What is all this about joint stools, you ask? English examples abound, but surviving New England ones are rare today. But in the period, they were so commonplace that it is hard to imagine a period house without them. Probate inventories filed at the time of a person’s death are a standard resource for material culture studies, and in these records we find numerous references to joint stools. Rarely itemized by themselves, they are usually lumped with a table or other seating furniture. In 1646, Michael Carthrick of Ipswich, Mass., had:
“one great cubberd £1; an old little table & 3 chaires 4s/6d; one bedsted in the
parlour £1/4s; one chaire & 3 joyned stooles 10s; 2 chestes & 3 boxes £1” [The values are pounds/shillings/pence. 12 pence to a shilling, 20 shillings to one pound (£). At that time in New England, a master tradesman might earn 2 to 2-1/2 shillings per day.]
A typical New England reference is this 1647 listing: “One longe table & frame, 4 joynt stooles & a bench £1-13.” In this case, the “table” is what we would call the tabletop, and the frame is just that, the understructure of the table. We find the same sort of thing back in old England, the stools once again lumped with the table and usually also a “form” – a joint stool stretched out to bench-length. In Essex, England, in 1638 John Osbourne’s inventory recorded “in the hall: One great joyned table, eight stooles and one forme, £1-10s.”
Poke around the English countryside enough and you can run into a table, joint stools and form that are all still in place, 350 to 400 years in one spot! The table is really just a joint stool made on a very large scale, same construction, same format. Easier, really. All 90° shoulders.
Randle Holme, the author of The “Academy of Armory & Blazon” had this to say about joint stools: “It is so called because all made and finished by the Joyner, haueing a wood couer: In most places in Cheshire it is termed a Buffit stool.”
Another interesting reference to them is a court case in London surrounding an infringement of trade issue, between the Turners of the City and the Joiners.
1633 We have called before us as well the Master & Warden of the Comp[an]y of Turners as also the M & W of the Compy of Joyners. It appeareth that the Compy of Turners be grieved that the Compy of Joyners assume unto themselves the art of turning to the wrong of the Turners. It appeareth to us that the arts of turning & joyning are two several & distinct trades and we conceive it very inconvenient that either of these trades should encroach upon the other and we find that the Turners have constantly for the most part turned bed posts & feet of joyned stools for the Joyners and of late some Joyners who never used to turn their own bedposts and stool feet have set on work in their houses some poor decayed Turners & of them have learned the feate & art of turning which they could not do before. And it appeareth unto us by custom that the turning of Bedposts Feet of tables joyned stools do properly belong to the trade of a Turner and not to the art of a Joyner and whatsoever is done with the foot as have treddle or wheele for turning of any wood we are of the opinion and do find that it properly belongs to the Turner’s and we find that the Turners ought not to use the gage or gages, grouffe plaine or plough plaine and mortising chisells or any of them for that the same do belong to the Joyners trade. [From Henry Laverock Phillips, Annals of the Worshipful Company of Joiners of the City of London, (London: privately printed, 1915) pp. 27, 28.]
Here in New England, there was no such restriction on a man’s trade. If you had the training and skills, you could work at both the bench and the lathe. The same was true in the countryside in England. In “Elizabethan Life: Home, Work & Land,” (1976) F. G. Emmison quotes a will from Essex England: “Thomas Quilter of Great Dunmow”, who combines the twin crafts of joiner and turner, divides his “working tools” equally between his two sons, giving each “a turning lathe and a grindstone unhanged.” The elder son is to have the larger grindstone if he will teach his brother “joining and turning in the best manner he can.””
For now, one last joint stool note, this from Roy Underhill who got it straight from Ben Franklin’s “The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin.”
This obscure family of ours was early in the Reformation, and continued Protestants through the reign of Queen Mary, when they were sometimes in danger of trouble on account of their zeal against popery. They had got an English Bible, and to conceal and secure it, it was fastened open with tapes under and within the cover of a joint-stool. When my great-great-grandfather read it to his family, he turned up the joint-stool upon his knees, turning over the leaves then under the tapes. One of the children stood at the door to give notice if he saw the apparitor coming, who was an officer of the spiritual court. In that case the stool was turned down again upon its feet, when the Bible remained concealed under it as before. This anecdote I had from my uncle Benjamin.
— Peter Follansbee, one of the authors of “Make a Joint Stool from a Tree,” coming soon from Lost Art Press, Jennie Alexander and Follansbee. (Illustration at top: Eleanor Underhill; photos: Peter Follansbee.)
When I make one of these I’ll probably place an open Bible on top as a reminder of what freedoms we are afforded in our modern society. Then, I’ll probably need to store my mortise chisels on a lathe bed as well.
What differentiates a joint stool from a regular stool (or a bench)? I’m sure the upcoming book will describe the joinery in detail – when will the book hit the streets? I am also curious if the joints are just pegged tennons, or if would have used drawboring for the joints?
I think all the mortice and tenon joints were draw bored(if green wood was used). Otherwise, the joint would become loose as the wood dried further. Check out J Alexander’s site (www.greenwoodworking.com) for more info. There is a good explanation there about the draw bored m&t joint and green wood.
Why do joint stools always look like they were drawn by Escher?
If you look at the last picture you will see a stool that looks very similar to the drawing. It appears as though the legs are splayed slightly at the bottom in the short direction, but not in the longer dimension. This seems to be creating the Escher effect you are seeing.
“some Joyners who never used to turn their own bedposts and stool feet have set on work in their houses some poor decayed Turners”
This might explain your earlier reference to the smelly guy at the other end of the bench…
An interesting post. It’s no wonder things advanced at a slower pace back then! A lot of time was spent transferring workpieces between shops. But I suppose it forced you to plan the sequence of your work to a greater extent.
Interesting post: I live in the UK and at one time in Yorkshire. There, amongst many local idiosycracies, they still call each other by thee and thou (polite formal English, all but forgotten in most other parts of England) and they still call a stool a ‘buffit’.
Actually thee and thou were the informal variants. However we use them so rarely, and generally in context of the bible so people assume they are formal. (the bible choose them because they were informal)
The OED shows that you and me were informal. Thee and thou are the formal and polite versions no longer used. These two forms are analogous to vous (formal) and tu(informal) in French. Kind regards.
Amazing the things you learn – I’ve lived in Cheshire for most of my life, and I’d never heard of a Buffit stool. There again, we have moved on a bit over 400 years.
It used to be assumed that a lot of this style of furniture was made in oak. The ‘best’ pieces probably were, but the more work-a-day country pieces would more likely have been in whatever wood came to hand, often ash or elm. (They probably wouldn’t have had the carved decoration, either.) The ‘best’ have survived because they were more for show than use, often in the richer houses that may only have been occupied part of the year.
There used to be, in the late 19th and early 20th century, a steady trade in producing reproductions, ‘distressed’ to look like originals. I’m ashamed to say that a lot of these found their way across the pond to ready markets in the states – so beware, if anyone shows you an ‘original’, have a good look underneath. If the underside of the top shows bandsaw or machine planer marks, or the top is held on by small steel brackets and black japanned round-head screws, somebody might not have been entirely truthful somewhere along the line. (Still, at least it kept a few English cabinetmakers in tea and jam butties when times were a bit tough, so it can’t be all bad.)
It’s good, solid, serviceable furniture, though. Make it properly, and you’ll only need to make it once. It’ll see your grandchildren out.
Growing up in India, I remember these all over the place – and they always looked old!
Chris, I am a new fan of yours and am really enjoying your posts. Thank you.