The National Library of Australia's archives come to Flickr

✯ Day 289 of Vintage 365 ✯

As many of you know, I spend a massive lot good amount (yes, let's go with that, shall we ) of time on Flickr, often researching  images and topics to use for Chronically Vintage posts, as well as for my own personal vintage inspiration.

Having been doing so for a few years now, I've become quite familiar with many of the large vintage and antique filled photo streams, some of which I've gazed at every last wonderful image in. While I've by no means exhausted Flickr's trove of vintage photos (not by a long shot!), I absolutely adore it when a new account appears that's chocked full of interesting, lovely vintage images.

Towards the end of September, I was delighted to learn that the National Library of Australia had joined Flickr. Official national archives from countries, governments, and institutions (such as universities) can be incredible sources of vintage photos - not to mention fantastic history lessons, too.

Someone (or a team of folks) down under has been busy as beaver lately, because this new stream already boasts hundreds of photographs, many of which hail from the mid-twentieth century.

Covering topics as divers as Russian Ballet (as seen in the beautiful 1930s image below of an elegant ballerina) and rural Australian life, this is definitely a stream that Australians, history buffs, and vintage photo lovers the world over will want to add as a Flickr contact.



Like many national achieves that chose to take up residency on Flickr, these wonderful Australian photos have the added benefit of being part of the public domain, and thus free of copyright restrictions. This means that you can use them freely for everything from your own website to photo pendant jewelry, scrapbooking, cards, artwork - you name it.

I'm not Australian myself (though I have several good friends who live there), but that's no reason not to enjoy pouring through the fascinating array of yesteryear images excellent national achieves like this one have to offer. These photos are so historically important and thoroughly fun to peer at, especially since many of them include brief write-ups that explain the stories behind them.

Now, if I could only talk the National Achieves of every other country around the world into following the Aussie's lead!

On this very special day in 1930...

✯ Day 287 of Vintage 365 ✯

 

It was a cold morning, whatever remnants of the short-lived summer may have lingered into fall had already disappeared and another seemingly endless winter was beginning to burrow into the once thriving town of Dawson.

In the dim oil lamp light a petite French woman by the name of Marie Lefebvre readied herself to give birth to her ninth and final child. Seven girls and one son had proceeded this babe's birth. Seventeen years of bringing life into the world had taken their toil on the mother's body, but deep inside her soul she was content and eager to meet the little she'd been carrying beneath her apron for three-quarters of a year.

Far away "down south", the world was abuzz with talk and stories of the economic crisis, fortunes lost, families forced to abandon them homes, jobless men trekking the country, desperate for any scrap of work. Up in the Yukon though, in their small hamlet of the north, there was still stability in 1930.

This town, once wild with the glint and fever of cold, had slowed rapidly over the decades since crazy rush of '98 that brought her husband, Charles, north on foot over the gruelling Chilkoot Trail, a thousand pounds of provisions (as mandated by the Mounties) lugged over the treacherous incline, pack load by exhausting pack load, on his strong back.

He was a good man, her Charles Burkhard. With his wavy brown hair, statuesque height, strong - but kind - features, and worker's hands, he lead the large family well, provided for his children, was sweet to her. Though more than twenty years her senior, his face - for all the toil it'd seen - was young, and few noticed the age gap between them.

At 34 years old, she wasn't ancient by any means, but she sensed, in that way mothers inherently do, that this would be her last child, so she took extra care to hold onto the memory of each moment, as the contractions grew stronger, closer, and her breath became heavier.

The birth was a straightforward one, easy and - as much as such things can be - pleasant. Not to anyone's surprise, the child was a girl. Quiet and calm, she cried immediately, nestled against her mother's breast, and slept soundly as the arctic winds waltzed against the wooden walls of the small home above the bakery that the family owned, before it fleeted off to howl through the towering mountains nearby.

Looking down on her tiny infant, Marie pondered a name - something French, perhaps, in a nod to her Quebec linage. Bernice, yes, Bernice. She liked the way it matched the "B" of the family's surname, and that it had a charmingly feminine ring to it.

On this day, 81 years ago precisely, in the snow-locked land of the Yukon,  Bernice Schill (née Burkhard), my maternal grandma was born to loving, hard working parents. She would grow up to be a wife and mother herself, live in three provinces and two continents, deal with tremendous heartache (including the passing of her only son), battle chronic illness, and yet, never lose that sweet, kind disposition her mother saw in her instantly.

 

{My grandma, Bernice Schill, looking so summery and lovely, in an photo taken circa 1950.}

Though it's been a very long time she she last set foot in Dawson - a lifetime ago, really - she still has the spirit of the north in her veins, going strong as her father as he set out from his home in Nebraska for the prospect of gold in the far-flung promise land of the Yukon.

She, my grandma (who has always, adorably, spelled her chosen grandmotherly moniker as "Grannie"), is a venerable, beautiful, wise, tenacious, caring, amazing woman, and on this day, I celebrate every moment of her fascinating life, and each gift and blessing she has bestowed on mine.

From the bottom of my heart, and all of my love, happiest 81st Birthday, Grannie!

On the hunt for a new vintage winter coat

✯ Day 286 of Vintage 365 ✯

 

Upon waking this morning it struck me that I'm ready for cold weather. For nights that get dark before rush hour, for seeing my breath as the bitingly crisp air greets me in the snowy morns, for mugs of cocoa so big, deep, and warm they could double as hot tubs.

It's easy to idealize springs, summer and fall, but winter - with it's endless snow banks, dangerously icy roads, and mandatory layers of clothing can be a lot trickier to wax poetically about. And yet, here in the midst of a lovely autumn, with the memory of a painfully hot summer still seared into my brain, I cannot help but get a little giddy about the positive elements of the winter that lays ahead of us.

One thing I need (desperately) though before we shake hands with Old Man Winter again, is a cold weather coat. I have toppers to see me through the three warmer seasons of the year, but two years ago my beloved winter coat went to the big closet in the sky - or at least it tried it. Not being able to find a suitable substitute, I pushed it for a couple more winters, but (and believe we when I say it pains me to do this) I know it simply must be retired.

A black, full length, incredibly vintage looking (though I believe it was made in the 80s, based on the font used in the tag and the sizing) princess coat that I bought for $100 (a huge sum to me at the time) at one of my favourite consignment stores when I was eighteen and living on my own in Calgary, this coat saw me through winters in two countries and three provinces. It's long past it's prime though, quite threadbare, has been mended more times than I can count, and is no longer to able to keep out the brutal Canadian chill as well as it should.

While I could pop over to the mall and pick up any old modern coat, that's not not how I roll. I know that I won't find the exact same coat I've worn for nearly a decade again, but - as it was, unquestionably, the best and most beautiful winter coat I've ever owned - I'd like to unearth something similar.

The coat needs to be long and (ideally) fitted, fend of the wrath of winter, contain as little wool as possible (as my skin is terribly allergic to wool), and look (if not actually be) wonderfully 1940s or 50s style. Oh, and it absolutely must not break the bank. If if wants to look like the stunning, incomparably glamorous number below, all the better.

{Gorgeous vintage winter coat from the pages of 1957/1958 Fall Winter Montgomery Ward catalog - don't you just adore the silky fur lining? Image via Touch of Retro on Flickr.}

Ok, in reality, gorgeous as it is, I think the 1950s coat above wouldn't quite pass muster on a freezing cold, wildly winding -30C January morning at the bus stop, but if I was in the market for a more swingy (instead of fitted) winter coat in a timeless hue, that would fit the bill rather nicely.

I've made peace with the fact that I won't be able to replace my beloved black princess coat with an exact duplicate, but as winter draws nearer with each jewel toned leaf that tumbles to the ground, I know that I need to step up the pace of my search and find another coat that I'll (hopefully) adore - and get as much wear out of - as much.

With the clock ticking down and snow probably not that terribly far away at this point (this being Canada after all!), I'm off to start trawling the online waters for a new vintage winter coat that will really ensure I'm properly ready to face the next season when it barges onto the scene.

(If you have any favourite sources for vintage outwear, by all means feel free to let me know in the comments.)