A ‘Houndstooth Sports Jacket’ made in Britain, estimated to date from around the 1940s.
Well, this really is an elegant thing. A piece of this age surviving in a pattern this composed is, honestly, not something one comes across often.
Some may take the name ‘sports jacket’ to mean a garment for athletics. It refers, originally, to a coat tailored for British country life — that is, for outdoor pursuits such as shooting and the hunt.
Less formal than the coat of a suit, and yet keeping up a gentleman's appearance. This kind of garment was born to fill that middle ground.
In time, after the war, it settled into place as a casual coat that could be worn in town as well. This piece stands at that point of transition — a genuinely interesting position to occupy.
The clue to its period lies in the front zip.
The slider is stamped "LIGHTNING", from the old fastener maker based in Birmingham. What is more, the zip on this piece is of the single-prong type, a construction of a very early period.
It differs from later mass-produced zips in the very way the metal catches the light, and the weight under the finger when drawn is something else entirely. This point alone tells us that this is a considerably early example.
That the buttonholes at the cuffs have been worked by hand is proof of the same period. The edge of a hole turned and whipped one stitch at a time has an expression quite unlike the uniform work of a machine.
Let us look, in turn, at the details that define the model.
What first draws the eye is the arched seam crossing the chest. Known as an umbrella yoke, it is a make devised to shed rain outwards from the shoulders, as an umbrella does.
It is a design possible only in a coat intended to be worn outdoors, yet the mere presence of that curve brings dimension to the chest and tightens the whole bearing considerably. A fine example of a form born of function turning out, in the end, to be beautiful.
At either side of the waist sit hand-warmer pockets cut vertically. The pattern has been matched exactly across the seam, so at a glance one scarcely notices the pockets are there.
The cuffs fasten with shell-effect buttons. They hold a lustre that shifts through the spectrum as the light turns — a depth plastic could never produce.
And what took hold of me most in this jacket is the lining.
Against a composed black-and-white houndstooth outside, the inside is a buffalo check in "red × navy". By any ordinary reckoning the two ought to quarrel, and yet, curiously, they are in accord.
Worn open, a glimpse of red shows at the turn of the lapel. The charm of that moment is, I think, difficult to convey fully in a photograph.
There is no composition label, so I cannot state it with certainty, but I take it to be a wool cloth with rayon blended in. Taken in the hand it has a fluid fall, and for all its rugged appearance it is surprisingly light. That distinctive handle shared with the American rayon jackets of the day.
The colour is a small-scale houndstooth woven in black and white.
Over it is laid a windowpane check, and looking closely one finds a pale green drawn into those lines. From a distance it appears entirely monotone; step nearer and the colour suddenly rises. This hidden note is thoroughly British, and when I first noticed it I could only sigh with admiration.
The base being monotone, it is a patterned piece that nonetheless refuses no colour. For anyone who would like to bring pattern into their wardrobe while avoiding anything loud, it may be the ideal choice.
Take it monotone throughout with a black roll-neck, or break it down casually over denim. In either case, the red glimpsed at the open lapel will do good work.
There is no size marking, but judging from the measurements I should think it corresponds to a Japanese "S ~ M".
Short in length and compactly composed — the balance of its day. The armholes are cut rather narrow, however, so it is a piece I would particularly recommend to those of slighter build.
There are signs of use — soiling, abrasion, fraying, small holes and tears — but no significant damage that would affect wear, so there is plenty of life left in it.
This cloth could perhaps still be woven today. But a single-prong zip, and buttonholes turned by hand one stitch at a time, no longer hold together within modern production. The labour does not answer to the price.
A jacket someone in Britain slipped on for their day off, eighty years ago. That quiet sense of style remains exactly as it was.
Thrown over a shirt on a slightly cold autumn morning, on the way out. A piece that makes such an unremarkable day a little richer, I think.
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