Being an account of a Galoot's trip to the port of Briftol, and his converfion from ufer to collector, with afforted mufings and ramblings concerning the old eftablished firm of John Harvey and fons, and the wondrous iron ship, the Great Britain.
Thofe of nervous difposition, bored already, or short of time, - fkip to the fignature for a fummary.
It was early autumn when the call appeared. Innocent enough, the plain brown envelope was the result of sending five guineas to the proprietor of a certain Limited company known as Bristol Design, domiciled in the city of that name. The envelope contained a small booklet, listing once-new tools that were for sale. By the time that enquiries could be made by telling-phone, the Proprietor, Mr Charles Stirling, an affable gentleman, was apologetic at having already sold the items which were at once desireable and affordable. A lull ensued.
Five guineas is a subscription price, and so when a further envelope arrived containing another list with full colour pictures of new bronze planes, and stating that parts at all stages of completion could be purchased separately it was evident that an "Expedition" must be arranged. In these days of living and working 600 miles from home,an Expedition cannot be arranged without adequate notice, planning and aforethought. It requires the consent of diverse members of the family, and a ridiculous amount of diary synchronisation.
It nearly took place at the tail end of the Christmas holidays. It didn't, but the seed was sown with the right people, so it came about that in the middle of January I found myself with a permit to visit Bristol and spend time in an old tools shop. The younger members of the family were adamant that they did not want to go with Dad on one of his weird visits. So it was, that SWMBO and I found ourselves driving down the M5, destination - iron.
We found the shop without any difficulty due to the excellent map provided on the leaflet. Bristol is a hilly City, and we parked on a hillside cobbled road side a short way from the shop. The surrounding buildings spoke eloquently of times gone by, with the flagstoned footpath six feet above the road and the drunken looking cottages facing across to a solid almhouse, or perhaps it was a burghers residence behind iron railings opposite. Our route on foot back to the shop took us down the hill on the flagstone pathway. The quirky footpath ignored the road, and led into the outer yard of a Church, Saint Michael on the Mount and All Angels Without. We could not discover what it was that it was without. Oddly, we were now well above the roadway, with a view across the city centre and docks area which could have come from Dickens. The path became a flagged area which curved around the railings of the churchayard. Were we in a dead end? No, down a flight of worn stone steps, which disgorged us into another road, cross the road, into a narrow and delightfully angular ginnel and down some more worn stone steps, this time onto a pavement, and our global positioning system (me!) said that we were very close. Rust was in the air, and like a hound on a scent we stopped and scanned right, left... aha. Five yards past the ginnel exit a suitably ancient looking shop front declared itself to be Bristol Design Limited. We were definitely entering a time portal.
SWMBO was not looking impressed. We entered, and were surrounded by a dusty feast of old tools and parts of dusty old tools and dust. Christine's first words were "I think I'll get a coffee, where is the nearest coffee shop?". The lady behind the counter obligingly directed Christine to a nearby cafe, and pausing only to remove my credit cards, she left, promising to return in one hour, when the parking meter time would have elapsed.
My old tools fund is now held in cash (hehehe!) so the credit card embargo wasn't a problem. I began to look around. Christine was right about the dust, but the lady (I'll call her Freda, for I foolishly neglected to ask her name) told me that they had just had a new floor put in at the back. She had in fact just been dusting some of the tools. The shop is layed out on traditional lines. Imagine yourself back on the pavement for a moment. The doorway is to your left, a plate galss window at the right. As you approach, you see that the entrance forms a tiny porch, what is or was the doorway to the living quarters in times gone by faces youand the door to the shop opens on your right as you step in from the pavement.
Suddenly, you are standing on a tiny bit of clear floor surrounded by tools which cover shelves up to the ceiling. A moment or two before the eye begins to distinguish detail. Almost hidden behind what seems to be a mountain of tools, but is really a laden counter, Freda is sitting sketching. (I'll call her Freda, for I foolishly neglected to ask her name) In front of the counter, a tiered set boxes holding chisels and oddments, above the counter, a shelf with an assortment of smoothers, including the first Millers Falls plane I've handled. On the wall beside the door, sitting on a dark blue cloth, are some tiny squares, a couple of thumb planes, machinist stuff. Behind the counter, more shelve4s, this time with a bronze collection, old and new, mainly the new planes produced by Bristol Design. In the centre of the shop a fixture laden with more assorted goodies.
The shop and its contents are a match. You couldn't consider a shopfull of this kind of stock in new premises.
Down to business, I had e-mailed ahead to ask about number eights, and so on introducing myself, a round half dozen were produced. High knobs, Low knobs, eventually I selected one which was in need of a session of love and care. For 49 pounds sterling, I brought away a chipped tote, body which looks as though it recently suffered a bad attack of angle grinder or wire wheel, and complete with two holes through the sole which mutely and sadly testified to an absent user fence. It spoke to me. It said "I was once crisp and new, but no longer. With care to the body, a new tote bespoked to my grip, new blade, attention from a file, and some overall polishing and waxing I can do my job of jointing once more." How could I resist? It's certainly not lovely (yet) but I *am* a *user* and not a colle*tor.
I hadn't long, only an hour, and so much to see. Blades were on my shopping list, so I was directed to what had been the hallway of the living quarters. Now a very dusty corridor lined once again with shelves to the ceiling. Narrow shelves these, only a few inches on one side, holding new old plane irons. Racks of them - all pleasantly covered in dust, grease, and rust. Just say (TM) there are blades to suit all requirements. There is also a wondrous selection of new carving tools and chisels which are produced by Bristol Design. In appearance at least, they looked superlative. Also out of place amongst the wall to wall old tools. The same rows of shelves held castings for the range of bronze planes, and these also came in for close scrutiny. They are sand castings to a good standard, and I toyed with buying a wedge and a set for a mitre plane, but I have much else to do before I could work with them.
Pushing further into the interior I cama across ranks of moulding planes, but could you believe that I passed them by? So much to see, so little time.
I remembered I had a wooden router being held for collection, and whilst Freda was looking for this, I happened across another smaller wooden router which said very clearly "Take me Home!", so I did. I think I just became a collector. Some old blades also came home, and so did that larger original mahogany router.
The completed and polished bronze planes which are on display are certainly worth drooling over, but I'm determined on doing some planemaking of my own in steel, so my attention was caught by the shoulder planes at the rear of the shop, and it was whilst I was examining a Record 73 which had a small chip at the mouth that Charles Stirling appeared. "There's another one in the back." he announced, and conducted me behind the counter to the stairwell.
More shelves! This time a ladder was available, and up I went. A veritable nest of crispy old iron. It was as though they were roosting near the ceiling. After some fondling, and another trip up the ladder to examine more shelves, a Record 73 was added to the growing collection - oops, I mean ‘assemblage' .... on the countertop.
By the time Christine appeared, Charles and I were in conversation, I had been through the beat up stuff, and I was handling the prize, expensive Norton, Spiers etc smoothers and panel planes, sorry not to have the budget for one. The new planes came out from the cupboard - now they *are* something. Solid and with plenty of heft, fitted with a Norris type adjuster, and filled with some very tasty timber.
Christine had returned, but before being dragged away I snagged a very cheap No 4 1/2 (also needs care and a tote) and ended by leaving my copy of the St. James Bay brochure with Charles for study. It was said that Bristol Design castings had been used as patterns for the St James product line, which, considering the similarities of product line and appearance, seems possible. I have no axe to grind, I merely report the comment.
Time for the promised splendid lunch (as thanks for coming). A short period of geographical inexactitude followed, concluded by parking before the uassuming premises of John Harvey & Sons, wine importers, and inventors of the Bristol Cream blend of sherry.
A restaurant was mentioned, so we went into and through the wine shop (*very* tasteful!) to the museum beyond. What has this to do with the oldtools charter? Well, below ground, through winding anciente passages is the story of Briftol Cream, and a complete set of coopers tools, with a stuffed cooper holding a plane. The tools are in absolutely spiffy condition. I handled some I could reach - (naughty?) A most excellent curved bottomed plane for putting the ridge inside the barrel staves, and just about everything you might need to start up in business. The stuffed cooper evidently wasn't a collector though - he only had one of anything.
The inside of a (17th Century) pub has been recreated, with equally excellent quality furniture. Nothing ostentatious, just very, very high quality antiques. Oh, there were a load of unique glasses from 16xx onwards too. And that's where I acquired the curious fpelling of wordf with ff's. (They're not really f's - they are vertically enhanced s's)
That was unexpected - included a generous glassful of the product too, but still no lunch, so on to the next appointment - the SS Great Britain, first Iron Ship. In the ‘Heritage Centre' of which is a display of boat building. A touch superficial, but worthy of record after the recent thread on adzes, as the stuffed adze weilding galoot was shaping a *very* large knee in prototype fashion, with the adze aimed for a point about at ankle level, with the knee propped and wedged. The Great Britain's woodwork is all new, and merely hints at what once was, the only galootish interest being in the final working mainmast, which is laid alongside, and therefore affords a view of the cross section. Four trees, squared off and (probably) cog jointed together to give a square section, then more trees attached to give the round section to each face. The whole having iron bands top and bottom. I couldn't find signs of any pegs through the layers of paint.
Finally, for those who may be wondering, I treated the woman I love and spend so much time away from to a stylish lunch in a quayside caff, redolent of split PVC seats, and with a pervasive ‘chips with everything' aroma. (That's ‘fries' for ‘muricans)
So, next day the toolchests had a spring clean to make room for some new iron, during which I found a number of tools I had forgot. Some new files, a new spare blade for my 4 1/2. A couple of cabinet scrapers.... All I have to do is a complete tune and rebuild on the new bench planes. My but I'm looking forward to ‘using' the 73 though.
Charles Stirling can be reached at 10010.1433@compuserve.com.
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