page 9

Buy New Zealand Goods
… and Build New Zealand
New Zealand Industries Series
No. 2—Women's Underwear.

By O. N. Gillespie (Rly. Publicity photos.)

It seems a strange transition from ingots and stanchions to filmy fabrics; from angular metal mechanisms to cobwebby frillies of delicate colours; but the way of it is this: in my last article I dealt with the engineering industry of New Zealand. I was startled to find the range and complexity of the things of iron and steel that are made in New Zealand, competently, efficiently, of world parity for value, and in some cases on a scale of Old World magnitude.

Clothing was next on my list, and I received a still greater surprise when I learned the extent of this New Zealand industry. It has as many branches as a well-grown rimu and spreads throughout the length and breadth of New Zealand. The clothing industry, in round figures, has three hundred and fifty establishments, employing twelve thousand people, whose earnings are nearly a millon and half in wages each year. These approximate figures are imposing, and obviously this interesting territory of New Zealand industry had to be divided into provinces. As in my last story, I have chosen four typical plants, situated at Auckland, Palmerston North, and Wellington, and I select for survey in this article the fascinating business of manufacturing women's underwear.

It is clear at once that the problems of the underwear manufactures differ in essentials from those of the engineer. The latter has to make an article that works and wears, and its appearance is subsidiary to the main objective.

In the making of “frillies,” appearance is the first consideration, for fit and design are both part of this factor; but wearing qualities are, of course, also important. However, the first appeal is aesthetic, and the buyers are ruled by fashion, fancy, and taste. Gone are the days when red flannelette was the utilitarian fabric in general use, and when anything homely and comfortable would do in the way of a garment that was out of sight. To-day, modern underclothes are necessities, and, in such a country as New Zealand, form part of the budget of the vast majority of our feminine population. For a mere male, I have been in a strange country, a land of delicate colours, delightful fabrics, brocades and trimmings, laces and graces, dainty designs, a fairyland of silk, gauze, and shimmering tints.

To my surprise I found that the most modern of these pretty things did not come from Paris or Vienna; they were made here in New Zealand, and in some cases, the very stuff from which they were fashioned was woven by intricate machines tended by New Zealanders.

In the last week or two I have seen thousands of expensive-looking garments, representing I know not how many qualms of fear for husbands and fathers. But one piece of sheer truth struck me as worth enunciating at once.

Handling, with genuine pride, a diaphanous affair of pale blue and soft pink, a factory manager said to me: “If this pyjama suit were tabbed ‘Paris’ and priced at four times our rate, it would be rushed.”

In more than one New Zealand establishment I saw the green cover of “Lingerie Elegante,” the sacred book of the underwear designer, published in Vienna. I said to a captain of one of these raiment ships: “Can you make this sort of thing?” and he was almost exasperated. “Of course,” he said sharply. “Every single one—and we can improve on some of them.”

It was a simmering day when we called in at the Silknit factory in Auckland. This is the home of “Maybelle.” My education in the New Zealand underwear industry had a good beginning in the large, modern, airy, manywindowed machine room of this fine place. I saw the replica here of the engineer's template. It is a brown-paper pattern which is placed on the top of a thick mass of fabrics and a cutting machine sheers through the lot, fifty at a time.

page break

The sewing machines are a diverse family; they do 4,500 stitches a minute and perform a variety of miracles. One machine cuts off raw edges and stitches at the same time, making the seam part of the garment itself. The Flatlock machine has extra qualities, and I got a thrill from watching a graceful lily, in embroidery, with leaves, flower and yellow pistil, blossom under a needle in a matter of seconds.

It could not have been painted any more swiftly as the clever girl wrought this witchcraft with her machine. I found out what a picot edge is, and, above all, what is meant by “locknit,” that knitting process which has done away for all time with the “laddering” of cloths. Each individual stitch under this method is looked to the next so that to get a hole, the cloth has to be wrenched apart or bored with some instrument. From the cutting-room, the garments run down a chute to the machine-room, and they make a further descent when assembled and completed, for they dive again to the floor where electric presses put the final touch.

I was keenly interested in the device which threaded the elastic into the hem of garments and noticed that at every wearing point, there was a reinforcement.

As in other establishments, the designers are from overseas and up-to-date innovations are constantly being introduced. I felt, though, in the Silknit factory that there was special attention to faithful making, to New Zealand special needs, and to the genuine cult of beauty.

The lunch-room, with radio and good appointments, was worth seeing, and there are well-equipped cloak rooms, a Red Cross room, and every help to comfort for the large staff.

This spacious, efficient, modern plant is a credit to New Zealand, but its show-room was a revelation. It would be idle for me to attempt to detail the bewildering array of lovely things that hung in rows everywhere What was convincing was the pride and satisfaction of the works manager as he displayed these multi-coloured jewels. “Nothing better in the world,” he said … “only dearer, that's all.”

This notable addition to the possessions of the North Island's largest inland town belongs to R. & W. H. Symington (N.Z.) Ltd., who also have a large factory in Wellington. They also have, by the way, one of the largest works in England (at Market Harborough), two in Victoria, and one in the Irish Free State (at Dundalk).

Northing can possibly be better for New Zealand than the establishment of industrial undertakings in our pleasant provincial centres. All the disadvantages of the crowded city are missing, and in our country, all the amenities of a metropolitan life are present. There is an air about “Libertyland” which is distinctive and in some way is redolent of the countryside. It is a one-storey building, windows on all sides. It is as light inside as out and has no resemblance to the average conception of a factory.

As Symingtons have their great English establishment, they naturally send their specially trained English girls out to New Zealand for the tuition of our feminine workers.

Experts, including designers, are also men of Old World training, so that “Liberty” underwear can come in for no criticisms based on the idea that New Zealand-made articles in some way suffer from inferior craftsmanship, or lack of modernity in fashion.

The next visit was paid to the Lustre works in Wellington.

The familiar names here are Dullbloom, Florette and Velvaray. There are other fancy materials, the importance of which is that they are woven in the company's mills in Australia and New Zealand.

These weaving machines are intensely interesting. The thread comes out wrapped round huge cones. Each one of these carries 65 miles of silk thread, each single thread consisting of still finer filaments, seventy-two in each.

The cones revolve at the top, precisely like a cotton reel on a sewing machine. Underneath, an enormous reel winds slowly and steadily, automatically keeping an even tension as the fabric comes from the actual knitting apparatus.

These mechanical marvels actually make the locknit material, and they have the same uncanny precision of working and the apparent intelligence which we associate with the linotype.

But the star of this factory is the Crochette machine. These are robots in metal.

They will knit a garment in any pattern and they handle a problem like “purl and plain” with uncanny ease and precision. They make all types of vests, panties, beach wear and other distinctively designed underwear. The pattern drums are the sources of this magic. They consist of the replicas in metal of a thousand fingers holding a thousand knitting needles, and they are arranged so that the stitch is changed, a fullness can be inserted, ornamental stitchery added, and the shape followed exactly. Watching these automata at work is full of surprises. The speed gathers, then slows down, gathers again, all at irregular intervals, until one feels that an intelligence must be running the show from somewhere inside the tracery of rods, wheels, revolving drums, and shining “gadgets.”

These machines can make use of any material, all wool, silk and wool, all silk, and so on.

On the manager's table was a cone of New Zealand wool, but this room gave me a new light on the way these problems are tackled in New Zealand. This technician of world-wide experience showed me an attractive vest. He had worn it, and his wife had worn it, for the purpose of effectually testing its washing and other qualities. He explained that experiments in new garments were laden with traps, and constant research, everlasting patience, and persistent ingenuity were needed with each new article.

Still, as he explained, that was the way of progress and the New Zealand Lustre factory was in the van.

Here again was the feeling of outdoors in the well-lit rooms, and the staff lunch-room is a fine specimen of “The Room with a View.” The whole harbour lies before it and, as this was one of Wellington's blue days, it was beautiful indeed.

We took our pictures, said goodbye to the modern electric press, and looked again at the brocaded silks, the lovely things of gossamer, and the sturdier fabrics, and row upon row of exquisite things in tender colours which will one day help in assembling trousseaux and filling the well-known ‘bottom drawer.”

Then we called at the big Abelco factory. This is almost a national institution, and a cause for just pride in all New Zealanders. It is the brain child of a returned soldier with a practical mind, and a breezy personality.

I felt like taking my hat off to Gollin & Co. and Joseph Abel, as I took my leave of this great modern combination of factory and warehouse. Underwear is only one avenue of the spreading activities of this vast concern which uses, literally, millions of yards of British thread in a year, 13 miles of material, and the figures are growing every month.

The plant is a triumph of factory planning. The lighting is uncannily like clear outside daylight, for windows seem to form the walls. The lunchroom, with kitchenette, racks for shoes and slippers, coat hangers, is spacious and comfortable. An electric urn and cooking appliances provide the conveniences for morning tea and luncheon, and the place is always bright with flowers. There is a room set aside for the men, and a further well-appointed rest-room with first-aid outfit.

I was pleased to see kauri tops on the long sewing benches which, by the way, have ample room between the operators. There are adjustable stools and specially designed chairs for each worker, and a good notion is the box for personal belongings.

Tables which have the appearance of a race-track are the sight of the cutting-room. They run the whole length of the factory. Up and down these, scamper cutting machines which perform the most extraordinary feats.

The “Lay” consists as a rule of six inches of material, but the thickness can run to eight inches. Where the materials are of fine quality, very large figures emerge from the measurements of cloth cut at one operation.

For instance, 5,600 garments can be cut from one “Lay,” and the total length of material handled in one cutting can reach nine miles.

The “Du Barry” underwear is well-known, and here again, I spent a delightful hour looking at artistic ranges of tint, material, and design. I made the acquaintance of “Lullaby” cloth, a soft and attractive stuff which takes rainbow colourings.

I was also introduced to cotton “interlock” which is bought by the pound. Again in the capacity of a mere male, I liked the comfortable feel of this material and learned of its absorbent and dyeing qualities.

There is no question that the old vexation of the “laddering” material is over for ever. I shall become wearisome if I mention again the uncanny breed of modern sewing machines which smock, embroider, do perfect scams, sew on buttons and make button holes, all at the rates of thousands each day.

The outstanding feature of all this mechanical activity is its ease of working. Electrical power does the hard work. I shall have to return to Abelco in a later article, but it is comforting to find this sturdy industrial tree growing so quickly and maintaining its distinctive New Zealand character.

I found that the underwear industry was led by men who were primarily artists. Over and over again, these experts handled their delectable exhibits with a genuine fondness, an aesthetic enthusiasm. I believed them when they said that these creations were at least as choice as anything from overseas. They lamented the attitude of mind which imagined that a garment had to journey here from overseas to acquire fashionable qualities. Our New Zealand factories have access to every latest modern design, every quirk of fashion, every new notion, every innovation in material, embroidery, and decorative methods.

Our establishments compete in price now, but as one works manager said bluntly: “Buy more New Zealand underwear, and we'll soon get the prices down.”

To my exceeding comfort I learned that our girls coming from good homes, and working under happy conditions, are developing a superb craftsmanship. Enthusiasm on the part of our feminine purchasers will produce a corresponding response from the folks who work in this pleasant industry. It is to be remembered that we can only get from New Zealand the results of our own work, and we can only make industries successful if we support them heartily.

The New Zealand underwear industry gives value for our money, work for our folks, and artistic satisfaction to the most critical. In other words our “frillies” are in good shape.

page 16