In these strange times, when we have to stay in so much, I reckon it's a welcome luxury to be able to turn aside from the news and get down to the workshop. I want to put some of my ever-increasing assortment of old tools to work, and use up some of the useful wood I have been hanging onto.
But what can I make, that's a bit challenging and will fit in the furnished house?
I decided to make a box.
This is a view of the corner of our hall.
I didn't make the rather fine mahogany chest of drawers - that was made by a dear friend of mine. But I did make the horrible bodged pine box next to it.
In my defence, it was probably in about 1990, when I had just bought my new Record 044C plough plane - the one with the blue plastic handle - and was trying it out. After spending many years in a dark corner it was pressed into service as a practical way of holding umbrellas and a rolled up bicycle mat. But I have had a bit of practice in the last 30 years and might be able to make something better now.
So this project is to be a box of similar size, but more in keeping with the surroundings.
I'm a few days into it, but haven't finished yet, so helpful comments are welcome. I'll write this up in my usual way, with probably too many words and too many pictures and a few digressions about the tools, for those who like such things. Progress will be glacially slow, but I am guessing I'm not the only one with no need to hurry at the moment.
I have a nice piece of walnut which Custard gave to me, when he so generously gave me more than enough wood to make a table.
I thought it might be interesting to make a box using secret mitre dovetails. I've only ever done one of these - as a practice exercise to see how hard it was - and it wasn't great. So before ruining all the nice wood, I took some measurements, sketched out a box, and started on a dry run practice joint. I allowed myself a little offcut from the board, conveniently removing a large knot from the main project.
This needs a moulding on the top edge, to match the plinth of the chest of drawers. One advantage of the secret mitre dovetail is that it can accommodate a moulding nicely. So I measured the moulding and set to.
As D_W mentioned the other day, a wooden moving fillister plane is a useful plane to own and a pleasure to use. Here it is making a rebate along one edge. (Ignore the position of my left hand; this is a posed photo and the other one is holding the camera.)
This is a perfectly ordinary example from the Birmingham maker CT Onions, who traded from 1894 to 1904. I bought it to use and because I like the name and the trade mark.
I made this rebate down from the face of the board rather than from the edge, thinking that a shallow wide rebate is quicker than a deep narrow one, but I am unsure of that sort of thing.
I cut the second rebate with a metal equivalent - a Faithfull 788 - but forgot to take an action shot of it. (I'll make up for this later, don't worry.)
Here's the board with two rebates on.
You can see that I have also added pencil marks, by running the pencil along in my fingers. Something else I failed to photograph, having no third hand to hold the camera.
Next step was to mark a cove with a washer at each end
and then use a rebate plane to cut the long arris off at 45 degrees. This is the sort of thing that is remarkably easy to do with hand planes. You can just make a fence with your fingers and get enough accuracy - with no time wasted setting up a fence or a depth stop. This photo shows what I mean, though it's on the longer piece, later on, and the hand positioning is misleading.
After that, I swapped over to a round plane, a number 8 with the Moseley mark on it. Moseley were at this address between 1862 and 1880, though the name remained in use well into the 20th century, under Marples' ownership.
Again, just holding the plane and making a fence with the fingers, you can start to make a shallow cut which then steers the plane as you work back to the full length.
The result was this:
which is within my comfort zone and good enough for a trial run.
I'll leave it there for now, so stay tuned for the next instalment in which I attempt one of woodwork's least popular joints.
But what can I make, that's a bit challenging and will fit in the furnished house?
I decided to make a box.
This is a view of the corner of our hall.
I didn't make the rather fine mahogany chest of drawers - that was made by a dear friend of mine. But I did make the horrible bodged pine box next to it.
In my defence, it was probably in about 1990, when I had just bought my new Record 044C plough plane - the one with the blue plastic handle - and was trying it out. After spending many years in a dark corner it was pressed into service as a practical way of holding umbrellas and a rolled up bicycle mat. But I have had a bit of practice in the last 30 years and might be able to make something better now.
So this project is to be a box of similar size, but more in keeping with the surroundings.
I'm a few days into it, but haven't finished yet, so helpful comments are welcome. I'll write this up in my usual way, with probably too many words and too many pictures and a few digressions about the tools, for those who like such things. Progress will be glacially slow, but I am guessing I'm not the only one with no need to hurry at the moment.
I have a nice piece of walnut which Custard gave to me, when he so generously gave me more than enough wood to make a table.
I thought it might be interesting to make a box using secret mitre dovetails. I've only ever done one of these - as a practice exercise to see how hard it was - and it wasn't great. So before ruining all the nice wood, I took some measurements, sketched out a box, and started on a dry run practice joint. I allowed myself a little offcut from the board, conveniently removing a large knot from the main project.
This needs a moulding on the top edge, to match the plinth of the chest of drawers. One advantage of the secret mitre dovetail is that it can accommodate a moulding nicely. So I measured the moulding and set to.
As D_W mentioned the other day, a wooden moving fillister plane is a useful plane to own and a pleasure to use. Here it is making a rebate along one edge. (Ignore the position of my left hand; this is a posed photo and the other one is holding the camera.)
This is a perfectly ordinary example from the Birmingham maker CT Onions, who traded from 1894 to 1904. I bought it to use and because I like the name and the trade mark.
I made this rebate down from the face of the board rather than from the edge, thinking that a shallow wide rebate is quicker than a deep narrow one, but I am unsure of that sort of thing.
I cut the second rebate with a metal equivalent - a Faithfull 788 - but forgot to take an action shot of it. (I'll make up for this later, don't worry.)
Here's the board with two rebates on.
You can see that I have also added pencil marks, by running the pencil along in my fingers. Something else I failed to photograph, having no third hand to hold the camera.
Next step was to mark a cove with a washer at each end
and then use a rebate plane to cut the long arris off at 45 degrees. This is the sort of thing that is remarkably easy to do with hand planes. You can just make a fence with your fingers and get enough accuracy - with no time wasted setting up a fence or a depth stop. This photo shows what I mean, though it's on the longer piece, later on, and the hand positioning is misleading.
After that, I swapped over to a round plane, a number 8 with the Moseley mark on it. Moseley were at this address between 1862 and 1880, though the name remained in use well into the 20th century, under Marples' ownership.
Again, just holding the plane and making a fence with the fingers, you can start to make a shallow cut which then steers the plane as you work back to the full length.
The result was this:
which is within my comfort zone and good enough for a trial run.
I'll leave it there for now, so stay tuned for the next instalment in which I attempt one of woodwork's least popular joints.
