All About a 1934 Singer 28K Handcrank Sewing Machine, and Its Journey from England, Through Turkey, Spain and Further

 

I didn’t plan to come home with a sewing machine yesterday, truly I didn’t. On seeing it sitting on top of its case under a table in Feather Your Nest, a local antique mall, the chrome shine on its hand wheel caught my eye and I had to take a look, just like a magpie. 

Me at that moment, making a beeline… Photo from Grungaloo, Wikimedia Commons

Ooh, it was in gorgeous condition! Ooh, there was its case, with a drawer (!), and an international shipping line’s label (!) pasted outside, ooh, and an original manual, and goodies in that little drawer. The price being fair, at that moment I thought, home it comes. I’ll have to sell the Singer 27, but home it comes.

And here it is now, a member of one of the more storied models of Singer, known for its simplicity of design, its durability (obviously), its long reign (1880s to 1960s!) and its lovely stitching ways. If you look up “Singer 28” on YouTube, you will find a lot of loving views and stories. 

But in this case, there’s much more.

Singer 28K serial number Y9309795
Made in May 1934 in Kilbowie, Clydebank, Scotland

Here’s that label, hinting at overseas travel…

That’s American Export Lines, a major cargo shipping service in the Mediterranean, from New York, gaining that particular name in 1936. The stamp on top shows that this piece of cargo was inspected by the United States. The shipping line kept that name until 1964.

Does this whet your interest…a portable sewing machine that traveled? Come with me as my son Noah and I explore the machine and discover that it has quite a story, that it belonged to two women who taught at the American Girls College in Istanbul, that it was first in Canterbury, England, that it later went to Spain, and finally came to the U.S. in the 1960s, probably when that shipping label was applied and the stamp on top. 

What a tale, occurring as it did in the turmoil of the Depression years, the darkening of the globe before World War II, the terrifying War years, and the rebuilding, realigning period afterwards. Because the machine was so beautifully cared for, and because the second owner, sensing that this little machine had a special history, left a letter explaining it, tells me that she and her predecessor probably would have been nifty to meet, what with their skills and experiences, including teaching abroad during such a swathe of the 20th century.

Here is a video all about it, including the moment I discovered the letter, along with other surprises. I hope you enjoy the trip!

Edit November 26th: yesterday I oiled the machine...no need to clean it as it had been lovingly cared for...and used it for a tiny project. It sews beautifully :)

Oh, the last installment of the 1901-1903 Edwardian summer gown, setting it into its milieu, is not far from being ready, but with the Season almost upon us, I am not sure when I’ll have it posted. Meantime, all safety, health, and cheer to you.

A Glimpse of the Antique Treadle Machines I Use

Part of the fun of sewing period- or vintage-style clothing is making up the pieces using vintage sewing treadle machines. At least it is for me. I find antique machines pretty to look at. My boxy, modern Bernina with its single bland pink and blue decal is a visual yawn compared to my Warwick, with its romantic hand-painted tendrils and mother-of-pearl decor on the bed, or to the elegant classicism of the legs, or "irons" that support the Willcox and Gibbs.

That's just a start, though. Most antique treadles were designed to take on a wide variety of materials, some of them very heavy and dense. They power through heavy-duty tasks that will wear out a motor on an electric machine. They won't whine if you want to go one-slow-stitch-at-a-time-in-a-really-delicate-spot. 

Granted that this is not a vintage sewing example, but I am proud to write that when I constructed floor length silk curtains recently, the Willcox managed sewing through four layers of silk and cotton lining, all together, and topped off by sticky, heavy commercial curtain header tape, without an issue. I turned to it after the Bernina refused to operate on such a heavy load. Silly me. Should have started with a treadle. 

 Then too, a vintage machine will produce vintage effects. My handcrank Singer 28k is a whiz at setting up gathers in heavy materials...it was built to do it. The Willcox (mine dates to 1911) will produce stitches so fine you can barely see them. A chainstitch machine, it was popular for making underclothing, among other things. As one contemporary guide explained, the stitches have more stretch and give than do lockstitches. You can produce simple chain stitch embroidery with it too, or sew on soutache braid just as such braid was originally meant to be attached. The "tuckmarker" produces perfectly aligned tucks of all sizes. 

There are many of us out there who love these machines, who conserve them and rescue them from being broken up for lampstands or other uses. Some of us collect them, others of us collect and use them, too. Most all of us feel that we are custodians of an important part of sewing history.

Where To Learn More If you have the least bit of interest in learning more, try these sites.

• TreadleOn, "headquarters for a group of almost a thousand people who collect and sew with 
• antique sewing machines". See http://www.treadleon.net/. This is a truly amazing group of folks from all over the world.
• The NeedleBar, "A reference site for collectors of antique and vintage sewing machines". See http://www.needlebar.com/
• ISMACS. "The International Sewing Machine Collectors Society caters to those interested in collecting and learning about full size and toy sewing machines". See http://www.ismacs.net/
• Photos of the vintage machines in my possession, at http://community.webshots.com/user/inkspot106. My collection is very small. There are many sites across the Web belonging to folks who have collected and conserved dozens and dozens of machines.