Dirty Laundry

From the desk of Colleen Wilson,

Conservator at the Royal BC Museum

Many of the textiles returning to Helmcken House after the installation of the new fire suppression system were very dirty.  To clean or not to clean?  Both the original appearance and the loss of evidence must be considered.  Vacuuming away dust that has settled on exhibits is one thing; washing away the fingerprints of use is another.  Could the grease stains on a pillowcase be from Dr. Helmcken’s hair oil?  Might the stains on a jelly bag reveal something about 19^th century fruit processing?  The lives of 150 years ago differ from ours in the details and it is amazing how much is not recorded about the minutiae of “everyday life”.  The information held in tea cosies and carpet slippers can be invaluable.

Not everything was created with laundry in mind, and years of use have enfeebled many aged textiles.  Composite artifacts may not withstand treatment more strenuous than vacuuming because the parts may respond differently creating destructive internal stresses: if the lace inserts shrink in water, the dresser scarf could self-destruct.  Many dyes developed in the 19^th century are not stable in water; some can be stalled by controlling the pH of the rinse water, but only if experimentation has established a safe procedure beforehand.  All fibres must be assessed, all colours, including those of patches and darns must be tested before wet treatment. 

Making the decision to wash textiles at the RBCM is made easier by the quality of water in Victoria.  Because it does not contain the minerals that make water “hard”, and requires only minimal filtering to remove particulates, delicate artifacts can be safely and effectively washed in tap water.  Positively charged calcium and magnesium ions can lock negatively charged soil to negatively charged fibres; conservators faced with hard water must use de-ionised or distilled water to prevent the formation of intractable “re-deposited soil”.

Old textiles can easily be damaged while wet.  To make the risk worthwhile, detergent should provide maximum cleaning but minimum stress.  In the past, laundering meant lots of heat and soap – very effective at getting things clean, but too harsh and alkaline for fragile artifacts.  Contemporary detergents, even those recommended for delicate fabrics, contain perfume and dyes to conform to our current ideas of how “fresh” and “clean” should look and smell (few of us would choose brown detergent!).   While additives cycle through our household laundry they can pose problems for artifacts that are rarely re-washed.  The traces of dye and perfume, not to mention “fabric conditioners” and “optical brighteners” can change colour or interact with older materials unexpectedly, as well as presenting a 21^st century version of “clean”.   

The attraction of an historic house is seeing artifacts in the context of their original settings, not isolated in protective cases.   Artifacts displayed in the open, though, are vulnerable to many dangers including soil and pollution; just the removal of dust can be very stressful for aged materials.  The rooms of the past, however, would not have been filled with a century of dirt.  While cleaning artifacts takes its toll, displaying soiled ones gives a less than historically accurate impression.

Dirt has sifted through the knitted bedspread on open display.

Soiled and stained textile being considered for washing.

The unstable red and green dyes have bled into the white wool of a child's embroidered coat. 

GEMs, RingKlips, Owl Clips and more....

From the desk of Ann ten Cate, Reference Archivist at the Royal B.C. Museum

So what makes an archivist’s heart go pitter patter? It’s not always what you might expect. Sure, there’s a thrill to be had when you come across an unusual record, or manage to hunt down a particularly elusive snippet of information for someone – but sometimes archivists find their rewards in unusual places. My secret pleasure is finding a new example of an antique paper fastener (otherwise known as a paper clip) for the little collection that sits on my desk.

The pins and other attachment devices pictured above have been removed from our paper records because they could rust or tear the documents if left in place. They have served their purpose, and they’ve now been replaced with a stainless steel modern version. The model we now use is a GEM, which has actually been around since 1892! My little collection of antiques also includes an Owl Clip (still being manufactured), a RingKlip, and a brass Clipper Clip, along with some stud fasteners that would have been inserted by a machine. For a fascinating look at the history of the paper clip, and to match up my samples with their names and manufacturing dates, check out The Early Office Museum online. (http://www.officemuseum.com/paper_clips.htm)

You can also look at archival photographs of 19th and 20th century office interiors in British Columbia by accessing the Archives search page and using the keywords [office and interior].

Interior of the Brackman-Ker Milling Company office, Rossland, B.C. 1904. BCA B-07702

My collection of paper fasteners isn’t large and it will never end up in a museum, but for me it represents a hundred and fifty years of society’s struggle with paper records. How to organize them, how to control them – always a challenge in a paper-based office. It’s also the essence of an archivist’s job – capturing, holding together and managing the important bits of information that we’ll need in the future. I feel a certain affinity with the humble paper clip.

And I think we’ll need them for a long time to come. Although for efficiency and for the sake of the environment, we are supposed to be working towards a paperless office, I can’t actually see a day anytime soon when we’ll be able to give up our useful little friend, the paper clip.