A German military green denim short jacket, thought to date from around the 1940s.
A truly exceptional piece has come in.
To be honest, I first picked it up believing it to be British battledress.
And yet the more one looks at it, the less the pieces fit together — it is a genuinely puzzling garment.
Allow me to take it in order.
First, the cloth.
This is, without question, the twill the British forces called green denim.
A close-set, heavy cotton, gone astonishingly soft and smooth with age.
Yet open the placket inside, and there you find a series of numerals stamped in black ink.
A notation setting five values one above the other in this way is familiar from German field uniforms of the Second World War period.
Regrettably the figures themselves have faded past reading, but the arrangement alone is unmistakable.
On the opposite side within, only the trace of a label once stitched on remains, in the form of needle marks.
Most likely the mark left by removing the original British label.
And among the buttons at the front are some, apparently French, struck with "EXTRA QUALITÉ".
British cloth, with a German stamp.
Fastened by French buttons, with the British label taken off.
Three countries cohabit within a single garment.
As an explanation, I think the following is the natural reading.
With the fall of France in 1940, vast quantities of British equipment were abandoned on the continent.
Cases of such materiel being requisitioned and reused as cloth are known, and there are records in particular of the Kriegsmarine — and among them U-boat crews — using tunics made from British denim cloth.
I suspect this piece too was made up somewhere within that current.
There is, however, no firm documentation attached to it, so I cannot state it as fact.
What this garment is may well remain a mystery to the end.
Let us look at the construction.
First the collar.
Unlike ordinary battledress, it is made up with lapels that turn back properly. A slightly more elevated neckline, suggestive of an officer's tunic.
And there are no epaulettes at the shoulders.
Without the straps for holding rank insignia, the heaviness particular to military dress has gone out of it entirely.
That one point alone makes it sit astonishingly well within the way we dress today.
At the chest are large flap pockets, one to each side.
A vertical pleat is taken down the centre of each, so that they open out like bellows once filled.
And the finest thing about this piece is the sewing.
Look into the buttonholes.
They are hand-worked, whipped stitch by stitch in cotton thread.
The fineness of the needlework, the faint waver in the line of the edge. There is an expression there that no machine could ever produce.
Beneath the arms, ventilation holes of the chrysanthemum type have been opened.
These are vents for letting heat and sweat escape, so called because the radial whipping around them resembles a chrysanthemum flower.
This too is handwork.
Furthermore, the selvedge of the cloth has been used as it is along the raw edges inside.
The selvedge is the unravelling-proof edge formed at either side of cloth as it comes off the loom.
It is proof that the cloth was cut making full use of the width of the day, and one can read in it the practice of an age that sought to use up a length of cloth without waste.
Honestly, pieces retaining this much evidence of handwork are not numerous.
Amid the material shortages of wartime, with limited cloth and limited equipment, the hand of someone who nonetheless tried to finish it carefully remains here, unmistakably.
As for how it feels to wear, which is what matters — that too is good.
Denim though the cloth is, eighty years of wearing and washing have left it falling with astonishing suppleness.
There is no stiffness whatever; it draws to the shoulders the moment you put it on.
This softness is something only time can give.
The colour is an olive with brown within it.
Not the heavy green so common in military pieces, but a bright, sun-weathered shade of genuine refinement.
It goes with denim, with black trousers, with white trousers.
This breadth of accommodation is, I think, particular to vintage khaki.
The length being extremely short, I would recommend slim trousers to emphasise the vertical line.
Taking what you wear beneath a little longer, so that it shows below the hem, would be interesting too.
There is no size marking, but in Japanese sizing it corresponds roughly to "M ~ L".
The length is cut off above the waist, with room through the body and the armholes.
There is wear — soiling, chafing, loose stitching, small holes — but no significant damage that would affect wearing it, so there is a great deal of life in it yet.
This garment will never be made again.
Not because the skills have been lost, but because the very circumstances that brought such a thing into being must never be repeated.
British cloth, to German specification.
Fastened with French buttons: the tunic of somebody whose name we do not know.
I should like to hand the continuation of this strange garment to someone who will treasure it.