Made to measure Jews who tailored a revolution
IN THE middle of the last century there was no British man, other than Winston Churchill, with a name better known than Montague Burton. On more than 600 shop facades in prime sites in every town in England, in big white letters against a black background, was “Burton” — and tucked into a curl on the giant initial B, “Montague”.
He became part of the language, deservedly so. He made it possible, almost mandatory, for the British working man to have a decent suit that looked neat and fitted, a not-so-small social revolution. He wasn’t alone. There were, among others, Hepworths and Fifty Shilling Tailors (which later became John Collier “the window to watch”). All of them had big factories, all in Leeds but Burton — initially the “thirty shilling tailor” — was by far the biggest.
Born Meshe David Osinsky in Lithuania in 1885, Montague Burton came to England in 1900 and, after trading for a couple of years as a pedlar, opened his first shop in Chesterfield selling ready-to-wear bought from wholesalers before moving on to made-to-measure where, as some readers will remember, you went into Burton’s, chose your material, were measured up, then waited a month for your suit to arrive from the factory. “Deposit with order, cash before delivery, no discount” said the notice in the shop.
He was an observant Jew. He had a daily maariv service in his factory. In 1939 he received a message from his general manager telling him that antisemites were scratching “Jew” on the windows of some of his shops. Burton replied that he would have relished the opportunity to add “and proud of it.” He was a member of the small community in Harrogate, the beautiful spa town near Leeds, which he loved. Though a keen Zionist, when he and his wife died in the 1950s they were buried in the Leeds cemetery in lead coffins so that they could later be transported, not to Israel, but to the yet-to-beopened Jewish cemetery in Harrogate, where they now lie.
Montague Burton looms large in an extremely enjoyable new exhibition at London’s Jewish Museum about Jews and men’s fashion. It’s called Moses, Mods and Mr Fish.
Some may be perplexed by the title. We know what Mods were and we’ll come on to Mr Fish but what’s this with Moses? Jews have been involved in clothing throughout history. The first mention comes as early as Genesis chapter 37 when Jacob gives his son Joseph a coat of many colours (probably two sizes too big so he could grow into it). But nobody ever said Moses was much of a dresser or clothier. There’s no record of him flogging waterproofs at the Red Sea and nothing about fashion in the 10 commandments — no “thou shalt not wear trainers if you’re over 25, except for playing sport” (though there should be).
It turns out the Moses in question is E Moses and Son of Aldgate, east London, pioneers who, from a start early in the 19th century, were revolutionising the marketing of men’s fashion, though we should also make a nod towards Moses Moss, founder of Moss Bros in 1851 and, since 1897, hirers of formal wear, the making of many a simchah. Before he changed his name he was Moses Moses (so good they named him twice).
The industrial revolution, the movement of population into the cities and the development of mass society offered a far bigger and more accessible market for new clothes provided the price was affordable.
Volume selling at low prices became the order of the day. The Moseses and their in-laws the Hyams were leaders of that trade. Together, they presided over the off-the-peg and made-to-measure markets, with their flair for advertising and opening grand emporia that were a treat to visit — what today is known as “destination shopping.” They advertised widely and vividly and were not averse to a verse, even a bad one.
That it was Jews who revolutionised the clothing trade was only natural. For many reasons — kashrut, opportunity and exclusion — we had always been in the business. Because of the laws of shatnez (prohibition against garments mixing wool and linen) Jews had to be involved in providing clothes for Jews; because of exclusion from many other trades, clothing became one of a limited number of businesses they could do; and because in various countries Jews were historically forbidden from making new garments, they traded in old ones.
Many,arrivingherepenniless,eked out a living as pedlars. In the late 18thandearly19thcenturytherewasmuch negativecommentaboutthesight andsoundof Jewssellingoldclothes inthestreetsof Londonandother citiestotheEnglishpoorwhocould neverdreamof affordinganything new. This was literally the rag trade.
With the great influx from Eastern Europe into London’s East End at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th, there was an explosion of Jewish clothes-making. It was how the majority made a (mostly poor) living, generally in
Volume selling at low prices became the order of the day