Whaling: however you look at it, modern sensibilities tell us it's a bad thing. In the 18thC, smaller populations and lack of technology meant it was only possible to hunt something to extinction within a restricted habitat, like the British wolf and the Dodo. The vastness of the oceans equated to an endless bounty in the 18thC consciousness, as well as an otherness that could not be conquered. Whaling was regarded as a perilous occupation, and whatever we now think about the industry, it takes a hard heart not to admire the courage of the men who pursued it, often at the cost of their own lives.

The whale oil industry is most often cited at the reason for hunting whales in the 18thC. Whale oil was highly prized for lamp oil, and beauty products, as well as perfumes and industrial uses (it is an excellent fine oil for lubricating the metal parts of small machinery). However, it is a little known fact that for most of the century, the trade in whalebone provided more than half of the whaling industry's income. Whalebone was the preferred material used for stiffening corsets, stays and trusses. This post looks at just how highly Georgian London valued a good corset.

The whale most commonly landed during the 18thC was the Greenland Right whale; up to 80 feet in length and frequently weighing over 100 tons, it was a formidable opponent. Whales were still learning about the dangers of man at this proud moment in our history and so did not flee upon sight of a ship. When the whaling ship sighted its prey, six small boats of around six men each were launched and rowed out to the whale where it cruised on the surface. It was harpooned by the lead boat, with the other boats rapidly attaching their lines once it was determined the harpoon was secure. Should the whale choose to dive, and was of sufficient size, strength or terror, it would take the lead boat with it. For some reason, this happened less often than one might imagine, but the whales did drag the boats along the surface. As it did so, the men launched further harpoons, or lanced the whale to increase blood loss. In most cases it appears the whale simply gave up, and lay in a confused and frightened state until it bled out, kept afloat by its blubber and lungs. The men would then wait with the carcass until the whaling ship caught up with them. They might be miles away, freeing cold, wet and possibly in the dark if the chase had gone on for some hours. When reunited, the whale's body was bound to the side of the ship and the stripping began. Whale blubber was removed in large pieces and packed in ice in the ship's hull. The most skilled workers were sent up to the head to remove the baleen.

The jaw of the Right Whale is up to 18ft long, about 12ft high and 8ft wide. It is lined with baleen plates, the ones at the front being the same height as the jaw (the largest recorded up to 15ft) and more than a foot wide, but only half an inch thick. The interior of the baleen is lined with coarse hairs to filter the plankton the whale feeds upon. These plates were removed by men with specialist tools. Any damage such as nicks, cuts or cracks seriously affected the value. The baleen to oil ratio of any catch was reckoned at about 1:20, but with over half the income coming from the baleen, it was the prized asset. It was carefully packed for the journey home.

The whaling ships pitched up as close to the City of London as they could, where the main warehouses, dealers and shops were between Three Cranes Wharf and Throgmorton Street. The dealers descended upon the ships and examined the catch, then the whalebone was removed for processing. Whalebone processors are often dismissed as low-skill workers. This seems unlikely, given the value of their raw material, and that there are men whose occupations were solely to make the extremely sharp stripping, cutting and finishing tools for the whalebone industry. The bones were cut to standard lengths, and could be further finished by the stay-makers by trimming, steaming and shaping. The Throgmorton Street area was known for its 'Bone-Shops' where bundles of expensive whalebone could be purchased.

Stay-making was a complex job, and required both men and women to run a successful shop. A new set of stays was an investment, and a woman would only make that investment about once every three years, although maintenance was ongoing. She would attend the stay-maker's shop, where she would be measured, in her shift, by the stay-maker. She could request the presence of a lady, or that the lady did the measuring, if she wanted to. She would then sit and discuss the shape she wanted with the stay-maker. She might show him a print, or a portrait, or describe an actress or new fashion. The basic pattern for stays is much the same throughout the first three quarters of the 18thC, until they become shorter towards 1800. The stays of most ordinary women were sewn by seamstresses, who fashioned them from brown linen and stitched them with packthread (and extremely strong thread, about the gauge of heavy nylon thread for a sewing machine). When the basic shape was constructed to the required measurements, the stay-maker would drawn out the lines for the channels in which the whalebone would sit. He would then steam and set the whalebone into the required shapes, accommodating the flare of the hips or achieving the rounded waist look, and the seamstress would sew the channels. To give an idea of the strength of the garment, and the whalebone, it was deemed impossible for a woman to 'stuff a corset', as female hands are simply not strong enough to force the bone into the channels. The customer returned and the fit was tried. If it was suitable, she would choose materials both to cover and to line the stays. Less well-off women did not have them covered, only lined. The lining was usually light linen, often doubled on day-wear and tacked in, so that it could be replaced at regular intervals. Stays would lace at either the front or the back; no good having a back-lacer if you were a confirmed spinster with no one to help you in or out of it.

Breaking in a new pair of stays was a big job, and another of the reasons women preferred to keep the same pair and have them re-lined regularly. New orders were relished by the stay-makers, but maintenance provided a large part of their income. They made alterations for weight gain/loss and pregnancy, as well as for growing girls and changes in fashion. Extant diaries belonging to stay-makers show their high regard and close confidences with their female customers, who clearly trusted their integrity and talent. They discussed the pretty materials that would make the best show and match an existing wardrobe. In their new whalebone stays, their whale ambergris-fixed scent, and their whale spermaceti lip-gloss the ladies of Georgian London must have looked a 100 guineas.

Outside fetishism, there is no modern equivalent to an 18thC stay-maker and this is a shame. A greater shame is that whaling did not die out with corsetry.

For the bones of this article, I am greatly indebted to the pioneering scholarship of Lynn Sorge-English.