This is my work horse, a Singer 8606, bought in 1993 (in my pre-quilting days) based on the following:
#1: Stretch stitches for sewing on knits
#2: Dual voltage (110/220)
#3: It was the only kind sold in the Army PX while we were stationed there in Berlin, Germany
Recently I attended an advertised 1-day "Overbought and Must Sell" event featuring Singer "School Model" machines. Based on the advertisement, I was hoping to find a machine that could do everything my current machine could not (especially quilting-related features) at a good price. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the motel room and saw this machine sitting on the demonstration table!
I moved out of the utility room as soon as I could, and spread out in the den (created by the previous owners by converting the garage). I've since added a TV & VCR in the corner where the card table sits, as well as a 6-drawer rolling unit to hold my under-one-yard pieces of stash. On the opposite wall stand 3 4-drawer commercial pattern units (those big ones that hold McCalls, Simplicity, or Butterick patterns), which hold my WIPs (Works In Progress), my MEQs (Mind's Eye Quilts--projects I'm collecting for) and all my garment fabrics and patterns.
1937 SINGER Model 128
This machine was found by Steve, abandoned in a cupboard of a long-unused Army mess hall. He brought it home, we cleaned it up and had it serviced, then Steve built a simple replacement knee pedal.
This machine has the cutest little bobbin, shaped like a shuttle. In truth, that was the hardest thing to figure out about our "new" machine: how to thread the bobbin case! It stitches in one direction--forwards--in a nice straight line. When my work horse is "occupied" I'll pull this machine out for piecing quilt blocks or working on other projects.
1908 SINGER, made in Wittenburg (Model unknown)
This was being displayed on the sidewalk outside one of the Singer stores in Berlin, Germany. As near as I could make out, the accompanying sign suggested anyone interested in buying and using it should consult their physician first (?)
All parts are in full working order, and the machine came with several attachments as well. I'll use this machine when I want to sew quietly, without motor noise. It takes a bit of coordination to get the foot pedal going and the wheel turning in the right direction (treadles don't "do" backwards at all well!), but it's a fun way to step back in time and sew as our wealthier foremothers sewed.
Below is a page from the instruction manual, written entirely in old, ornate German. In order to translate it, I had to first write it out in letters I could understand (so the S didn't look like a G, for example) and then translate the German to English. (I mainly wanted to know where to oil the machine.) The background of this webpage also came from the manual.
(For curiosity's sake--the picture you see strategically placed around the treadle machine was set there for identification purposes. These photographs had been taken years ago as proof of ownership in case we were ever in a situation where we had to leave the country suddenly, with our household belongings getting shipped to us later when the political climate improved. I'm happy to say we never were in a situation like that, but an identity packet was required of all military families.)
To celebrate the turn of the Century, the Rio Grande Valley Quilt Guild included a special exhibit in its 2000 show, displaying the various machines used through the ages. I was part of the exhibit, treadling for 2 days in my 1908 period costume. Even when people didn't "get" the dress, they raved about the hat! (All made by me, based on 1908 Sears catalogue fashions.)
On the floor in front of the treadle, I had a sign with the following:
"In the summer of 1900... some medical authorities warned that professional seamstresses were apt to become sexually aroused by the steady rhythm, hour after hour, of the sewing machine's foot pedals. They recommended slipping bromide--which was thought to diminish sexual desire--into the women's drinking water." From "When My Grandmother Was a Child," by Leigh W. Rutledge.
Yes indeed, you can bet I was asked several times if I had my bromide handy!