Week Seven: Washington's Birthday Party

I’ve got to admit, I’m still having a hard time with Cokesbury’s suggestion that “In many places, [the celebration of George Washington’s Birthday] marks the height of the social season.” So much a hard time that I’m actually going to include a photo of the quote from the page, just to share it with the rest of you to ensure that I’m not delusional.


There are, frighteningly, however, many hints throughout the chapter detailing the intricacies of this party to imply that, indeed, ol’ George’s birthday is indeed a big celebration. Or at least a day around which hatchet- and hatchet-themed items do a brisk business. Behold:

Invitations. [Note: No invitational rhyme this time around. Strange.] Get from the five-and-ten cent store or from the bookstore small cards in the shape of a hatchet. These can be cut out of red cardboard. Write the invitation on these, stating the time and place, and by all means that it will be a costume party.

You read right. A costume party. And you read righter. You’re supposed to go to the five-and-ten or bookstore and, bold as brass, ask for cards in the shape of a hatchet. In an odd way, I suppose, this makes sense, Back then, you couldn’t buy booze at your neighborhood store due to Prohibition, so it made sense that little hatchet-shaped cards would be available at your five-and-ten or bookstore. What else would be a better shape to write out a Valentine to Carrie Nation and her ilk?

Now, on to the costumes:

The ladies will wear kerchiefs and dresses made with tight bodice and full skirts. The skirts should be to the ankles. Hair should be powdered, and the face decorated with black court-plaster patches. Find a picture of a Martha Washington costume and copy it.

The men should wear knee breeches, hose, and slippers with buckles on them. There should be lace ruffles at the coat sleeves.

These costumes need not be elaborate but may be easily improvised.

At first when I read this, I envisioned a piratey eye-patch of the arrr matey variety. But I knew that couldn’t be right, though a certain amount of wishing had me fervently believing our first First Lady was of the Caribbean persuasion. Alas, I discovered, a court plaster patch is something different. According to Infoplease, a court plaster patch is a patch made of silk and “cut into the shape of crescents, stars, circles, diamonds, hearts, crosses; and some even went so far as to patch their face with a coach-and-four, a ship in full sail, a chateau, et cetera.” The patches were made of silk and applied to the face, using a mixture of glycerin and isinglass to do the sticking. Isinglass, for the unaware, is a collagen extract from the swim bladders of Beluga sturgeon. Yes, they used fish snot to stick bits of colored silk to their faces.

If there is an historical connection between Martha Washington and court-plasters, I couldn’t find it. Infoplease tells us the patches were in style during the reigns of Charles I and Queen Anne of England, who ruled in 1625 to 1649 and 1702 to 1714 respectively. Martha Washington wasn’t born until 1731 and reigned as First Lady from 1789 to 1797, so they were hardly contemporaries.

Still, it’s fun to think of forcing your lady acquaintances to attend a party with bits of cloth stuck to their faces with fish goo. Be sure to insist that the patches be historically accurate.

But now that we’re all dressed as either George or Martha, it’s on to another game:

Hatchet Snatch. Line up so that the boys will face the girls. It is better to do this on a floor that is carpeted or at lease have a small rug in the center. A hatchet is made of wood or cardboard (This may be purchased at the five-and-ten-cent store or the bookstore.) Fasten it in something for a base so that it will stand up. The boys are numbered from one to eight or nine. A similar number of girls play. In this game the numbering is from opposite ends, so that the number one would stand opposite to number nine. The leader calls out the number, as “Number Three,” and both numbers three, the boy and the girl, are to try to snatch the hatchet. The leader keeps score – that is, gives a point to the girls every time they snatch the hatchet and a point to the boys every time they get it.

If you think this is the end of hatchet-related hilarity, you’re wrong.

Hatchet Hunt. Have hatchets hidden about the room and the guests look for them. Give a prize to the one who finds the largest number.

Prize suggestion: A hatchet. You seem to have plenty of them.

Chopping Down the Cherry Tree. Players stand in a circle, and the leader stands in the center. The leader has a stick and a hatchet in her hand. She tells the story of the hatchet and of the chopping down of the cherry tree, and as she tells the story each time she says “cherry tree” all players must drop to one knee before the leader can chop three times. The last one down must take the hostess’ place.

Be sure the hatchet-wielder isn’t one of the embittered feminists from the Valentine Party, or it’s likely you’ll have some Lizzie Borden-themed trouble.

To prove to your guests that you’re not completely, hatchetedly insane, suggest at the end that they angage in a lively Virginia Reel. Thanks to the miracle of YouTube, I don’t have to launch into the lengthy explanation Cokesbury gives for this dance – though I do like their suggestion you dance to the tune of “Turkey in the Straw,” or some other similar lively number. Perhaps something by “Men at Work.” Who could it beeee now?




And that’s it. Except for the refreshments, which include cherry pie and coffee. Or, inexplicably, Waldorf salad with mayonnaise and hot chocolate. That makes less sense than the court-plasters.

Tune in next week for the World Tour Party, which is bound to be better than this one. Of course, anything would be better than this one.