A one-piece sleeve Balmacaan coat by BURBERRYS, which we date to around the 1950s.
A special piece has come in.
And a rare French-made one at that, cut for women.
Say Burberry and one thinks of Britain. There is no questioning that.
What we have taken in over the years has been almost entirely British-made.
Which is precisely why, standing before a piece with "MADE IN FRANCE" woven into the label inside, I always find myself straightening up a little.
Basingstoke, Hampshire, 1856.
It all began when Thomas Burberry, a draper of twenty-one, opened a small shop.
The question he spent his life trying to answer was a genuinely simple one.
Can a cloth be made that does not let water in, yet does not trap the heat? Waterproofs of the day were largely rubberised, so while the rain was kept out, the inside grew damp with perspiration.
To solve it, he arrived at a method of proofing the yarn before weaving and then weaving it to a high density.
In 1879, gabardine was born.
This cloth went on to become the history of exploration itself.
Amundsen making for the South Pole. Shackleton, nearly lost on the same continent. Alcock and Brown, first to cross the Atlantic non-stop.
The name Burberry appeared on every one of their equipment lists.
In 1901 the brand adopted the equestrian knight.
On the banner, in Latin, "PRORSUM" — forwards.
That single word seems to me to state the character of this company exactly, neither more nor less.
Sewn inside this piece is that very knight, woven in gold thread on a black ground.
"BURBERRYS PARIS", beneath it "LONDON. NEW-YORK", and on the bottom line "MADE IN FRANCE".
A label bearing the names of three cities — London, New York, Paris — is, I think, something like a certificate of the era when Burberry stood most widely open to the world.
That the brand name appears in capitals as "BURBERRYS" also supports a dating of no later than the 1950s.
Now, let us look at the details that define this model.
The collar first.
It gives a different impression from that grand, ample collar of the British-made Balmacaan.
This one is smaller, its corners softly rounded. Restrained, and somehow modest.
That this single point should let the air of France flow into an otherwise identical pattern is a curious thing.
The front is a fly front.
A finish that conceals every button, so that seen from the front the surface reads as a single continuous piece of cloth.
Raising the register not by adding ornament but by removing it. Here, I think, lies the essence of the Balmacaan.
The pockets are hand-warmers, cut on a curve.
British-made Burberry often takes a construction that passes right through to the inside; this piece has ordinary pockets.
The angle at which the hand enters is natural, and the line of the coat is not disturbed.
The sleeves are one-piece.
The seam from shoulder to arm runs as one continuous curve, and no seam sits across the top of the shoulder.
Worn, therefore, the shoulder line falls straight onto your own frame. That round, soft shoulder particular to the Balmacaan is born here.
The silhouette is a clean A-line.
The hem opens generously against the chest, so it sways quietly with every step.
And the lining.
The upper third or so is self-lined — that is, the lining is made from the same cloth as the outside — and from there down it changes to check.
This is not, however, the so-called Burberry check.
On a taupe ground, olive green, terracotta and unbleached lines cross one another in a quieter, more classical check.
The autumnal tone that appears the instant you open that ivory shell makes a beautiful gap against the plain exterior.
As for the composition of the cloth, no content label survives, so I cannot state it with certainty; from the hand I would say it is chiefly polyester, possibly with a little cotton in it.
To the touch, what comes back first is a dry, crisp sensation.
A hard, light response, clearly distinct from the softness of cotton.
Look closely and it is a tightly closed plain weave; caught by the light, a very faint lustre moves through the matte.
It is precisely this body that keeps the A-line from collapsing and lets the hem fall cleanly. Material and pattern are correctly matched in this piece.
And with wear, that body will ease little by little.
When your own roundness has entered the shoulders and elbows and the drape at the hem has softened — that, I think, is when this pattern shows its most beautiful face.
The colour is "ivory".
Not white, not unbleached, but a colour carrying the warmth of cream. Age has laid a slight yellow over it, and it has weathered just about perfectly.
It is because of this plain colour that the gold-embroidered label on black stands out.
The olive and terracotta of the check inside resonate only against this ground.
Open it up and you see clearly that the whole has been designed as a single colour scheme.
An ivory coat gathers light in itself.
Beneath it, black, navy or grey — it makes no difference. If anything, the darker what you wear under it, the more the brightness of this coat will stand.
A knit and trousers, loafers or ballet flats below.
That alone is quite enough, and even with the unadorned pairing of denim and a white shirt, your bearing should change the moment this goes over it.
The pattern is beyond fashion, so you should be wearing it in the same way ten years from now.
There is no size marking, but I should say it corresponds to roughly a Japanese "M to L".
It is cut for women, but the measurements show ample volume, so a slighter gentleman should have no trouble wearing it.
I tried it on myself and found nothing amiss.
The sleeve length is on the shorter side, giving a length that shows the wrist cleanly.
There are marks of use, including soiling and a missing button, but no damage that would affect wearing, so there is plenty of life in it yet.
That it has one-piece sleeves. And that it was made in France.
A Burberry with both of these is, personally, what I consider the summit of coats.
Burberry as a brand is still very much with us worldwide, but production in France has long since ceased.
Add a French hand to the unshakeable honesty of British Burberry and the collar grows smaller, the corners round off, and the whole becomes a degree quieter.
That so different an air can come from the same drawing impresses me every time.
A cloth born for explorers, tailored in Paris, and here with us now, more than seventy years on.
I should be glad to entrust what comes next to its following owner.