{"id":3324,"date":"2020-06-21T12:10:16","date_gmt":"2020-06-21T06:40:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/museumofmaterialmemory.com\/?p=3324"},"modified":"2020-06-21T12:11:00","modified_gmt":"2020-06-21T06:41:00","slug":"what-there-is-in-a-button-my-mothers-button-collection","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/museumofmaterialmemory.com\/what-there-is-in-a-button-my-mothers-button-collection\/","title":{"rendered":"What there is in a button? My mother’s button collection"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY KASTURI MUKHERJEE
<\/strong>Asansol, West Bengal<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I begin to write this piece, there is a short story that keeps coming to mind, written by Molly Panter-Downes, the New Yorker journalist with a vigorous output, known for her London Letters and War Notes, but remembered today for her wartime short stories. The short story is called “Battle of the Greeks” and describes Mrs Ramsay\u2019s Red Cross Sewing Party in a little Sussex village working to help men in war and the many gossips and debates that these housewives engaged in wartime England. My mother is no Mrs Ramsay or Mrs Peters or Mrs Twistle living in Sussex and she has never been to a sewing party all her life. She is a simple woman who has lived her life in a small industrial town in India and has devoted herself to homemaking. And yet both these sections of women engage their art in a certain utility towards helping a community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    Ma\u2019s penchant for the handicrafts always mesmerises me. Sewing, embroidery and knitting are her forte. All throughout my childhood, numerous times, I have seen Ma sitting by the window on my grandfather\u2019s old wooden chair, a cushion to the back, a short plump stool at her feet, a table full of necessary paraphernalia by the side, sewing clothes, or covers or repairing sarees and pyjamas or embroidering designs on kerchiefs. Sitting alone and absorbed in the quiet afternoon light, her fingers pressing on the needle poking in and out through the weave of the cotton cloths, the two slim bangles on her wrist tinkling to the movement, this moment in time has always been her space. Among the knick-knack paraphernalia on the side table, always lies an oblong, old, tiny, tin box full of buttons: small, large, coloured, wooden, fat, slim, buttons in all shapes and sizes. Her small collection of buttons; not a collector’s collection, more of a user’s rather. When in trouble and a button is lost, that box is always her go-to. Once she finishes using it, she lids the box carefully and keeps it inside her closet, a user\u2019s treasure. A few months back, I lost a small, flat wooden button from a chequered, yellow cotton dress that I love to wear and the box was out of the closet again, her collection of buttons laid bare, calling out to me to be recognized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    My mother, Krishna, is the younger of the two daughters of a very ordinary couple who had shifted to an industrial town from a remote village in West Bengal in early 1950s. She grew up seeing her mother repair and mend clothes at home, make tablecloths and duvets, stitch kanthas, work on the sewing machine, a few of the things that the then housewives commonly did. Her mother, Bani, was a very economical woman and someone who, though not aware of the concept of sustainable living back in the days, practiced it with a certain fervour. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Ma picked up stitching from her mother; young in the 70s and educated in a convent, she, of course, had stylised and western motifs at her disposal, along with the more traditional Indian ones. Being an introvert, it was an indulgent practice she immensely enjoyed. Later in life, she also picked up the habit of living economically and sustainably from her mother and realized the daily uses of her art. Ma has never contributed to a wartime cause like Mrs Ramsay & co. but home is a smaller social unit and the many contributions of the housewives often go unnoticed. Hence the buttons collected over the years, from various other worn out garments and stacked in the box for future use. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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    A button seal from Harappa dating back to 2800-2600BC<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

    Buttons or button-like objects have been discovered in the excavations of Indus Valley Civilization, the Bronze Age sites in China & Ancient Rome. Buttons made from seashells (later revived in the 18th and 19th centuries, especially by American manufacturer John F. Boepple in the 1890s) were used during the Indus Valley Civilization for ornamental purposes. Ian McNeil holds that: “The button, in fact, was originally used as an ornament than as a fastening, the earliest known being found in Mohenjo-daro in the Indus Valley. It is made of curved shell & about 5000 years old.” Lynn White asserts that functional buttons with buttonholes for fastening or closing clothes are said to have appeared first in Germany in the 13th century & became popular with the rise of snug-fitting garments in 13th & 14th century Europe. The wearing of gold, silver and ivory buttons was an indication of wealth and rank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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      But it is with the advent of the Industrial Revolution in the 18th century that buttons came into widespread use, among the masses too. Matthew Boulton, the English manufacturer from Birmingham and partner of James Watt, specialised in the production of small items (hinges, buttons, buckles, hooks, etc.) in a range of materials including metal and glass, which were collectively known in the 18th century as “toys”. The buckle trade collapsed but the button trade flourished in Birmingham in its place. In the 18th century, luxury metals and ivory largely replaced fabric, however, embroidered buttons in designs to complement particular garments were popular. Charlotte, who is a member of the Birmingham branch of the Guild of Weavers, Spinners & Dyers, and the National Association GPC, in an article on her blog English Girl at Home dated June 26th , 2016 writes,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

      [\u2026]Originally, the button was a by-product of the slaughter-house, with buttons produced from animal hoof and horn. The raw hoof and horn had to be heated and moulded, and then turned and polished by hand. However, the Birmingham button trade was diverse including pearl, shell, metal, cloth-covered, and later plastic, buttons. Shell and pearl were imported for the production of buttons, with so much waste shell produced by the process that pits were dug in Birmingham\u2019s Jewellery Quarter to bury it. Many buildings today are said to have their foundations built on mother of pearl.

      The button trade is one in which the development of assembly line processes and division of labour developed. In the 18th century, it was calculated that each button would pass through fifty pairs of hands, with each individual worker handling up to 1,000 buttons per day. By 1865 machines began to be introduced into the button trade, with the number of workers employed reducing to around 6,000 compared with about 17,000 in 1830, with a large number of women employed. Even after mechanisation was introduced, it took around 14 workers to put together a single button [\u2026] Pearl buttons, because of their frailty, continued to be made entirely by hand. Birmingham led innovation in the button trade [\u2026]<\/code><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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