One of the most autobiographical passages I have ever written. This scene was every day of my life for sixteen years.

The scene above comes from the beginning of Myrtle, Means, and Opportunity, when Myrtle & Co. first meet Rockfforde Hall’s foxhound pack, and is the moment so magnificently rendered by Brett Helquist for the cover:

This time, for reference images, I sent photographs of my own dogs—specifically our coonhounds Ladygirl, Rusty, and Flint.

Team White

To fit with the Peony I had already made, Minna/Ladygirl is made of felt. I found a wonderful pattern by textile artist Emma Hall, for a seated dog perfectly in scale for my 18″ Myrtle!

The pattern, originally designed for low-pile velvet and subtle hand-coloring.

With some modifications, Hall’s lab makes a perfect foxhound!

The first step was working out Ladygirl’s distinctive markings.

Mostly snow white, Ladygirl had a beautiful brown and black forehead and ears, one large black spot on each side, and a wonderful nearly-circular spot on her right hip that was neatly bisected black on top and brown on the bottom (sort of like a black-and-white cookie).

A princess and she knew it.

Felt is a malleable and cooperative fabric—easy to work with and a joy to sew (and beginner-friendly, too! Although this pattern is a little more challenging than Peony.). Minna is a mix of acrylic and wool felt.

Markings sewn on and assembly/stuffing begun

The piece is constructed entirely by hand, with blanket stitch/buttonhole stitch—a classic stitch for wool applique. It combines a seam with an edge finish, and it’s very neat and pretty—important because the seam allowances are to the outside of the piece.

For the most part the construction went swiftly, but figuring out her eyes was a challenge. When I tried simply using black buttons, she looked… soulless. After studying photos like the one above, I realized she was missing Ladygirl’s dramatic black “eyeliner!” A teeny-tiny black felt oval solved that—perfectly capturing her keen expression!

See how nice the blanket stitch looks?

I ended up giving Minna slightly larger ears than designed, because those marvelously soft and floppy ears are so characteristic of our scenthounds! (The original smaller ear is shown above, before I changed my mind.)

Minna and Peony pose with the Waverley novels by Sir Walter Scott (where Minna gets her name… and which provide a crucial clue in Myrtle, Means, and Opportunity!)

Revisiting my life with hounds was one of the great joys of writing the latest Myrtle Hardcastle Mystery, and I had an absolutely delightful time making my felt Minna! She is a wonderful addition to Myrtle’s miniature world, and a splendid companion for Peony (whether Peony will admit it or not).

Minna, Cleveland, and the other hounds of Rockfforde Hall play a key role in the new mystery, and I know you’ll love the Buncehounds as much as we do.

Today, Clan MacEwen claims a tartan of blue, green, and black plaid with accents of red and yellow, and it’s this stately and colorful pattern with which Argyll solicitor Hector Macewan has bedecked his office, and is the plaid sported by Myrtle and Miss Judson on the cover of Myrtle Means, and Opportunity.

A digital rendering of the tartan of Clan MacEwen, as displayed at the Scottish Register of Tartans, showing the precise thread count and colors of the clan’s proprietary plaid pattern.

Despite its venerable name, the Scottish Register of Tartans is a very young entity, indeed, established in 2009. Before that, some tartan information was collected and codified by the office of the Lord Lyon King of Arms, the chief heraldic officer of Scotland (in charge of coats of arms for noble families, etc). But clan tartan affiliation is largely a matter of informal tradition—and a fairly modern practice, at that.

Fragment of Scotland’s oldest-known tartan cloth, discovered in a bog and dated to about 500 years old. Read more.

Tartan itself—meaning the design of criss-crossed multicolored threads (aka plaid)—is undeniably ancient. It is one of the earliest forms of color patterns in woven cloth, and probably originated in China around 3000 years ago, although weavers throughout the world invented the notion independently. The word tartan comes from medieval French and referred simply to a type of woolen fabric, not the pattern. The word plaid, however, is Scottish, and referred to the garment worn by medieval Scots, not the fabric.

This Victorian image shows a woman and boy in early Scottish costume. They are both wearing plaids, although only one of their plaids is plaid!

Language is fun, isn’t it?

As local weavers across Scotland established their own styles, regional variations gradually emerged, based on the colors of wool and dyes available and popular in the area. But it was not until much, much later that clans—the term means “family”—became affiliated with specific, codified tartan patterns. One of the first groups readily identified by their tartan was not, in fact, a clan at all.

A soldier of the Black Watch, or Highland Regiment, from the early 1700s. Note his distinct lack of the now-familiar Black Watch tartan.

During the Jacobite conflicts of the early 1700s, the British army mustered soldiers from clans loyal to the British to suppress further rebellion in Scotland. Officially termed the Highland Regiment, they came to be known as the Black Watch from their uniforms of dark green and black kilts, and from their duty to watch out for discontented Jacobites.

Today’s Royal Regiment of Scotland, wearing their traditional Black Watch kilts.

After the final Jacobite defeat in 1745, the British buckled down on quashing any signs of Scottish discontent—which meant attempting to eliminate unique aspects of Scottish culture, especially traditional Scottish Highland dress. The wearing of kilts, plaids, and tartan (among other things) was outlawed in 1746 by the Act of Proscription, leaving the Black Watch soldiers the only Scots permitted to dress in tartan.

That from and after the first day of August, One thousand, seven hundred and forty-seven, no man or boy within that part of Britain called Scotland, other than such as shall be employed as Officers and Soldiers in His Majesty’s Forces, shall, on any pretext whatever, wear or put on the clothes commonly called Highland clothes… and that no tartan or party-coloured plaid… shall be used… For the first offence, shall be liable to be imprisoned for 6 months, and on the second offence, to be transported to any of His Majesty’s plantations beyond the seas, there to remain for the space of seven years.

Despite protests from Scots both powerful and ordinary, for an entire generation in the 18th century, tartan went into hiding. But when it returned, it came back in a big, big way! And it shows no signs of going underground again. The Act of Proscription (which wasn’t terribly effective, anyway), was repealed in 1782. The Black Watch’s military exploits expanded well beyond Scotland, fighting for the Empire around the world. Their reputation for bravery helped ignite British enthusiasm for Scotland in general and tartan in particular.

King George IV’s first official state visit to Scotland in 1822 caused a tartan sensation

What really brought tartan back into mainstream life, ironically, was a visit from the British monarch. When George IV visited Scotland in 1822, he was the first reigning British monarch in nearly 200 years to set foot on Scottish soil. To drum up local enthusiasm, Scottish author Sir Walter Scott organized a celebratory pageant to welcome the king, reimagining a heroic Old Scotland for everyone—Scottish, English, Highland, and Lowland—to take pride in. To that end, His Majesty commissioned an ensemble worthy of a true Scottish Monarch.

The well-known Royal Stewart tartan, tartan of the House of Stuart, is based on King George’s epic 1822 ensemble.

The 60-year-old George was a little uneasy with Highland Dress, however; baring his knees to his subjects was unthinkable, so he quite famously wore a pair of pink tights with his kilt. (Sadly not included in the portrait above.)

As is the way of all great social events throughout time, people wanted to know what to wear to meet their king—and Sir Walter, and all kinds of clothiers, had the answer: plaid, plaid, plaid and plaid. And a little more plaid. In the wake of the years of Proscription, this must have been overwhelming, and Scots worldwide suddenly embraced anything and everything tartan.

A weaver’s sample book, advertising available tartans (early 19th c).

By now, the notion that Scots had always proclaimed their clan affiliation through the wearing of specific tartans was starting to take root—and merchants did nothing to dissuade this. The Highland Society of London had begun collecting and categorizing tartans a few years earlier, further entrenching the notion.

Cutting edge fashion: a coat in red, bias-cut (on the diagonal) tartan, owned by a member of the London Highland Society, early 1800s. Read more: Highland Style of the Georgian Era at the National Museums of Scotland

The tartan trend took over 19th century fashion, well beyond Scotland. Since exclusivity sells, this helped inspire Scottish manufacturers to establish the “true” Scottish plaids. With their cultural heritage suddenly in vogue, people of Scottish descent all over the world embraced the idea of having their very own clan tartans—whether it was strictly accurate or not.

Read More: Young Lads & Lasses 

Another period weaver’s swatch book–this one helpfully labels each impressive sample by clan (here showing Buchanan.)

This atmosphere fostered one of the oddest moments in tartan history. In 1829, two brothers from Argyll claimed they were the grandsons of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and that they had a 16th century document establishing the origins of clan tartans—making it by far the oldest such account on record. Although many expert antiquarians of the time dismissed the work as a forgery, the Stuart Hay brothers nonetheless published their account in 1842’s Vestiarium Scotticum (Scottish Dress), displaying the supposed “official” tartans of some 75 Scottish clans. Many of these tartans were previously unheard-of, and are now largely considered to be the inventions of the illustrator. Scientific examination eventually revealed that the document had been chemically aged and was almost certainly a fabrication (no more authentic than the brothers’ claim to royal blood).

Despite this—and the efforts of textile historians ever since to debunk the book—many of these tartans are still accepted as “true” clan tartans today.  (You can see the included tartans reproduced at the Wikipedia link above.)

Enthusiastic embracer of his Scottish heritage, army surgeon William Ord Mackenzie (born in India) had his portrait painted in 1850 wearing multiple tartans and other Highland paraphernalia

The Vestiarium Scottium was just too appealing—not just to people eager to claim and proclaim their Scottishness, but to merchants eager to exploit the explosive 19th century popularity in tartan everything. It allowed people of Scottish descent to set themselves off from “ordinary plaids” filling the Victorian marketplace, and to identify themselves and each other as True Scots.

An example of modern Highland dress conventions for men

Thanks in part to rigid 19th century rules dictating every aspect of fashion etiquette, a sense that there is a “Proper Highland Dress”—correct or incorrect ways to wear your clan’s tartan and elements of clothing—emerged, and has stuck fast in some circles today. But former Lord Lyon King of Arms Sir Malcom Innes of Edingight dismissed this:

There are no specific laws governing the wearing or usage of tartan other than those of courtesy and respect for a national institution. Purists will argue angrily on topics such as kilt lengths and quote a number of rather extraordinary theories derived from patently eccentric Victorian sources. Be that as it may, the fact remains that tartan is one of the most brilliant decorative concepts, and [I] entirely endorse its use in all kinds of situations. —Scottish Clan and Family Names, 1987

Sir Malcolm Innes, (1932 – 2020), Lord Lyon King of Arms, in a tartan waistcoat (and perhaps a kilt? Though given Sir Malcolm’s views of tartan, we shouldn’t make any assumptions!)

As for Mr. Macewan’s beloved MacEwen tartan in Myrtle, Means, and Opportunity? Edinburgh clothier Kinloch Anderson, experts in Highland Dress since 1850, tell us the tartan dates from around 1880—just in time to furnish his office in the beautiful blue plaid.

One MacEwen tartan and one miscellaneous plaid!

Myrtle, Means, and Opportunity will be here—tartans and all—next week, and I encourage everyone to don your favorite plaids to celebrate!

Myrtle and Miss Judson wear Clan MacEwen tartan on the cover of the new book

Traditional Scottish dress—plaid tartans, kilts, clan badges, and more—took on ever greater significance during the Victorian era, thanks in part to the Royal Family’s enthusiasm for everything Scottish. Folks worldwide with Scottish ancestry loved to show off their Scottish roots (still do!), posing for photographs dressed in their clan regalia.

A magnificent photo, circa 1893, of unnamed Scottish siblings. I love how their personalities shine through!

A wee laddie indeed, from about 1860, in a velvet jacket adorned with thistle buttons… like the silver ones below from 1910. You’ll be seeing these buttons again (maybe after a wee polish).

Highland dance, then as now, was a popular pastime for boys and girls.

An American girl shows off her best Highland Fling pose, circa 1890.

 

And this manual for dance teachers boasts a talented young student.

A splendid later portrait of a lad in his finest Highland attire. Love the tartan waistcoat!

Aberdeen sisters Flora and Constance McDonald were well-known Highland Dance champions. Photographed here in 1890 with their medals.

The Royal Family often sported their Highland colors when visiting their Scottish retreat at Balmoral Castle. Here princes Albert and Alfred are being taken salmon fishing:

Read More: On Holiday in Scotland

A charming family photo of Queen Victoria’s daughter-in-law Princess Louise and her children Margaret, Arthur, and Patricia

Of course, these images all reflect special occasions. Most of the time, Scottish kids dressed like other kids in the 1800s:

Kids in Fife, about 1890

Another shot of everyday life for Victorian kids in Fife, at a fishmarket

An Edinburgh lass with her bicycle (I mean, I’m not saying you can’t bike in a kilt…)

With a tree stump! You will be hearing much more about Scottish tree stumps soon…

Of course, it’s the images of young Scots in their traditional dress that are the most striking and memorable, so I’ll leave you with one last fantastic shot of a lad and his fleecy friend.

All that wool for those kilts has to come from somewhere, after all!

See Myrtle in her own Scottish attire in Myrtle, Means, and Opportunity, coming October 24!

1834 manifesto by factory workers in Lowell, Massachusetts, outlining the terms of their strike

Labor Day has its origins in the labor movement—workers banding together to improve wages, benefits, and conditions in the workplace. It has been a national holiday celebrating the working man (and woman, boy, and girl!) in the United States and Canada since 1894, as the observance had been growing in local communities for several years.

From the US Department of Labor, an image of New York City’s first Labor Day Parade

Workers have always stuck together and looked after one another. In 18th century England, in the days before insurance, coworkers formed clubs to collect money for injured fellow workers and their families. Calling themselves by such names as The Friendly Society of Millworkers or the Benevolent Brotherhood of Weavers, these friendly societies were the precursor to modern labor unions (sometimes called “combinations” in Britain). [Some were also the precursors to secret societies… but that is another story.]

This serene image of a factory worker was at odds with the real, dangerous conditions in 19th century textile mills.

Drawn by the promise of independence and good wages, young women and girls flocked to New England’s cotton mills. Massachusetts factory owner Francis Cabot Lowell touted his mills as an improvement over the horrific conditions textile workers faced in English factories. But in time, competition increased, profit won out over worker welfare, and more and more workers worked longer and longer hours for less and less pay.

Victorian girls work at a spinning frame in a textile mill (when we say “mill girls,” we mean girls).

Girls as young as ten worked fourteen-hour days around noisy, dangerous machinery, risking life and limb for pennies a day, leaving little time and even less energy for education or leisure. In 1824, when millworkers in Rhode Island had their workday increased, they went on strike. In 1828, striking workers in New Hampshire won back an hour of time. And in 1834, workers in Lowell, Massachusetts formed America’s first women’s labor union, the Factory Girls Association, led by president Sarah Bagley, a longtime Lowell millworker.

A magazine produced by the millowners idealized the life of factory workers

Lowell became the hub of the millworkers’ labor movement. But despite their efforts, the pace of work (and the machines) continued to increase and wages continued to fall. Strikes were crushed by mill owners—scores of striking workers at one mill were fired and blacklisted (unable to work at other mills in town) after one 1842 walkout.

Union organizer Sarah Bagley edited The Voice of Industry, a newspaper devoted to labor reform

The mill girls did not give up! They continued to organize and strike, demanding safer working conditions, shorter hours, and better pay. In 1840, they took their fight to the state government, under the aegis of a new union, the Lowell Female Labor Reform Association, pressing for legislation to reduce the workday to 10 hours. It took another 34 years and the support of other industries’ unions before the ten-hour workday became law, and through it all, millworkers across the region stepped up, walked out, and made their voices heard.

Today, the textile heritage of Lowell—including its brave and pioneering young labor reformers—is preserved as a national historical park.

Katherine Paterson’s award-winning novel for young readers dramatizes the story of one  Lowell girl from exploited worker to activist.

Labor Day is a holiday now, a chance to kick back and relax. But while you’re basking in the last days of summer freedom, spare a moment to recall the young workers of yesteryear who stood up against oppressive industries to fight for their rights. (And remember that millions of kids worldwide still work in dangerous or poorly-paid conditions.)

My own mill girl, Charlotte Miller leads up the spooky fantasy, A Curse Dark as Gold, set in an 18th century woolen mill.

Happy birthday, Premeditated Myrtle!

Not surprisingly, the celebration of birthdays became a bigger deal as consumer culture grew throughout the 19th century. In 1861, Isabella Beeton of Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management fame makes only fleeting references to birthdays, and only those of the Royal family or in a historical context. Our expert on everything offers not a single suggestion for what to eat, drink, serve, or do on your own big day day!

By Myrtle’s day, however, things were changing in a big way. This graph shows the steady increase in the popularity of the word “birthday,” reflecting the popularity of the idea. By the 1890s, we had birthday cakes, birthday parties, birthday cards, birthday presents—and yes, even “Happy Birthday to You,” that oft-contested celebratory song.

Early in the century, birthdays were intimate affairs, observed at home with family—if observed at all. Letters from friends, a special meal, perhaps even a cake, made up the modest celebration.

William Powell Frith’s Many Happy Returns of the Day, 1856, shows the birthday party for a young girl. She sits beneath a wreath of flowers, surrounded by family, as the maid delivers a gift.

But as with the celebration of Christmas, birthdays became bigger events thanks to industrialization and commercialization. Throughout the century, railways linked distant families and friends, consumer goods became more accessible, a new focus on childhood emerged,  schedules became more standardized and regimented… and all these changes influenced the new traditions emerging for birthdays.

Thanks to advances in affordable color printing, birthday cards began to appear mid-century, shortly after Christmas cards. Cards with cats were the natural next step.

By the 1880s, Americans had a new household maven to turn to. Frances Owens had published several editions of her eponymous New Cook Book and Summary of Helpful Knowledge and recognized that her readership of middle-class homemakers wanted expert guidance on birthdays (Pinterest was still a few years off).

Owens includes a recipe—and instructions for its presentation—in the 1897 edition, a twist on the traditional “pound cake” called a 1-2-3-4 Cake:

This 1-2-3-4 recipe makes a very nice birthday cake if baked in a dripping pan and heavily frosted. When the frosting is partly dry, mark it off in small squares and put half an English walnut meat on each. Place around it a framework of paste-board cut in little holes for as many small candles as the person is years old. Cover the paste-board with fancy colored paper. Sometimes little candlesticks may be procured that will fasten easily to either framework or edge of pan. This simplifies matters very much. The lights in the room should be put out and the cake brought in with candles lit and placed before the person whose natal day it is and he should cut and distribute it. —Mrs. Owens’ New Cook Book, 1897

Sadly, she did not see fit to include an illustration of the paper candle guide for us.

Myrtle with a few friends (or frenemies) over to celebrate in the now-traditional style. And yes, this entire post came about because I had those doll-sized party hats. You’re welcome. (And because I couldn’t resist the mini Bunce joke with that tiny bundt cake. Say it out loud a couple of times… )

Children in the 1890s and forever after would come to expect to be lavished with attention, treats, and gifts on their “natal days,” giving the whole family lots to look forward to all the year round.

By the turn of the 20th century, elaborate birthday parties were more and more the norm. These children have gathered for a Mother Goose-themed costume birthday party for their six-year-old friend Joe (dressed as Little Boy Blue, according to newspaper accounts).

Many happy returns!