A short woollen circular mantle or market cloak, worn by lower class German woman and camp followers in the 16th century, which works well as a practical rain coat.
A year ago, I was headed to a camping event with the forecast set for rain. I decided I had time to cram in a quick project – a period-appropriate rain cloak. I did the research, drafted the pattern and tested the toile. I didn’t have the ideal fabric (a dense coat wool in something other than black), so I thought I’d try some oilcloth a friend had given me…
Big mistake! It was horrible to work with and when I tried on the result to check the hem, it left grease marks on my shirt. No way I was going to wear it with my medieval clothes!
So I shelved the idea until I had the right wool, and since used the oilskin version as a firewood cover 🙂
A year on, the wet weather forecast for the same event reminded me of the project. I had some suitable wool, so I dug out my research and pattern…
Research & Design
There are several images of this short full-circle cloak in contemporary artwork, typically worn by lower class or peasant women and by the Tross (camp followers). It has no hood, and is always shown worn with a Schleier (veil), usually wrapped under the chin.
Source: Getty
Source: Zeno
Other examples give an idea of the colour range: the Cranach painting below shows a version in red, with other paintings showing these cloaks in green, blue and black.
My pattern is based on the Frauen Müzl pattern in the Tailor Book Leonfeldner (f.19r), depicted in Drei Schnittbücher: Three Austrian Master Tailor Books of the 16th Century (Barich & McNealy, 2015). The pattern is a semi-circle, with a shaped neck-hole and curved collar. The cloak in the Seebald Beeham sketch also shows a small collar.
Based on the size of the Austrian ell noted in Drei Schnittbücher (31″/78.5cm), I scaled up the pattern from the Leonfeldner drawing – the circle is 140cm diameter.
I did a mock-up of the neck opening, to to ensure it was the right size. I also tested the collar to ensure it was the right size to fit my neck. Then I did a full size mockup in cheap fabric to check the hem, and moved the neckhole slightly forward, to give more length at the back.
After the false start with the oilcloth I packed it all away…
A year later, I dug out the pattern, and realised I’d packed it away in haste – no markings. Had I included seam allowances? Which way up did the collar go? I went hunting for the oilcloth version (now in the garden), checked the size and marked the pattern. Sigh.
The Leonfeldner pattern calls for rich fabrics for rich women, but Textiler Hausrat (Zander-Seidler, 1990) notes that these short ‘market cloaks’ were made of wool for common use, often with a wool lining.
This was to be an unlined cloak. The wool was too heavy to line with more wool and the Cranach image shows the same colour inside and out – so no lining. I know from experience that a linen lining in a woollen cloak wicks the moisture inside, makes it feel cold and takes longer to dry. But since the wool is a bit rough, I will line the collar in linen.
I scribed a circle on the fabric using a stringline as a compass, then used my pattern to cut the neck out of it. I began construction, sewing the back seam and basting and pressing the seam allowances, ready for felling.
I also cut and assembled the collar and sewed it on before realising that a) it was upside down, and b) I had forgotten to interline it with canvas. Rats! (or words to that effect). Time to unpick the collar, then stop for the day…
Since this is a working class garment, I am sewing it using raw linen thread, well waxed. We know from archeological finds that woollen garments were often sewn in linen, although silk thread was sometimes used on the same garments for buttonholes and eyelets (Crowfoot, Pritchard & Staniland 1991).
I felled the back seam, sewing into the back of the wool, so the stitches are not visible on the front.
Then back to the collar – I cut the wool, canvas and linen, basted the canvas to the wool, then sewed and pickstitched the back seam. This keeps the heavy wool and canvas seam open, and also stiffens the centre back collar.
I basted the wool around the top and front edges, catch-stitched it in place and pressed well. I sewed the collar into the clipped neckhole, then graded the seam and basted it all into the collar.
Initially I whipped the layers up to the collar canvas, but did not like the way it sat, so I unpicked that and instead, pick-stitched the base of the collar through the thick seam allowances. Much better. Love how much control this technique gives, even at the centre back with 8 layers of heavy wool!
Then I basted the raw linen lining in and slip-stitched it all around to finish the collar, which now sits beautifully.
The hem… If the wool was really well fulled, I would have left the cut edge, but I’ve used this wool before and knew it would fray. So I turned a single hem (to minimise bulk), then basted, pressed and hemmed the 4.3m circumference – again making sure to stitch into the back of the wool so it would not show.
I’d originally thought I might use a large hook and eye to fasten the cloak, but both the Cranach painting and the Beeham woodcut show a tied front. This also provides the most flexibility for bulky clothing underneath.
I had a solid lace about the right size with one aglet on it (I’d used it to show someone how to make aglets) so it was an easy matter to add one to the other end.
Now I knew what size holes I needed, I worked a pair of eyelets just under the collar on each side in waxed red silk, using my awl frequently to keep the holes open and a nice shape.
I threaded the lace through and tried it on – excellent, although I might shorten the lace in future.
I’m pleased with how it looks, although it is giving me WWI nurse vibes on the dressforms, so perhaps red was not the best choice…
I wore it a couple of days later at the event, where it did indeed rain. With a fine wool Schleier (veil), it worked really well, keeping me warm and dry – and it looks just right. And the red looks great in the context of everything else I’m wearing, so I’m well pleased with it.
