A Short Story
I know of a wooden plough plane that has been in use for a hundred years if not more, and has never rested from being used for ploughing and creating grooves in every kind of wood, with curvy shavings like springs of wood spilling from its throat. The man that used it last left this earth a long time ago, and everyone who knew him through those years has also died and left the benches where they were in the workshops as an unfinished work in progress because the story can’t be finished.
Most things of an important nature, like a plough plane left unused on a workbench, have you noticed, lack a certain look of completion? A lack of neatness even, as though there is more yet to do. More enjoyably good though, anyway, if you think about it, is to remember that man using the plough plane bathed in the pleasure of still using the plough plane throughout his long life making as if 250 seasons came and went in his making using that one plane year in year out and no one noticed but him. One would likely say that he was a manual workman and of a simple way yet made contented by his simply using a simple tool. I think that was true. And more than once, in my long life, I have enjoyed being a man just like him.
Lovely sentiment Paul. I have a similar plane that belonged to my grandfather and I hope to use it in a project soon.
I have a similar plane and a set of blades for it, but I haven’t used it because the threads on the fence posts are worn out near the body — reading this just gave me the idea of building out the fence so that the threads will engage again; other than the threads, the tool looks to be in good shape. I believe it is made of beech wood (though I may be wrong), and I have been taking pieces of beech firewood from my woodpile and turning them into blocks, using scrub planes, a #5 1/2 Stanley, and # 4 Stanley– and an old 8 point rip saw to accomplish the transformation. The though of using some of that wood to build out the fence has me really excited!
Thank you, as always, Paul, for sharing your memories and experiences with us all.
This is your most poetic writing. Very poignant.
Hi Paul, that’s a cool story, big part of why I enjoy old tools. I was just wiping down all my planes and thinking about what those old workshops and people were like. I’ll always read anything you write on that topic.
Hear, hear.
So, who’s the maker in the end?
I bet this plane can answer, if one knows how to speak its language. 😉
I may have spoken of this previously so if a have, forgive me, it’s an age thing.
I sadly inherited some tools from a friend who is obviously no longer with us. One of which Paul is a wooden bodied plane, it looks newish, definitely not as you speak of above. My query is that it looks like a scrub plane but the blade/cutting edge is straight, no curve?
Is it that when purchasing this type of plane you have to shape/contour the blade yourself?
Thank as always for you help and expertise is leading us all along the pleasure road of woodwork.
Pete
Very nice Paul. And while you focused on the beloved plane and workbench, there is a similar affinity for those of us in the “Old Arn” family.
I have a machine that was built before the turn of the last century, when it was known by a different name, the “buzz planer”. Now, it would be called a jointer.
When I look at its massive castings, I remember seeing it up close for the first time, when my wife, who reluctantly came with me to northern New Hampshire, near the Vermont/NH border, put her hand on the infeed table and said, “What stories this could tell us! We must give it a good home!” I remember coming back with the pickup to have it loaded in the back by the seller’s son, using his tractor bucket. When I got home, my son helped me take it apart to manageable pieces to unload and store.
Old Arn, like old hand tools and benches, are our legacy of a time in the past when craftsmen and designers showed their pride in their work. They worked long hours to not just make, but make beautiful. It is incumbent on us to carry their torch, and to restore and put their products back to their intended use. Not as ornaments, but functioning pieces of the past that if we do not preserve, will be lost forever.
I’m to a custodian for the tools upon my bench
Each bearing the names of the men stood before me
Sharing there passion for this wonderful craft
You are the workmate I will never meet Paul
But truly a joy to have you work with me
All best Andrew
Nicely said Paul. There is certainly a silent relationship I have with the tools I actually use. At one point, I build a tool chest to take to classes. I ended up buying an independent set of tools to fill it. Several years on, I have realized this was foolish. Not because having back up tools is a bad idea. However, if I do take a class, I actually want to bring my daily used tools as they are the special ones. Not special because of their expense. Special because I use them and they “talk” to me when in use. Using the other set of tools would be as if I swapped out my dog for another one on a daily walk. As such, I will need to build a third tool box for when I take a remote class. I’m kind of excited about the prospect of these tools having their own special travel box.
I’ve often had similar thoughts, Paul; thanks for putting them into print. There’s somehow a deep sense of satisfaction in picking up my old wooden jointer and seeing the previous owner’s name on it and his finger-marks etched into the patina of the handle and toe. I would never, ever, remove either.
My old wedge-stem plough was first owned by an Essex wheelwright born in 1785, who died in 1850 and passed everything to his son. It’s battered beyond belief and has no maker’s name, but it still creates grooves as well as it ever did.
200 years! How can you not hold in reverence the men who made and used tools like that?
That reminds me of my grandfather that died in 1940. I never knew him as I was born a few years after. I inherited his tools and used his #45 plane last night ploughing grooves in the set of drawers I am making. I often wonder what he would say if he saw me making things with it. I sometimes say as I work, “Thanks grandpa for the use of your tools.” I would like to think that he gets the message.
“Incomplete”
We long for completion. This, despite not having seen anyone achieve it. Inevitably, death interrupts, catching us before completion.
Some of what is left undone may be picked up and carried on by others, perhaps not to finish it, but to be faithful to it and pass it on to others. Think of the myriad of great-great-grand-craftspeople that Paul Sellers will surely have in 100 years.
Sadly, though, what is left undone more often remains undone.
Yet, we still long. Is it possible that the longing exists because the completion, even though future, exists?
Seems worth hoping for.
This brings to mind a poem by DH Lawrence, and I think it could also simply apply to some of the tools and the characters who used them.
“Things men have made with wakened hands, and put soft life into
are awake through years with transferred touch, and go on glowing
for long years.
And for this reason, some old things are lovely
warm still with the life of forgotten men who made them.”
― D.H. Lawrence
Non ho parale per descrivere la sua grandre capacita’ , proffessionalita, ….seguo i suoi eccezzinali tutorial , sono molto dispiaciuto di non conoscere la lingna INGLESE , non e possibile , una verione Italiana , un abbraccio Donato .
Thank you Paul for this poetic story. It touched me quit deeply. Will remember it for sure once I am back at my bench using my older, vintage hand tools.
Take care,
Jan
Hi, Paul!
I recently acquired a nice Greenfield ploughing plane. It was missing the blades and I was lucky enough to find a full set of Greenfield “snicked” blades on Enay!
My question is on sharpening: what is the best shape? Flat bevel, hollow ground, or curved/rounded similar to how you do your chisel and plane blades?
Greatly enjoy your teaching and writings!
Thank you!
Don
As long as you start out at 30-degrees and remain the same or drop away towards the heel it will be great no matter what after that initial 30. cambers are always best in my book. Foat is fine and I never hollow grind because I find grinders an unnecessary step in the process of sharpening pretty much altogether.
Dear Paul,
Thank you, for many things, but also for the way you bring old and unnoticed things from a craft’s and personal history to our awareness.
As of late I have had several experiences where I noticed I don’t know a lot about my family’s history and workings. Your blogs being an addition to those experiences. It has caused me to become more aware, to have different conversations with others such as my parents and children. And I’ve discovered that someone wrote a book about the war periods in which some of my family members’ stories pass by, which I’ve acquired. I really enjoy surrounding myself more with these objects of history – old tools being a part of that too. I feel that becoming more connected to what was can also renew a deep feeling of respect for our surroundings and old ways, which to me is a reminder to be a guardian of those ways into the future when I can.
Just wanted to share the above, I hope your blogs inspire others in a similar vein.
Kind regards from the Netherlands,
Tim
Hello Paul. Thank you for this story of old days and old ways, which for so many of us brings a richness and the desire to pick up those old woodworking tools, and help them live again. Reading these different thoughts of our fellow woodworkers is such a joy, and understanding the joys and fun to be found in putting to use those tools which were held in the hands of the craftsmen who have gone on. Your classes are such an inspiration to so so many of us.
Great story Paul. Do you have a video on sharpening a plane blade for a plough such as this? I just picked up one that must be 130 years old and the iron is pretty dull. Thx.