There was a significant and annoying sunken area in the center of my grandmothers antique ironing board. It needed to be fixed or this gorgeous, sturdy, old ironing board would become a side table somewhere.
This ironing board was my maternal grandmothers. Mamie, (Mary Elizabeth Madden Weaver, married to Carl Robert Weaver) received it as a wedding gift in 1924.
Then, it was passed to her daughter, Madelyn (Bertha) Weaver Rupp
Then it was passed to her granddaughter, Martha Elizabeth Gutches in 1993
Then Martha, also known as Meg for her initials, gave it to her Aunt Kevan Marie Rupp Lunney in 2022, the author of this blog.
It has been used often in my home in Florida. I suspect the humidity had caused some warping and the sink hole was too large to ignore. I suspected the many layers of padding needed to be replaced. It appeared there were so many layers that maybe that was causing the uneven surface. So they need to come off.
Once the board was revealed...
I put screws in the cross braces that had only loose nails and gently tightened them over time. The sink went from 3/8" to 1/8" which would be filled in with padding.
You can see evidence of paint colors of years past.
this is the Pricilla model from the Steinfeld and Bros. New York Company. Retailing for between $1.50 and $3.00. Some models came with a sleeve board, which I do not have.
My grandmother lived in Pennsylvania most of her life. My mother was an Army wife. I wonder how many moves this ironing board made? At least 10.
There were 14 layers in all. Below is a layer by layer view. The top of the layers and the undersides.
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| layer 1 top |
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| layer 2 heavy canvas |
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| layer 3 and 4 heavy muslin |
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| Layer 5, A very heavy twill weave canvas with fancy tailored fit, grommets and plain weave tapes. |
Layer 6, a very unusual woven stripe. It's a heavy cotton, fabric reminiscent of Ace bandage but not stretchy.
Layer 7. A horrific fur and hair blend felt- Full of sneezes.
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| Layer 8- A flannel nightgown or nightshirt, with machine hem stitching |
Layer 9 and 10, light muslin, tacked and hand stitched to fit.
Layer 11 A very lightweight sheer muslin with overlocked dart. alot of migrating hair from the felt pad below.
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| Layer 12 We may be back to the 1930's here? |
Layer 13 and 14 have become one. Muslin and flannel. This may be the original cover?
There was cotton twill tape and black tacks holding it to the wood.
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| Layer 13 muslin, and 14 flannel, are enmeshed and stained with the wood grain. |
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| the wood |
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| the hooks. Love these! |
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| All the tacks, nails, T-pins |
14 layers. I'm so grateful to have this family heirloom in my life. I use it often.
It is a reminder of the women who gave me so much., life itself, an appreciation for the domestic arts and my interest in textiles.
I remember sitting at Mamie's kitchen table. It was maple. It was summer vacation. It was hot. No air conditioning. The back door was open. There was a funny string with a cotton ball on the end hanging from the top frame of the screen door. There was a constant loud buzz of insects out in the country. I could feel the thick, humid, grassy air getting stuck going into my lungs.
My grandfather was off somewhere. He stunk of citronella and cigarettes. He also used to chew and spit when he was outside. I always wondered why. He used to scare me with his false teeth. I later learned that he was a lead welder in the depression and likely after. He also smoked. He died of lung disease and likely lead poisoning. He gave me a rabbit foot once. I thought it was strange to give a little girl the body part of a dead animal. But it was fuzzy. I liked that. The adults explained to me about it being lucky. I liked that. It went in my special box at home. Later it had worms on it. I didn't like that.
I was about 5. I was bored. The only toy was a red radio flyer wagon. My brother and I sometimes played with the beagle pups that were in cages outside next door. They were being bred for local rabbit and pheasant hunters. Mamie and Pappy had a beagle champion who was aging in a pen that had a tiny door that connected the inside and outside of the garage. I visited him alot. His name was Crocket.
Mamie seemed old but she still went to the moldy smelling basement to do the wash and carried it up the very steep steps and hung the laundry on the line to dry. She cooked big meals and could make a pie in nothing flat by heart without any books. Sometimes she would say- go check the blackberries, here's a bowl. Sometimes she would open a can of blueberries or sour cherries.
But sometimes it was just too quiet.
On this day, she presented me with her button box and a spool of thread and a needle. And then she walked away. I remember my mother lighting up and saying , Oh I used to play with the button box when I was your age!
I felt so intrigued. I dug, I sorted, I imagined, I counted, I grouped, I matched. Finally the stringing happened. It was the type of visual stimulation I would crave for the rest of my life. Of all the memories of early childhood this one is threaded with all the rest of my life. And it is connected to the woman behind the ironing board and my love for pie.
