspension of disbelief. The drawstring down the arm seems to have developed from a line of trim or stitching shown in carvings of pleated shirts.Her daughter, Branwyn M. Folsom, who has performed at Renaissance Pleasure Faire North since childhood, added her theories:
I would say that it has stuck around so long because of the dearth of available references to the contrary, and the variable, but often hot, climate in which most Ren Faires are held. The drawstring, is admittedly, a practical adaptation to a performing climate in which actors can be subjected to temperatures from 50 to 110 degrees F. The sleeves can be let down when the weather is inclement, and pulled up when it is hot. It's more comfortable to the modern person, but still not accurate.Maggie Pierce Secara, who in the SCA is Mistress Máirghréad-Rós Fitzgaret of Desmond (O.L.), was also there to witness the "birth" of the drawstring léine. She has portrayed the Countess of Southampton at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire South for twelve years. She recalls a washerwoman character at the California Faire who put drawstrings in her chemise sleeves in order to keep them out of the well water. The washerwoman was also a member of the Irish/Scots camp and a Scottish country dancer which may have lead to the confusion about the Gaelic origins of her sleeve construction. Maggie-Rós claims to have contributed to the proliferation of the drawstring léine by writing an article for Tournaments Illuminated (vol 81, page 12) about this construction when she was editor of that journal. Entitled simply "The Leine", she says it has come back to haunt her many times:
Once or twice a year now I have to both apologize and try to talk people out of using that article as primary documentation.Maggie-Rós has more than made amends. Her "Compendium of Common Knowledge 1558-1603" is a virtual treasure-trove and a must-read for any Elizabethan re-enactor. You can access it at http://ren.dm.net. When I asked her her opinion on the construction of the léine, she said:
Thereâ??s no evidence for pleating on top of the arm. The drawstring trick was a specific invention of Clan MacColinâ??s washer woman â??working the wellâ?? at Southern Faire back in the late 70s-early 80s. And they told two friends. And they told two friends...
The first of these mistakes, which is fullt dealt with in pages 118-123 of the writer's book on Old Irish Dress, is the widespread belief that kilts were the national dress of men in Ireland in early times. This was first stated by Eugene O'Curry, Professor of Irish History in the Catholic University of Ireland in his Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, published in 1860, and it was fully accepted and strongly advocated by P.W. Joyce a well-known antiquarian, in his Social History of Ancient Ireland, published in 1903, and those who took up the kilt as a national dress or uniform, had, therefore, ample authority to point to and are in no way to be blamed for doign so. But the fact remains that there is no evidence that kilts were ever worn in Ireland till modern times, and the Highland Kilt, as is shown in the writer's book on Old Highland Dress, did not come into being till about the year 1700 so could have had nothing to do with introducing it into Ireland in the sixteenth century. It must also be stated that there is no reason for thinking that the leine in Ireland was usually, if ever, dyed a brown colour like that adopted for the kilts worn as part of the uniform of pipers in some Irish regiments today. The subject is fully dealt with on pages 69 to 72 of the 1950 edition of the writer's book on Old Irish Dress. All the evidence goes to show that they were dyed with saffron and were of a bright yellow colour as shown in De Heere's paintings. The same is true of the saffron shirts worn in Scotland as proved by the descriptions left by several early writers such as Bishop Lesley and Lindsay of Pittscottie, who are quoted a short way back.
Item, that no man, woman, or child, do wear in their shirts or smocks, or any other garments, no saffron, nor have any more cloth in their shirts or smocks, but 5 standard ells of that country cloth. 1Again, in 1537, Henry VIII forbid any number of articles to be "coloured or dyed with saffron" 2. In a letter to Henry VIII's minister, Thomas Cromwell, on July 10th 1539, Allen reports that Art O'Toole sent Gerald "a saffron shirt dressed with silke."3 Yet other writers seem less sure that the shirts were dyed with saffron, using the word instead to describe the colour. Richard Stanihurst, the son of James Stanihurst, Recorder of Dublin, wrote a four-volume Latin work entitled De rebus in Hibernia gestis, published in 1584 in which he writes:
The first place at table is that of the mother of the family, wrapped in a tunic reaching to the ankles, often saffron-coloured and long-sleeved.William Good, a Jesuit missionary to Ireland and schoolmaster in Limerick, in 1566, wrote an account of Ireland which is incorporated in Camden.s Britannia6 He says:
With the boughs, bark, and leaves of poplar trees beaten together they dye their loose shirts of a saffron colour (which are now much out of use) mising the bark of the wild Arbut-tree and salt and saffron. In dyeing, their way is not to boil the thing long, but to let it soak for some days together in urine that the colour may be deeper and more durable.In my research I found that the bark of the American Black Oak replaced weld as a substantive yellow dye in the 18th century in America.7 If the poplar leaves mentioned in the above recipe contained a similar chemical, perhaps that is what made the linen yellow and the saffron was added just to say it was dyed with saffron. However, it was also a source of tannin, and that might have been its sole purpose. But everything I have read says saffron is substantive and needs no mordant on cellulose fibres, unlike most dyes. Yet the fact remains that a great deal of saffron would be needed to dye a shirt the size of the legendary saffron shirts (25-35 ells). At $150 an ounce today, that would still be an almost impossible use. It would be less expensive to have a shirt made of pure gold than to dye a shirt with saffron. Ireland did a brisk trade with Spain (who exported saffron) in the 16th century, and I intend to investigate those records more fully. However, some accounts lead us to believe that saffron may have been grown in Ireland as well. I am not a botanist, and do not claim to have any shade of green thumb. But as I remember, crocus were the plants in my mother's garden to sprout first in the Spring, before the last snow had even melted. Of course autumn crocus may be entirely different that the species I am familiar with. However, it is not outside the realm of possibility that this spice, though not native to Ireland, was grown there. Other evidence supports this idea. McClintock8 tells us that the autumn crocus, of which saffron is the dried stigma, was grown in England at Saffron Walden in Essex until as late as 1768. And that there is a place called Castle Saffron in County Cork and a pamphlet published by the Dublin Society in 1732 advocating the cultivation of saffron in Ireland. In 1858 William Pinkerton in "The Highland Kilt and the Old Irish Dress" in the Ulster Journal of Archeology quotes from a 14th century poem which lists "All the herbys of Ierlond" and "saffrowne" is listed therein. The Craftsman's Handbook "Il Libro dell' Arte" translated by Daniel V. Thompson, Jr. lists a recipe for dyeing with saffron on page 29:
ON THE CHARACTER OF A YELLOW CALLED SAFFRON . CHAPTER XLVIII A color which is made from an herb called saffron is yellow. You should put it on a linen cloth, over a hot stone or brick. Then take half a goblet or glass full of good strong lye. Put this saffron it it; work it up on the slap. This makes a fine color for dyeing linen or cloth.Linen Hand Spinning and Weaving by Patricia Baines discusses the use of various dyes on early Egyptian cloths on page 76 says:
Dyer's saffron (Carthamus tinctorius) was the principle source for yellow; linen sheets of that colour have been positively identified as coming from the flowers of the plant.This is an impossibility. As much as I dislike contradicting Patricia Baines, she must have either misquoted or misinterpreted the source she used regarding the yellow dye on Egyptian linen. Safflower cannot dye linen yellow. It dyes it red. Believe me. I tried. You can get three colours out of safflower on silk, but only one on cotton and linen and a different colour on wool. There are two dyestuffs in safflower petals. The yellow does not dye vegetable fibres no matter what you do. This is why cotton dyed with safflower becomes pink but a silk scarf in the same dyebath will be orange (it picks up the yellow dye). Matter of fact, to get your silk to pick up red without any yellow taint, you have to dye it in the discharge from cotton, thus eliminating the yellow that cotton won't absorb. And if you heat the safflower petals, only the yellow dye stays and it will dye wool and silk but it will rinse off cotton and linen as if it wasn't there. Wool, strangely, won't pick up the pink no matter what you do. If you want to read about my experiments with safflower, click here. True saffron is Crocus sativus. Carthamus tinctorius is safflower5, a spice often substituted for saffron in cooking. It is commonly called .Bastard Saffron. and I have found it labeled .Saffron. in Asian food markets. Safflower is much less expensive than saffron, and this would solve the mystery except for the problem of it not dyeing vegetable fibres like linen. To read about a dye experiment I did with yellow dyes native to Ireland, click here. To read an experiment with real Spanish saffron, click here. McClintock states,
...and when we find sixteeth-century writers repeatedly calling the colour of the Irish shirts "saffron" in three languages (Enlgish, saffron; Latin, crocotus; Irish, croich), and never calling it anything else, we need very strong evidence to show that the dye was not saffron or, at any rate, a dye which produced the colour of saffron.9Another possibility is that croch in Irish does not signify saffron at all. Just because the word resembles the Latin word for saffron (crocotus) does not mean that it has the same meaning. The word is remarkably similar to the Irish word for lichen, crotal. McClintock mentions that he has heard it said that "saffron" was made from heather-tops or from rock-lichen. 8 Eileen Bolton(1) in her book on dyeing with lichens calls Paremlia caperata "Stone Crottle or Acel (Ireland)". She says:
In Ireland it is called Stone Crottle or Arcel, being used for a yellow dye on wool. It is said to yield orange and brown also,. With boiling water it gives a good clear yellow.Peltigera canina may also be the "culprit". Bolton mentions that alum-mordanted linen can be dyed yellow with P. canina. One thing is for certain. The colour produced by dyeing linen with saffron is a pure yellow, not any brownish or mustard shade. This agrees with the 16th century illustrations of men wearing saffron shirts. The colour of modern Irish pipe regiments who sport "saffron kilts" is not the colour that saffron produces.
Linen fabric before mordanting. |
Liles (and others) suggests using this alum in combination with a tannin bath and followed by a second alum solution. I dissolved an ounce of tannic acid (available from dye suppliers but also naturally found in oak galls and sumac leaves and branches) in 4 gallons of hot water and put the linen into the bath and worked the solution through. This sat for eight hours. See the resultant fabric below. |
Linen after tannin |
|
Linen in alum bath |
After that, I repeated the alum process, but I only had six ounces of alum left. I reduced the amount of water and hoped for the best. I was concerned about the colour the linen had become after the tannin processing. Naturally, tannin is the stuff that makes tea brown, so I expected a colour change. But I was told by a friend who tried this process previously that the second alum bath made the linen white again. After the second alum bath, my linen was still brownish. I borrowed some alum and washing soda from a friend and tried the alum bath a third time. This time, not only did the washing soda produce the aforementioned fizziness, the bath became milky white (see photo at left). However, the linen still did not return to a white state. It may have lightened slightly, but not having anything to compare it to, I cannot be sure. |
The colour bleeds out of the saffron on contact with the warm water |
The white linen was perpared by washing it in detergent and hot water and dried on high. This removed any sizing on the fabric and pre-shrunk it prior to assembly of the garment. The garment was then sewn together except for the neck and bottom hem. Before placing the garment in the dyepot, I wet it with water until it was saturated. Then I put it into the dye pot and filled the pot the rest of the way and put it on the stove. When the water started to warm, I sprinkled the saffron over it ppinch by pinch. At left you can see how the dye discharges into the pot upon contact. |
I sprinkled the saffron into the pot slowly, stirring all the time. As with any dye, it's important that the dye spread evenly throughout the pot. Although saffron is awfully invasive, you still need to stir and stir and stir. Another thing of which you need be mindful with saffron is that the dye comes out of the plant material very quickly upon contact. If you're not careful, the plant material can stick to the fabric and make orange stains. For this reason, it is often wise to put the saffron in a muslin bag and place the bag in the pot with the fabric. As you can see, I did not take this route, so I had to keep stirring... and stirring... |
Saffron in the pot |
The result after simmering for only three hours |
After simmering for three hours, the colour is striking! The léine was jack-o-lntern orange! However, after copious rinsing, the fabric became bright yellow with only a very slight orange tinge. Another thing that you must remember with saffron — as easy as the dye comes out of the plant, the dye comes out of the fabric at first. Always rinse the fabric until the rinse water runs clear. Even after I was finished rinsing the garment, I dried it, then I ran it through the washing machine on hot again. For the first few washings, it will be washed separately because it will likely bleed. Saffron is a fugitive dye and to keep the colour, the léine will have to be boiled with a few grains of saffron every once in a while to keep it bright. |
The finished saffron léine and Shinrone gown. |
"A medio crure ad pedem caligas non habent, chlamyde pro veste superiore et camisa croco tincta, amiciuntur... "
All this tells us is that they were wearing a yellow shirt (camisa). We will have to look further to discern what it looked like. The first documentary evidence of the shape and character of the léine is a letter from Henry VIII to the town of Galway, 28 April, 1536:"From the middle of the shin to the foot they do not have boots, in place of an upper garment they wrap a cloak around themselves and a shirt colored with saffron..." — Latin translation by Abigail Weiner
An ell in England in the 16th century has been interpreted as about a yard and a quarter of cloth.(3) Therefore, the léine was restricted to about 8 yards. This may not seem very restrictive to us. Modernly, our linen is 45" or 60" wide. Contemporary evidence suggests that the cloth used in Ireland in the 16th century was only 20" wide. This would mean that 5 ells equaled roughly 2 2/3 yards of 60" wide fabric or a little less than 4 yards of 45" wide. An act of Henry VIII forbade any person in Ireland after 1 May, 1539 to dress their hair in the Irish fashion or to:Item, that no man, woman, or child, do wear in their shirts or smocks, or any other garments, no saffron, nor have any more cloth in their shirts or smocks, but 5 standard ells of that country cloth.1
We can gather from these descriptions that the woman's léine was as full as the man's. We can also deduce that they were of a similar cut since they are lumped together in this legislation. Indeed, men and women's underdresses (chemises, smocks, kirtles...) were often unisex in design. Also apparent from these quotes is that the women were as "guilty" of dyeing with saffron as the men. We see further evidence of the Irish refusal to give up their large-sleeved léinte and conform to English styles in an ordinance proclaimed at Limerick in 1571 by Sir John Perot, President of Munster, which reads:...weare any shirt, smock, kerchor, bendel [band or ribbon], neckerchour, mocket [bib or handkerchief], or linnen cappe coloured, or dyed with Saffron, be yet to use, or weare in any of their shirts or smocks above seven yards of cloth to be measured according to the King's Standard, and that also no woman use or weare any kyrtell, or cote tucked up, or imbroydered or garnished with silke, or courched [overlaid, embroidered] ne layd with usker [usgar Irish for jewels], after the Irish fashion, and that no person or persons, of what estate, condition or degree they be, shall use, or weare any mantles, cote, or hood, made after the Irish fashion.2
It is obvious that the legislation of three decades before had not had the desired effect. It seems that the cloth restriction in the previous act was deemed too harsh for the nobler classes of society. An Act of Parliament at Dublin in 15413 limited the amount of linen cloth to be worn in the shirts of various classes thusly:... and no maid or single woman shall wear or put any great roll or kercher of linen cloth upon their heads, neither any great smock with great sleeves, but to put on hats, French hoods, tippets, or some other civil attire upon their heads.
To our modern senses, this is an immense amount of cloth. Why would they want to wear such a garment? Nothing ever develops in a vacuum. Even in remote Ireland, fashions were influenced by the clothing of other peoples. Wide and flowing floor-length garments, extravagant sleeves, pleating to excess - these are typical of the houppelandes of the previous century. From stone effigies in Ireland, we know that at least the Anglo-Irish ladies of the 15th century wore the houppelande. Léinte in the 16th century were reputedly made with 25-35 ells of linen. The Irish seem to have modified the continental style to suit their own tastes. The pendulous and bagpipe sleeves were also an element of early 15th century Continental dress. Apparently the 16th century léine was a continuation of this trend. Many verbal descriptions of the 16th century Irish mention their refusal to discard the clothing of previous eras and wear up to date, "civil attire". To understand what this plethora of fabric looked like, we must now turn to the pictorial evidence. The first we have for the man's léine is from a print in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, England. The picture is labeled "Irish Chieftains." No other copy exists and nothing is known about its origin. From other evidence it appears to have been drawn in the reign of Henry VIII. Some have conjectured that it depicts some of Henry's Irish recruits for his war with France in 1544. The details of this print are carefully drawn. A note on the border of the drawing claims that it was drawn in person as opposed to from memory (it is labeled: "after the quick" meaning "from life"). The men depicted in this print represent Irish kern (catharnach) or non-professional infantry soldiers of the Tudor period. They are all wearing long tunics with wide dangling sleeves and short, elaborately decorated jackets (ionar). Some wear mantles (brat). They all carry swords. All are similarly bare-legged and bare-footed. Their tunics appear to be pulled up to knee-length and "bloused" over a belt. This would afford more freedom of movement to the legs. Additionally, even when the arms are down, the sleeve, though reaching the mid-calf in length, comes no lower down the arm than the elbow. This curious yet functional element will be seen again in later prints. Note that no gathers or pleats are visible on the top of the arm. The shirts gape open in the front, exposing the kern's musculature and chest hair. No collar can be seen. Chronologically next come prints by Lucas de Heere, a Dutch painter who lived in England from 1567 to 1577. His pictures are carefully drawn and provide good detail. Although he never visited Ireland, it is believed that he copied his figures from other documentary evidence that is no longer extant. For example, his kern echo the poses and dress of the print in the Ashmolean Museum. Because of the similar level of detail in his women's clothing and how closely it resembles extant pieces, we can only assume that he had similar prints that have not surfaced. However, we know from a multitude of modern examples that copies are often imprecise. Keeping this in mind, we will examine de Heere's work. De Heere's first print of a man dates to 1547. This illustration also closely resembles a man in the print from the Ashmolean Museum. His mantle is draped over his head, obscuring his sleeves. Even so we can see the same kind of decorated jacket or ionar at the opening of his cloak. Like the previous example, his tunic appears to be drawn up over a belt and pouched. This time, it is clearly of a yellow colour. The man is barefooted and holds a sword in his left hand under the mantle, as do kern in the Ashmolean illustration. His neckline falls in a gentle curve, showing no collar structure. De Heere's second print dates to 1570 and the two female figures in it are labeled "Edel-vrouwe and Burghers-vrouwe" (Noblewoman and Townswoman). Here, the accuracy of de Heere's prints is definitely in question. It has been ascertained that he drew his prints from others dated 1547 and before. Yet the existence of ruffs, partlets, and stiff (possibly farthingaled) skirts in this painting make the 1570 date more probable. It must be taken into account that de Heere may have added the ruffs and stiff skirts in order to "update" the look of the clothing (i.e., make it as he assumed it would have become by 1570). Indeed, the ruff of the Townswoman (on the right) is not complete and it appears as if the artist changed his mind. One thing is unmistakable: the size of the chemise sleeves. The Noblewoman is wearing a dress with "hanging sleeves". This term refers to gown sleeves open at the bottom seam to accommodate full chemise sleeves. This type of sleeve is distinctly Irish and can be found on all of the extant 16th century wool garments in the National Museum of Ireland such as the Shinrone gown . There is no gathering apparent on the large léine sleeves. The sleeve appears to be smooth on the top of the arm and bag-like underneath. This construction would explain the legislation against such excess earlier in the century. The next three sources are again de Heere prints. These date from 1575, but were likely based on early sixteenth century originals. Unlike the previous de Heere print, these do not confuse English and Irish styles and neither ruffs nor stiff skirts appear. They are drawn with more confidence. It is believed that the source works de Heere used were clearer than the ones of the previous prints. The first print is labeled "Irlandois et Irlandoise" (Irishman and Irishwoman). The woman is wearing a pink, front-laced gown not unlike those of the previous figures. She is very similarly drawn to the Noblewoman of the former print. It might be supposed that this was de Heere's second attempt at drawing the same gown, so alike are the details. It is obvious that this time he had more information. The woman wears a yellow scarf around her neck and tucked into the front of her gown. Her chemise is low cut yet we can make out the band below the scarf and above the bodice opening. The hanging sleeves of the gown reveal full chemise sleeves. Again, no pleating or gathering is evident on the sleeves. The second print bears the title "Femme et Fille Irlandoises" (Irish Woman and Girl). The Woman wears a gown almost identical to the Townswoman in the earlier print. Again it might be said that this was de Heere's second attempt for it is virtually the same as the former example. The Woman's chemise is not visible at all. The Girl wears a similar gown, but has hanging sleeves. Her chemise sleeves are as full as the Irishwoman's in the previous example. She also wears a yellow scarf around her neck. Unlike the Woman in this print and the Irishwoman in the last, the Girl's chemise neckline appears to be very high, at her clavicle. Perhaps this was the custom with unmarried or young women. All these prints clearly show pleating at the neckline, indicating that the léine was constructed similarly to contemporary Italian and French chemises. Contrary to some conjecture, the léine does not seem to resemble a kirtle at all. Of course, a smooth-fitting kirtle or cotehardie could not accommodate the amount of fabric we know to have been used to make a léine. A full man's léine with pendulous sleeves is shown in the third illustration. Again it is worn with an ionar and brat by Irish kern. The sleeves touch the calves in length but stop at the elbow in width. No gathering is evident on the sleeves. Again, the men's necklines fall open softly. About the same time as these prints, John Derricke was traveling in Ireland with Sir Henry Sidney and his son, Sir Philip. Not much is known of Derricke, but it is believed that he was indebted to Sidney for a cushy job in the customs house in Drogheda. His Images of Ireland, dedicated to Sidney and his son, was written in 1578, the year he left Drogheda, and published in 1581. His intent was to make the Irish look as foolish (and therefore, in need of conquest) as possible. The woodcuts were made after he left Ireland, presumably by an English woodcutter to whom the outfits were described. The Englishmen are rendered well in these woodcuts, but less care is taken with the Irish figures. Few look like anything more than cartoons. It appears that the engraver was not working from sketches but from verbal descriptions he did not understand. Women appear in two of the twelve woodcuts, but only one shows clothing other than a mantle. In this one, kern are setting fire to a house. The Lady of the House is standing outside with her hands raised in protest. Though extremely simplified, she wears a garment similar to the front-laced gowns in de Heere's prints. A few horizontal lines represent the lacing. Her gown appears to have hanging sleeves with full chemise sleeves hanging down. The sketchy form on her head agrees with de Heere's pictures of women's headdresses. In another of his woodcuts, Derricke shows a man's outfit similar to the ones we have seen already. The subject is a courier delivering a message to an English lord. "Runners" were also members of Irish armies and would be dressed similarly to soldiers. The courier appears to be wearing close-fitting pants and shoes with his léine and ionar. In this illustration, one can see the "skirt" of the ionar laying over the lower half of the léine. In Derricke's less carefully drawn engravings, this skirt is depicted as a ruff at the waist, resembling a ballerina's tutu. Despite the Osprey series' imitation of this fashion in its book on the Irish Wars, since no contemporary evidence of this ridiculous style exists anywhere else, we must assume that it likely never was. Derricke was in Ireland - not his engraver. Derricke's description of a "Karne" (kern) shows us why this illustration mistake was made, and also gives us insight into how they got 20 to 30 yards of fabric into a garment.Noblemen 20 cubits (about 10 yards(3)) Vassal or horseman 18 cubits (9yds) Kerne (turbarius) or Scot 16 cubits (8yds) Groom, messenger or other servant of lords 12 cubits (6yds) Husbandman or labourer 10 cubits (5yds)
Note that Derricke focuses on the amount of pleating in the shirt. He mentions the sleeves separately in the next line and comments only on their length. The next documentary evidence of the léine is from Richard Stanihurst. Richard Stanihurst was the son of James Stanihurst, Recorder of Dublin. He was born into an English family that had been in Ireland since the 14th century. He had some reputation as a scholar and wrote a verse translation of Virgil. He wrote a "Description of Ireland" which appears in Holinshed's Chronicles, and a four-volume Latin work entitled De rebus in Hibernia gestis, published in 1584. The following is from the latter work:Their shirtes be verie straunge, not reaching paste the thie; With pleates on pleates thei pleated are as thick as pleates maie lye. Whose sleves hang trailing doune almost unto the Shoe; And with a Mantell commonlie, the Irish Karne doe goe.(4)
This doesn't give any detail, but it shows that a long-sleeved shirt was being worn by women at the time of Derricke and de Heere's prints. It also validates yellow as a colour for women's léinte (no illustrations show women in yellow léinte). An engraving in the first edition of Holinshed's Chronicle (published 1577) shows léine-clad Highland Scots bow-hunting deer in a forest. They wear the same elaborately decorated, short, leather jackets over long, full tunics. The tunics are bloused over a belt. The sleeves dangle to the knees or calves, but do not come any lower on the arm than the elbow joint. This representation of hunters clearly demonstrates the reason for the sleeve construction. The sleeves do not appear to hinder the bowman in any way. Neither do they appear to encumber the kern in the earlier prints. This was the Gaelic way of making a fashion statement (and a statement of wealth as well) while not sacrificing functionality. In conclusion, it is clear that the 16th century léine was a white or yellow linen calf- to ankle-length heavily pleated garment made from as much as 15 modern yards of 60" wide linen. The garment had long dangling sleeves, which for men stopped at the elbow to facilitate wear while doing battle. The sleeve tops are not pleated or gathered. Women wore the garment under English-style gowns as well as alone under a mantle. They had necklines like chemises, dipping as low as the bust or riding as high as the collarbone. No collars are evident. Men's léine necklines were loose fitting and gapped open. They also wore no collars. Men wore the léine bloused over a belt (to make it knee length) under a short elaborately decorated jacket, called an ionar. Close-fitting pants and shoes were sometimes worn, but men went barelegged and barefooted as often as not.At meals they recline, couches being supplied. The first place at table is that of the mother of the family, wrapped in a tunic reaching to the ankles, often saffron-coloured and long-sleeved.
Her daughter, Branwyn M. Folsom, who has performed at Renaissance Pleasure Faire North since childhood, added her theories:I believe that the drawstring approach to léinte making developed out of the popularity of drawstring clothes in everyday life during the 60's and 70's, combined with the original, primarily theatrical focus of Faire costumes. The theatrical approach is primarily concerned with giving an impression of the period in question to assist the audience in the suspension of disbelief. The drawstring down the arm seems to have developed from a line of trim or stitching shown in carvings of pleated shirts.
Maggie Pierce Secara, who in the SCA is Mistress Máirghréad-Rós Fitzgaret of Desmond (O.L.), was also there to witness the "birth" of the drawstring léine. She has portrayed the Countess of Southampton at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire South for twelve years. She recalls a washerwoman character at the California Faire who put drawstrings in her chemise sleeves in order to keep them out of the well water. The washerwoman was also a member of the Irish/Scots camp and a Scottish country dancer which may have lead to the confusion about the Gaelic origins of her sleeve construction. Maggie-Rós claims to have contributed to the proliferation of the drawstring léine by writing an article for Tournaments Illuminated (vol 81, page 12) about this construction when she was editor of this journal. Entitled simply "The Leine", she says it has come back to haunt her many times:I would say that it has stuck around so long because of the dearth of available references to the contrary, and the variable, but often hot, climate in which most Ren Faires are held. The drawstring, is admittedly, a practical adaptation to a performing climate in which actors can be subjected to temperatures from 50 to 110 degrees F. The sleeves can be let down when the weather is inclement, and pulled up when it is hot. It's more comfortable to the modern person, but still not accurate.
Maggie-Rós has more than made amends. Her "Compendium of Common Knowledge -1558-1603" is a virtual treasure-trove and a must-read for any Elizabethan re-enactor. You can access it at ren.dm.net. When I asked her opinion on the construction of the léine, she said:Once or twice a year now I have to both apologize and try to talk people out of using that article as primary documentation.
I am indebted to Maggie-Rós, Sharon and Branwyn for sharing their memories with me so that we all might better understand the real origins this myth.There's no evidence for pleating on top of the arm. The drawstring trick was a specific invention of Clan MacColin's washer woman "working the well" at Southern Faire back in the late 70s-early 80s. And they told two friends. And they told two friends...
In April 1956, a farmer living near Dungiven, County Derry brought into the Belfast Museum and Art Gallery a suit of clothes that he found while digging peat on his farm. The clothing found consisted of a woolen semi-circular cloak, a jacket, tartan trews, and a leather belt and shoes. Contemporary examples (McClintock) suggest a probable date of the late 16th century.
The jacket is constructed very simply. Contrary to the usual cutting techniques...
A completely revamped and updated version of this article, complete with the latest information on the clothing worn in 16th century Ireland by Clothing Historian Kass McGann.
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