Medieval Day

More than two years ago I embarked on a mission of sharing with others what I have been learning from my research on medieval furniture. In fact this was the primary reason for me beginning this blog, which is now in its third year. I have been hoping for opportunities to meet others who share my passion for medieval things, and to demonstrate what I have learned. This has been a fruitful year in that regard. Last summer I gave a talk about evidence for tools which no longer exist. A few weeks ago I gave a lecture on a general overview of medieval furniture, and yesterday I was invited to participate in my first ever Medieval Festival which took place at Catholic University in Washington DC. I pitched up in my renaissance outfit because as of yet, I have no medieval gear. Hey, this was my first time ever to encounter a group of real live Middle Ages enthusiasts of any kind. At least I looked good even if not dressed for any of the right centuries!

A couple Hundred Years War era (style) tents lend a good medieval atmosphere
to the festival
I only thought to take a picture of this as everyone was packing up to leave

It was a rather small affair with only a dozen or so demonstrations, and a small audience of 50 or so, but nonetheless it was an enjoyable event. For me, the highlight was a play put on by the Latin and Greek club, which included my new friend who was actually responsible for getting me connected with this event. The play was an English translation of a play written in the 12th century by Vitalis of Blois. (which was an adaptation of a Roman play written by Plautus, in the 3rd century BC) It is a comedy, and quite a good one at that. I would highly recommend everyone to try to read it, but was unable to find any link to it on the web. I was also too engrossed in listening to it to think to take a picture of the performance.

My table set up with a few medieval items as well as a few tools I have made
over the past 15 years

My involvement in the event was part demonstration and part technical presentation. I chose the topic of painted furniture and the way that gesso was usually used before the paint. The discussion centered around the way that, when the gesso is damaged by water, all traces of it and the overlaying paint will disappear, leaving only a plain, raw wooden surface. (The same basic message as my Something is Missing post of a few weeks ago)

Discussing the Middle Ages in a renaissance costume using a computer
and a microphone. This was a hard-core-authentic group

Discussing how gesso is made and used

For my demonstration I wanted to do a little planing but I realised that it would not be good to be doing a 'medieval' demonstration with an 18th century plane, especially since I am keen on dispelling the myth that "planes did not exist before the 14th century". As of Friday, I had no medieval plane, though I have thought many times that I should and would like to make one. I realised that necessity is a great motivator, and so I managed to design, make, decorate, and finish one in less than 10 hours. (and it even worked)

 A new plane made in time for the festival; it is based on existing
4th through 9th century examples
The blade is borrowed from an 18th century style plane I made 12 years ago

I thought the wood was Bradford Pear when I pulled it out of my firewood pile 10 years ago, but since then I have realised it was not, What it actually is, though, I cannot say; it has a lovely curly figure to it.

An example of  a small bone plane

A wooden example; this one with a bit of Migration Period carving
both planes ca 5th-8th century

These two planes have been an inspiration to me since I first saw them; they were the prototypes for my plane which is actually larger then these are, but in the same style.

I do not like copying anything, but I draw heavily on appropriate examples;
this ornament derives from the Book of Kells

Decorative embellishment in the Book of Kells which served as inspiration

Since one of the prototype planes had knot-work ornamentation to it, I felt that that fact gave me license to make my own strap/knot-work design. Believe it or not, working it out on paper and then carving it took as long as the entire process of making the plane in the first place. That knot-work did my head in for a while. I did not get it all correct, but I learned enough doing it that when I do another one it will be much easier. I always have to admire the skill and patience which went into these interlace decorations; if you start to actually study and examine them closely, you will find many of them are mind-boggling!

Demonstrating the new plane

It seems to work. This is actually a smoothing plane
but the table did not lend itself to using it as such

Hopefully this will be the first of many future events of this sort. Vivamus Historia!

Sometimes Hand Tools Are Faster

People are constantly giving me grief about my preference for using hand tools instead of machines for most of the work I do. They are always telling me how much "faster" it is. In most cases they are right, but for me I don't  usually care, and speed is not really my primary goal anyway. I use hand tools because I like using hand tools.

Once in a while, however, I find that hand tools really are faster, as was the case this past week. I was building a new banister for a client but re-using the old moulding from the edge of the stair, under the bull-nosing. Somehow in the removal and clean up process one piece went missing. I spent more than an hour searching for it, but realised the best thing I could do was to just make a new one.

Were I a machine only guy, I would have been completely screwed as no one sells a router bit that has this profile. but because I have and know how to use moulding planes, this was not a problem. I wound up using my modern planes though, because none of my wooden ones had the correct profiles either. The end results were that in 15 minutes I had a replacement moulding of the one which disappeared.

Stanley no 55; sometimes it is a pain to use and I much prefer wooden ones,
but this guy has gotten me out of many jams when I did not have the
correct wooden plane!

Starting with a Record no 778 to plow a rebate

I did not have a cutter to make a single bead but that was not a problem
I just cut off the second one. The hollowing blades are tricky to use on
outside edges.

Finished strip of moulding beside a section of the original

To be fair, just as I made this with three different blades, someone could have also done it with various router bits, but I am sure that process would have taken more time, and certainly would have made a lot more noise and mess! For me there is a joy in using hand tools.

A Mystery Solved

A few years ago as I was studying some pictures from the vitraux de la cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres or, the stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral for those who do not understand French, I came across this picture of two workmen making chests. I was immediately drawn to it for several reasons. The first was because I noticed that one of the craftsmen was using a plane. This window was made at the end of the 12^th century, a time when most people tend to believe the only tool used by furniture makers and carpenters was an axe. I have even read books that postulated the idea that the plane had been “lost” and was only re-invented/discovered in the 13th or 14^th century. Finding this picture, portraying a plane very much like those in use in the 15^th or even the 19^th century adds weight to the idea that the plane never actually “disappeared”.

A scene from an end of the 12th century Chartres Cathedral window.
The workman on the right is clearly using a plane with a front tote,
what is the man on the left using?

Another reason that I was drawn to this picture was because it shows the form of one type of a chest made in that time period, (and for millennia before then) and seems to indicate a degree of ornamentation to the chest as indicated by the parallel lines on the legs and another line below the top. Though the end of the 12^th century is actually “late” in the history of the Middle Ages, most anyone referring to furniture from this period would call it “very early” for the simple fact that almost no furniture from any time before that survives. Finding a good depiction of a piece of furniture from this period, then, is exciting for anyone interested in the history of medieval furniture. Finding a picture depicting the making of that piece of furniture is even more exciting, and rare.

As I studied the picture, I noticed an unfamiliar tool in the hands of the man on the left. Over the weeks and months, after first seeing this image, I pondered the tool, its actual form, and its use. I began to speculate that perhaps it was some sort of moulding shaper; i.e. a type of scratch stock, based on the parallel lines along the edge of the piece he is working. I began to think of how this could be fashioned and how it might function, and even got as far as holding a moulding plane blade at a scraping angle and trying to use it by pulling it towards me. The one thing I had not yet worked out in my mind, was how the tool’s handle might have been attached.

Fast forward a few years, and on the 30^th of November of last year (2015) I read an article posted by Peter Follansbee on his blog about traditional Hungarian chests. In this article, I saw a picture of Mr Tamas Gyenes using a tool to make grooves or rebates on the legs of his chests. I had an instant “aha moment” of recognition. I was busy then, though, and did not have the time to pursue this notion further. This past week, however, I looked up Mr Gyenes’ website and then contacted him about the tool he was using. My suspicion was that it was the very same tool as that pictured in the Chartres window.

A picture of Tamás using the "hornyoló",
this picture made me instantly remember the picture in the Chartres
Cathedral window

The next day I was delighted to receive a reply from Mr Gyenes, expressing equal conviction that the tool was indeed the same in both the window, and that used by the traditional Hungarian chest makers of the Carpathian Valley; the last survivor of which he is. His words were, “Yes, it is true! It’s AMAZING! You are a very good fellow! There is a craftsman depicted on the cathedral’s window who is working with the same tool as me.

There is only 800 years between us...”

Three extremely nice chests crafted by Mr Gyenes, usig
only traditional hand tools and green timber.
Though the decoration is firmly 19th century
the form of the chest is thousands of years old.

He then sent me another more lengthy email a few days later, explaining about the tool and how it works etc. In Hungarian, it is called a hornyoló. It seems that the cathedral window artist even got the detail of the cutter on the tool right, as it is a ‘U’ shaped hook on the end of the tool. By holding this tool with both hands, one on the iron part, the other on the wooden handle, the artist pulls the tool through the wood, repeatedly removing strips as is done with a plane, until the desired depth is achieved. I assume that only skill and practice render straight and accurate rebates, as there is nothing, save the craftsman’s dexterity to guide it.

A close up view in which you can see the curved hook
of the cutter end

Mr Gyenes works with green timber, and apparently that was the tradition as practiced by the makers in the period which he studies. In fact, working green wood was the tie that connected him, and Mr Follansbee in their initial exchange. There seems to have been a tradition of working green wood in the earliest period of American Colonialism. The traditional carpenters of Germany are also known to have worked “green” timber, and even Vitruvius mentioned that the timber should be worked from trees that were felled in the autumn and winter, whilst the sap was down in the wood. One could assume, then, that in medieval times, green wood was also worked, and thus the craftsmen depicted in this window may well have been doing exactly the same work as what Mr Gyenes is doing today; keeping alive a tradition that is actually thousands of years old.

Three views of an antique tool, as provided by Tamás,.
in these pictures you can see how well the window artist
portrayed the important details of the tool.

This chest tomb of 13th century BC origin, comes from the island of Creete
but can now be found in the MET in New York; it clearly represents the
same fundamental design to the chests pictured above.

From St Martin's Church, Hindringham, Norfolk, UK comes this chest
made about the same time as the French window illustration.
According to a note of information on the church in Wikipedia it is "thought
to be one of the oldest chests in England"

Incidentally, Mr Gyenes was completely unaware of the picture in Chartres Cathedral, and so was absolutely delighted to see it and learn that the tool he uses was much older than he had previously been aware of. I was very happy to be able to share such a find with him as well as finding the answer to the mystery which I have pondered for some time. The fundamental design of the type of chests he makes is much wider than the Carpathian valley. Although there are elements of the chests of that region which make pieces from there unique to that place, the general form of that chest can be found in clay coffins of the 13th and 14th century BC Minoan culture. There are also some of these found in the UK and many more from Germany. Doubtless this design is nearly as old as time; I wonder if this humble tool of Mr Gyenes and the one pictures in the cathedral window share an equally lengthy heritage?

Some Interesting Gleanings from "Theophilus"; Part I

A couple weeks ago, in the course of preparing different materials for my box, I picked up my copy of Theophilus to re-acquaint myself with possible medieval methods of faceting and polishing gems. I will be using some semi-precious stones as part of the box decoration, and was trying to think of how they might have been ground and polished in the early Middle Ages. I was right in remembering that he had written on that topic, but wound up reading the entire book again in the process.

At the beginning of the book, in his prologue, Theophilus makes mention of Germany producing "fine work" in many mediums, including "wood" Unfortunately, he does not elabourate on this, but there are a few very finely wrought, surviving wooden artifacts, both sculptural and furniture, which come from Medieval Germany. (Of course the same can be said of Italy, France, Spain, England and the North Countries.)

I have already mentioned, here, his writing about gluing up panels, which also includes the mention of planes; a couple of points of great interest to anyone such as myself, who is both a furniture maker and a student of Medieval History. As I went through the book, I began underlining all the passages that spoke of furniture and furnishings, and methods of applying ornament to those objects. In this blog I will share many of those passages with you; as well as a few of my own thoughts inspired by them,

12th century altar panel in the Vatican Museum
This panel was joined as described by Theophilus in his
De Diversis Atibus. The green arrows point to cracks
in the joins between the individual timbers which make
up the panel as a unit. Notice that not all the joins have
failed, however.

For me, the largest 'nugget' of information is the just-mentioned text about panels, planing, and glue. The book I have, was written/translated by John G. Hawthorn, and Cyril Stanley Smith in 1963 (available from Dover, in the States), but I have also read a couple on-line translations, looking for variations in the text. The on-line version I like best can be found here, I like it, because it has the Latin text to compare the English translation with. This version was written/translated by R Hendrie, in 1847. (the first "modern" version of this work was translated in the late 18th century; it has been a work of interest to historians for a long time.)

I do not want to get into the weeds of technical details of the book, and the issues of dating or authorship, all of which are highly subjective, and disputed, but the core text, as it has been preserved to our day, comes from a couple of mid 12th century copies of the work, as well as a few later copies bound with additional texts from other sources.

I will copy here, the version from my book, because it is the easiest to read, whilst trying to type this. The first part I will share is the much mentioned bit about gluing up panels;

"Chapter 17"

"The individual pieces for altar and door panels are first carefully fitted together with the shaping tool that is used by carpenters and vat-makers. Then they should be stuck together with cheese glue which is made in this way;
       "Cut soft cheese into small pieces and wash it in hot water, in a mortar, with a pestle, repeatedly washing it with water until it comes out clear. Thin the cheese by hand and put it in cold water until it becomes hard. Then it should be rubbed into very small pieces on a smooth wooden board with another piece of wood, and put back into the mortar and pounded carefully with the pestle, and water mixed with quick lime should be added until it becomes as thick as lees. When panels have been glued together with this glue, they stick together so well when they are dry that they cannot be separated by dampness or heat. Afterwards they should be smoothed with an iron planing tool which is curved and sharp on the inside and has two handles so that it can be drawn by hand. Panels, doors, and shields are shaved with this until they become perfectly smooth. Then the panels should be covered with the hide of a horse or an ass or a cow which should have been soaked in water. As soon as the hairs have been scraped off, a little of the water should be wrung out and the hide while still damp should be laid on the panel with the cheese glue."

There is a lot of information in this short bit, but what is interesting to me is the mention of "the iron planing tool" The authors of the version of the book I have, are letting their pre-conceived prejudices about medieval technology get in the way of their translating and put in bracket "i.e., a drawknife" but they obviously  do not know much about planing and joining, or how nearly impossible it would be to join up timbers with a drawknife, nor do they seem to be aware of existing medieval planes and plane illustrations which show that the planes often had two handles. (You can read St Thomas Blog, for a lot more information on medieval planes if you like.)

An early medieval/late antiquity plane made of ivory and iron

It is also worth noting that in order for timbers to be glued together in such a way as to stay glued, they must be absolutely uniformly mated together, as in, no gap between them. The only way to practically achieve this is with a plane. Notice in the first illustration of this post, a 900 year old panel which still has many of its glue joins intact.

Another interesting bit about planing timber can be inferred from a passage in section three, chapter 2, where he is giving instructions on setting up a goldsmith's workshop. Speaking about the workbenches, he states; "The table should be so flat and smooth that any little shavings of gold or silver that fall onto it can be carefully swept up" This sounds like a very different surface from what most people have in their minds when it comes to medieval tables. I even venture to be bold enough to say that these tables would need to either be waxed or varnished, because no matter how smooth they were planed, without a sealer, they would still trap gold filings.

Theophilus actually has a chapter specifically about making exactly that, varnish and coloured varnish, and especially mentions "making doors red" with this oil varnish. Mick Jagger could have even seen his red door in the 12th century apparently.

In later chapters of the first section, following those related to making the glue, (both cheese and hide) he speaks more about gluing and using hide or cloth to cover the timber before adding paint. In Chapter 22 he states that "Horse saddles and eight man carrying chairs, that is , curtained seats, and footstools and other objects which are carved and cannot be covered with leather or cloth", should still be covered with gesso before painting.

An interesting bit that I did not catch in the first couple of reads of this book, was a chapter on making paint with the resin of the "cherry or plum tree". I wonder how that works out? I have not heard of anyone using this method.

Still on the topic of paint, chapter 26 states;

"On wood, you should apply all pigment, whether ground with oil or with gum resin,[the just mentioned fruit-tree resin] three times. When the painting is finished and dried, carry the work into the sun and carefully coat it with the gluten varnish. [oil varnish mentioned above] When the heat begins to make it flow, rub it lightly with your hands. Do this three times, and then leave it until it is thoroughly dried out."

This brings to my mind, images of bright, gaily coloured, glossy painted panels, not the worn out battered bits of objects left to us in museums. As I have said many times before, medieval society loved vibrantly coloured and decorated objects. There are yet more snippets of information in this book to confirm that notion as well.

The third section of this book is the longest and most detailed, and is primarily concerned with the various arts of metalworking. Because of this, many historians believe Theopholis to have been a goldsmith himself. In chapter 72, he is writing about making copper foil and the things that can be done with it, such as punched work, openwork, and other types of sheet-metal decoration, both gilded and silver plate. he then says; 

"Copper plates are also made and engraved and coated with black and scraped. these are then put in a pan containing molten tin so that the scraped places become white, [silver] as if they had been silvered. Painted chairs, stools, and beds are bound with these plates and books of the poor are also ornamented with them."

This passage, to me, is nearly as exciting as the one about glued up panels. Here, he is making a distinction of less costly furniture, but it still obviously quite highly ornamented. He specifies "painted" furniture, to distinguish it from other types, unfortunately, we do not have any full record of what other types there might be, but they would obviously include furniture which was completely covered in, or even made of, gold and/or silver, furniture which was covered with ivory, and dare we think, perhaps, even furniture which was finished with "the gluten called varnish"? He does have a passage in chapter 75 which includes the mention of "precious wood" presumably this would be wood which had a beauty thought highly enough of, to not paint it or cover it with gilt foils.

It is also interesting that he states this type of work being applied to things related to "the poor" perhaps this is a relative term, but he uses it again in another chapter, this time on making foil of gold and silver soldered together. "This work has the appearance of silver that has been gilded on one side... Borders are made out of this sheet and are impressed with a die... Narrow strips are cut from this sheet and they are twisted around silk in spinning. Gold fringes are woven from them in the homes of the poor just as among the rich they are woven of pure gold."

Wow, that sound to me just like the drab grey or brown woolen clothing that is all too often seen in modern "medieval reenactment" scenes! 

Yet another passage of class distinction comes from chapter 92;

"When you have made spurs, bits, and saddle furniture for humble clerics and monks and have filed them smooth, heat them a little and rub them with the horn of an ox, or with goose feathers. For when these are slightly melted with the heat and stick to the iron, they will provide a black colour which is somewhat appropriate for them."

In contrast to this statement is the passage in chapter 78 on gilded or silvered repousse' work;

"Now gild the plates and polish them first with brass wire brushes as above, and then with burnishing tools. Colour it [gold requires some sort of treatment after being heated, to actually give it the 'gold' colour we know], fasten the gold settings, each one in its place, and insert the gems, and fasten the pearls round them. In the same way you can, if your inventory allows, make gold and silver on the books of the gospels and on missals; also animals, small birds, and flowers  [This is a distinction from the saints and angels of which he had been speaking of for the ornament of ecclesiastical furnishings.] on the outside of the riding saddles of matrons."

The last little tantalising allusion to opulence, insofar as furniture is concerned, comes from chapter 95; a short bit on working ivory. 

"Now fashion ivory handles, round or ribbed, and make a hole down the axis, Enlarge the hole with various appropriate files so that the inside is the same shape as the outside and the ivory is even throughout and moderately thin. Around the outside delicately draw little flowers or animals or birds or dragons linked by their necks and tails, pierce the grounds with fine tools and carve with the best and finest workmanship that you can. After doing this, fill the hole inside with a piece of oak covered with gilded copper foil so that the gold can be seen through all the grounds. Then seal up the hole with pieces of the same ivory...so cunningly that no one can see how the gold was inserted."

Unfortunately, he does not go into any detail about what one is meant to do with these "handles", but I like to think perhaps they belong on the doors of cupboards and desks.

A 12th century French capital showing a cabinet
Though this cupboard has no doors, it is likely depicted that way for
technical reasons, and to more easily show the contents of the interior.

In all, this is a fascinating book, and there is much more to be gleaned from it than I have time to share now, but I hope you have found these bits as enlightening and informative as well. As I have said before, the "Dark Ages" were dark because no one bothered to put the lights on; that is what I am trying to do, one blog entry at a time, however.

Videre Scire

Ornamentation for Everything

In today's world, tools and utilitarian items are almost always made as quickly as possible. Part of that process also includes a lack of any sort of ornamentation or decoration. Decorative elements have been absent from tools for so long, and the trends of design have changed so much, that to our modern minds, it would actually be bizarre to see something like a DeWalt electric drill with a dragon formed into the top of the body, but such a thing would have been perfectly ordinary before the 19th century. (The concept, not the electric drill.)

In this post, I wanted to share some tools from bygone days when craftsmen took pride in everything they did, and had a sense of ornamentation completely (and sadly) lost to our generations. This topic was mostly inspired by my best friend, Steffen's recent trip back home to Germany. Whilst there, he took a side trip to Innsbruck Austria. He shared some of his photos with me, and I want to pass them on to you, my readers; adding a little context to go along with them.

Smoothing plane from Southern Germany, ca 1500
From the book; Die Geschichte des Hobels or in English, the
History of the Plane

Almost any wooden plane one finds now is simply a wooden block with a hole in it for the blade and not much else, It may have a line or two scratched onto the side, and perhaps some chamfering to the corners, by way of making the tool look a bit more appealing, or it might have all sorts of "natural" curves added to it as a way to make it more "ergonomic". This is becoming a trend with such tool companies as Veritas, but it is my own personal opinion that no matter how "comfortable" they may feel in the hand, they are down-right ugly to look at.

I much prefer the days of adding carving and figures to tools as a way of making them look beautiful, and at the same time, unique to their creator. We live in a world where a company feels they have to make a few thousand of  something or it is not worth doing. The tools you see below were all one of a kind. Each piece was made by an artist who wished to express his sense of design at the moment he crafted it. This spontaneity of ornament has been almost completely lost now.

Some 17th and 18th century try planes from
Innsbruck

More planes here made of wood, and two of
Iron. 

There has been a lot written about the history of planes, and at this time, I do not intend to add anything to the subject, but if you are interested, you may visit the St Thomas Guild bog, where you will find a lot of terrific research on the topic. As I said, it is my intent in this blog to point out the long history of people taking the time to ornament and decorate items which we would call "ordinary" or "utilitarian". The very definition of these words, in our modern world, means, among other things, not having ornament. Contrary to our modern sense, however, people have been decorating their tools for a very long time, as this small plane from the end of the Migration Period (500-700 AD) shows.

A 7th or 8th century yew plane from northern Germany
(Picture borrowed from St Thomas blog)

I have shown several planes here, but just about anything that people made, used to be ornamented in some way. Below is another picture, also from Innsbruck, which show more woodworking tools. Each of these items has been enhanced by carving or turning in a way that makes them more visually appealing and exhibits the creative spirit of their maker.

A collection of various woodworking tools including turning gouges, a brace,
two irons for making a whole range of moulding, three saws, and a collection
of shoulder knives.

The group of 6 tools on the right-hand side of this picture are known as shoulder Knives. They were used to cut inlay used in intarsia work, such as in this picture below. (also taken from the St Thomas blog). They were also used for carving, such as chip carving and lettering, as the man in the intarsia picture is doing. I have not made one of these tools for myself yet, but do have a very long handled chisel, and can speak from experience to the fact that the extra length of the handle translates into a lot more cutting ability in the wood.

Late 16th century Intarsia panel depicting
the artist using his shoulder knife.

In a world of gadgets and electronic everything, it is my hope to spark a renewed interest in the concept of artistic creativity, connected with meticulous craftsmanship. I hope you too, can find an interest in a way of life in which things are made with deliberate care and passion, and not just knocked out as fast as possible, in order to get the highest monetary return for the time spent on them.

Speaking of meticulous, here is a convenient opportunity to slip another picture of some of the carving I have been doing for my 9th century box which I began working on, and featured in last week's blog. In this picture, I included my thumb because people have not been grasping the scale of things from the other pictures.

Iron faced Planes

Three Iron faced planes which I have made over the past couple
years. One of walnut, which is a panel scraper plane, one of
cherry and one of beach. Each one was made for a specific
project which I was working on at the time I made the planes.
In the background are a couple of my holly rolling pins waiting
for their ends to be carved.

I primarily work with wood, but can be rather handy with metal as well. It is a very different medium to work, but extremely satisfying. As with my furniture, I primarily use hand tools for working metal, too. I do have an electric grinder which is used the way an old hand cranked one would have traditionally been used (anyone have one they would like to donate?) to shape the blades.

This week's posting is to show a type of moulding plane which I have developed from the inspiration of several antique planes and their methods of construction.

There has been a lot written on the web regarding the history of planes, and though I have a few ideas in my head on that topic, at present I have nothing to add to the matter. There is a great deal of good information and some surprising finds at St Thomas Guild.

My planes took their looks from a combination of Continental and English models, their method of construction from some medieval and later planes, and the idea of metal and wood from the 19th century "infill planes" such as this one.

Unmarked mid 19th century English, Rosewood infill plane.
The wedge was missing and I made a replacement from
mahogany about 16 years ago.; the plane works beautifully.

To make my planes I begin with a plate of iron about 300mm long and 75mm wide.

The blank, ready to begin

The first step is to joint the edge square, as they come rather rounded from the mill where I buy them.

The remainder of the steps will be explained in the captions of each picture.

The lower inside edge is chamfered to create the proper 'spring' 
to the plane when it is finished. This is the angle at which it
will be held whilst making the mouldings.

The plate is cut to length. (not sure why this did not happen first)

Using a coarse rasp, the heel is chamfered and rounded.

These two pictures are backwards, but the same
rasp was used to chamfer the top edge and
the toe; In all this took about 1 hour.

Using my trusty early model Stanley #55 to begin shaping the
wooden body for the plane. This will be the negative of the
shape which the plane will produce.

Using a tenon saw, the slot for the wedge is cut. 

The waste is removed with a chisel; a bevel square makes a
great depth gauge to check the work.

The inside face of the plane will have the Continental form;
I like this design because the channel serves as a bit of a handle.

The wood and metal parts will be joined with rivets. I got this idea
from some metal parts riveted to an early 19th century plough
plane which I own. The first step is to mark out the holes with
a punch.

I tried to find some rivets, but have no idea where one would buy
them, so, as usual, I got creative and decided to make some
myself; in the right hands a nail works great for the purpose.

A few minutes with a good file and the nail-head becomes a
rivet-head.

Back to my plate; I drilled and countersunk the previously marked holes.

The two 'halves' were clamped together on a backing block and
the holes were drilled into the wooden body.

This next stage needs more space to explain. All the nails, cum rivets, were inserted from the back and then a metal plate was cramped (Notice they are heavy duty cramps too!) to the plane. In order to make the rivets, the nails must be clipped off with a pliers and then the stub ends are peened over with a hammer to fill up the tapered hole made with the drill.Notice my knee holding the block of wood which supports the plane; the table would not have stood up to all the hammering.

Once all the rivets were peened over, it was time to file off the
access material and flatten the face of the plane. An old auto-
body panel file called a float was used to dress the face down
quickly. This tool works almost like a plane, shaving away until
the piece is flat.

The next step was to address the blade. It was not anything close
to flat, so a lot of heavy sanding was in order. The blade is already
tempered and therefore could not be filed.

Several years ago, whilst operating my Philippine venture, I encountered a couple of fairly good local blacksmiths. These chaps were pretty handy functioning with very simple and rustic working conditions. It amazes me that both in the old days and in less "advanced" civilizations, people seem to be able to do more with less! They had a small fire using locally made charcoal, (not the stuff you use for your barbecue) and a small hand cranked blower which the helper boy turned to get the forge hot enough; their metal, for making tools, came from old lorrie leaf springs. They did have an electric grinder and various thicknesses of wheels to shape the tools. Their primary business was making carving tools and chisels, though they did make some straight plane irons as well. No one in the Philippines seems to have ever seen or used a moulding plane, they either use a router, or they carve it all by hand. The idea of a plane that made moulding was quite a novelty to them; the smith had a hard time grasping the idea of the blades as well. His results, even though I gave him a sample to follow, was to make one that would have been well suited for a giant's plane; they were way too long in both directions.

To get the length right, I used an angle grinder and scored it
to the approximate length needed.

A shifting spanner and the vice made the second half go a lot
faster than the first half of the cutting process.

A little rotary grinder made good work of cutting the profile.

Re-sawing a piece to make the wedge.

A bit of linseed oil and, hey, we have a finished plane...and
it works!

The face of the plane and the profile it cuts.

The inspiration for the wedge came from an illustration in one of Roubo's plates from his L'Art du Menuisier . In his version, the 'beak' sticks off to the side, but it seemed to me like a great idea if used in conjunction with a curved shaped piece to prise it out. It works much better than hammering on the plane, or a block of wood, or clamping the wedge in the vice, or any other number of ways people have come up with to knock the wedge loose.

Not a very good picture, but this was
the source of my inspiration.

So far I have made three of these planes, and I really enjoy doing so; they also work great. The metal face gives them a nice heft, and they go through just about anything without trouble. I used this latest plane to do the outside corners of some maple table legs; the little tear-out there was took only light sanding with 220 grit to remove.

This is the official end of this post, but as a bonus, here is a picture of an hanging cabinet which is trying to get finished. The carving is 17th century English style; the wood is elm.

A bit of carving and some veneer work I got done last week.