Threads of Feeling at the Foundling Museum

Threads of Feeling at the Foundling Museum

14 October, 2010
by: Lauren Romano

Lauren takes a trip back in time to hang with some foundlings...

There once was a boy named Benjamin Twirl (born Charles Bender) who was admitted to the care of the Foundling Hospital one February morning in 1767: his mother, Sarah Bender, had fallen on hard times. On that day Sarah left behind one half of a patchwork heart as an identifying record whose small rectangles of fabric, embellished with needlework here and there and sewn together with a red running stitch, was pinned beneath the pages of a hefty, leather-bound billet. The mother took the other segment of the fragile fabric heart with her as she went on her way. The heart remained broken in two, severed straight down the middle for eight years, until on 10 June 1775, Sarah Bender returned, token in hand to collect her little boy at long last.
 
The story of Benjamin Twirl is a remarkable one; even emotionally vacuous me can’t help but feel strangely moved by it as I peer at the fraying curve of cloth attached to the discoloured pages of the registration ledger, propped open behind its glass fronted cabinet. Threads of Feeling, this insightful, carefully put together collection on display at the Foundling Museum, has been a long time in the making – and it shows. The well presented relics offer a remarkable visual depiction of the moment struggling mothers handed over their offspring to be cared for by the Foundling Hospital, hoping that if the opportunity ever arose they would be able to identify them by the fabric they left behind. The exhibition dips into and displays a handful of the 5000 tokens collected between 1741-1760, which together form Britain's largest collection of everyday textiles from the 18th century. Seriously impressive, non?
 
These fragments, often taken from the mothers’ worn-out clothes also offer an insight into the fashions and fancies of the day. Vivid, varied and delicate, the range of fabrics which crop up in the time-worn ledgers seem almost anachronistic. In fact, if truth be told I’m imagining dark and coarse threadbare patches and while simple strips of woven wool are present, these are largely overshadowed by extraordinary prints. After all the more distinctive and memorable the pattern, the easier it would be to identify in the future. “That’s Primark, that’s Vivienne Westwood,” curator and historian John Styles chuckles as he points out two resembling floral designs. One, I learn is a piece of an expensive silk Spitalfields dress, while the other, a cotton fabric printed with a floral design, replicates the expensive fashions in a way that high street stores mimic designer brands today. The comparison is extraordinary. It seems even eighteenth century working-class women were fashion conscious.
 
Now, I could go on and on and dazzle you with fascinating bits of academic material and visual cultural theory I’ve plagiarised from curator John, but I won’t, I’m stingy like that. What I will say is this: essentially I spent an hour of my day looking at bits of old cloth. Sentences and odd words are sprinkled here and there – a piece of yellow ribbon inked with the words “Name is Andrews” and in another cabinet a stitched reminder, “Let particular Care be taken’en off this child, As it will be call’d for Again…” – but mostly it is just fabric.

Don’t let that deter you though. On the contrary it’s truly fascinating to think a few rows of glass cabinets could keep anyone entranced for so long, lost in imagining the personal trials and tribulations each small token relates. And yet such small things as these, which could easily be dismissed as frivolous, useless discarded scraps, speak more coherently, more powerfully, and with greater tenderness than words alone ever could. Whoever said history was dull as dishwater or fashion forever fickle, just remember the story of little Benjamin Twirl and think again.  

Threads of Feeling is at the Foundling Museum until 14th November 2010.

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Lauren Romano