This is a problem that faces every man who does woodwork. Provision has to be made for keeping tools so that they are out of harm’s way, for nothing is worse than a bench littered with tools piled one on top of the other. At the same time they must be easily to hand when needed. At the outset it should be realised that a distinction has to be made between tools in everyday use and those used only occasionally. It is of no use to keep, say, a hammer in a drawer or cupboard which has to be opened every time the tool is needed. The usual way is to keep it in the well or trough of the bench where it is always to hand yet does not interfere with items placed on the bench top. Much the same thing applies to pincers, chisels, screwdrivers, etc., though these are not normally kept in the trough but rather in a simple rack.
It is interesting to see what used to happen in professional workshops. A nail in the wall was invariably all that was used for such items as saws, and chisels, pincers, and so on were held in the simplest of racks fixed to the wall with a screw at each end; cramps were hung over a batten projecting from the wall or fixed to a convenient beam. Altogether a primitive yet effective method. On the other hand his more delicate tools such as the shoulder plane, compass plane, plough, etc. he usually kept in his tool chest in a special drawer or compartment. The everyday, more robust items he put in a drawer beneath the bench.
The reason for this rather crude arrangement for tools was twofold. First, there was frequently nothing permanent about a man’s job. He might be taken on and put off again in quite a short time. Secondly, he would certainly not be allowed to spend time in making any special tool rack arrangement. Hence nothing more pretentious than the homely nail was used, and even these might already be in the wall, an inheritance from the previous incumbent.
For the man working at home a somewhat more elegant system can be devised because he is more or less permanent in his workshop and can spend as much time as he likes in making fitments. Another point is that his workshop may be just a garden shed, and nothing rusts tools quicker than hanging them on a damp wall. The nail itself will bear witness to this in a short time.
The simplest form of rack is shown at (A), Fig. 2, and is the sort widely used in a workshop. It is simply a plain batten fixed to the wall with distance pieces at the ends. If there is a convenient wood window frame to screw to this simplifies matters, but in the case of a brick wall there is an advantage in fitting a plywood or hardboard backing held on uprights as at (B). It avoids damage to chisel edges against the brickwork and it lifts the tools away from the wall. A quite good idea is to make one distance piece thicker than the other so that tools of varying size can be gripped. A 1-1/2 in. chisel has a larger handle than one of 1/4 in. size and in an equidistant rack either the big one will not go in or a small one will drop through. The tapering gap will hold both.
Fig. 2. Useful tool-holding devices. A. B., Racks. C. D., Tool clips. E. F., Saw holders. G.H., Plane racks. J. Turning tool rack. K. L. M., Small tool holder. N., Rack for cramps.
A fitting that has become popular is the tool clip. It is made in various forms, the simplest being fixed with a centre screw. This however needs either a wood wall or a batten screwed to the wall as at (C). It is far better to fix a batten to the wall with plugs and screw the clips to this than to attempt to plug the clips individually. The value of peg board as a means of display has also caused a new form of clip to be devised which can be entered from the front. This has a cranked centre rod which is passed through the hole and held by tightening a nut as at (D). Clips can therefore be fixed through any convenient holes to suit the shape of the tool to be gripped.
To hold a saw to the wall the simple nail is effective enough, but the handle is liable to become damaged with continued use. The better fixing is that at (E) in which the front thin piece (ply or hardboard) will pass easily through the hole in the handle. At the back the distance piece (slightly thicker than the handle) is narrower so that the handle drops down after being passed over. In some cases it is an advantage to have a front piece pivoted on a screw (F). This has only to be turned when the saw is slipped over.
Planes can be stored in various ways. When there is space for the plane to be in a horizontal position it can rest on a pad of cotton wool kept lightly oiled, or a thin crosspiece can be fitted to one end of the shelf to raise the cutter from the floor as at (G). It is generally recommended that the plane does not lie flat, though the writer has never found any harm in it providing the wood on which it rests is not damp.
Sometimes there is room at the end of the bench for a plane rack to be made as at (H). Alternatively the rack could be fixed to a wall or cupboard side. Another system is that at (I) in which the plane is pushed up at the top, passed inwards, and lowered. There must be clearance at the top for this, but the front lip must be wide enough to prevent the plane from falling outwards.
Those who do wood turning will find the rack at (J) useful. The tools face opposite ways alternately as in this way they occupy less space. The notched uprights are shaped accordingly. At the bottom can be a trough in which other items can be kept, spanners, tommy bar, chucks, centres, odd scraping tools, etc.
Various racks can be made as at (K) to hold small tools; bradawls, punches, marking awl, files, and so on. The rack can either stand on a shelf as shown, or be made with end brackets (L) if to be fixed to a wall. The same idea is useful to hold boring bits as at (M), or for router cutters.
Cramps can be conveniently kept on a narrow shelf with brackets as at (N), being lightly tightened to hold them in position.
All of these suggestions can be separate items fixed to the wall and left open—at any rate in a dry workshop. For those who have the space, however, there is an advantage in having fitments with enclosing doors providing that there is space for these to remain open when work is in progress. In fact an excellent idea is to have a cabinet in which the upper part at least has built-out doors which can be fitted with shelves, racks, etc. The entire thing is then exposed and no time is lost in seeking tools and (equally important) putting them away when finished with.
At least once a month someone asks about lid stays for the Anarchist’s tool chest; now I’ll be able to refer them to this post.
Both Christopher Schwarz and I (now) use chains to hold out chests open, but they attach differently. Both methods work. As will multiple other methods, but these are ours.
But let’s back up two ticks. In “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest,” Chris directs readers to leave the back corners of the dust seal a little overlong and cut an angle on them. That will work if you’re gentle with your chest, and don’t use it all the time. If you are not gentle, and do use it all the time, that corner will start to break off – then you’ll need to come up with another method of holding your chest open.
The back corner of the original lid stay (after years of use), as shown in the book.
After the back corner of his dust seal started to show its years, Chris added a rigid aluminum lid stay, held in place by knurled knobs. The problem – if you can call it a problem – is that to use it, you had to unscrew the knob, put the stay in place, then screw the knob back in. And reverse that to close the lid at the end of the day.
Chris’ aluminum lid stay.
When I built the ATC I use at the Lost Art Press shop, I decided to add a nickel-plated chain to the outside, because I like shiny silvery things. So I bought a length of chain from McMaster-Carr along with some 3/8″ threaded rod, and found female-threaded finials on a lamp-repair-supply website. I cut two pieces of threaded rod to length, then epoxied them in place in the side of the dust seal and upper skirt. The chain fits over the rod; the finials screw onto the rod. (I’ve used this same approach on a couple of chests built on commission…but I added a threaded insert into the side of the lid and top skirt for extra insurance. Overkill, but I’d rather err on the side of solid when I’m sending out my work.)
It doesn’t look pretty when the finial is off – but it works.
That’s better!
Chris used a different approach, in part, I think, because he already had threaded inserts and knurled knobs from the aluminum lid stay.
A knurled knob and its insert.
He simply screwed both knobs in tight, then bought a dog collar.
The advantage here is that the chain can be removed in a jiffy when Fido needs to go for a walk.
In truth, though, both of us store our chests against a wall – so more often than not, it’s a wall, not a chain, that holds our chests open.
Centre hinges are generally used to hang heavy doors and in positions where ordinary butts would be impracticable. In some cases they have the advantage of being entirely invisible. There are, however, one or two complications in their use with which the inexperienced reader should make himself familiar, otherwise the results may be surprising.
DIFFERING from ordinary butts, these hinges are fixed at top and bottom of the door as in Fig. 1. There are two main kinds, the straight pattern (A), and the cranked type (B). In both the top plate is free to be lifted from the bottom one.
A washer is fitted between them to prevent them from scraping. A third kind (C) is used only rarely for antique work. The two parts are not free to be separated.
Fig. 2. door between ends. Note how end is hollowed out to accommodate door. Fig. 3. method of setting out. Fig. 4. stages in fitting the hinge plate.
It should be realised at the outset that as a general rule centre hinges can be used only when there is a loose cornice, otherwise it would be impossible to fit the door into the carcase.
There are exceptions as will be seen later, but the reader is advised to draw a section of the door in full size, plot out the hinge centre, and try the effect of pivoting by tracing the door, sticking a pin through the centre, and seeing that it works.
Door Between Ends (Fig. 2) shows the best method of hingeing when the door is between the ends. The hinges are invisible and the edge is dust-proof. The cornice (or plinth) must be loose, however. Fig. 3 shows the setting out. Draw in the door and end, and mark a line at 45 degrees from the corner. Put in another line parallel with the door a third of its thickness in from the front. The centre is slightly in from the intersection, this to allow a clearance when the door is opened. Mark the curve by putting the point on the centre and using a radius equal to the distance from the centre to the back of the door. The practical method of fitting is given in Fig. 4. Before the edge of the door is rounded
gauge in the centre (A) and bore a hole the diameter of which equals that of the hinge pin. Drop in the hinge upside down, and mark round. The exact slope of the plate does not matter; it is only the centre which counts. Chop out the recess and screw in the hinge (C). A similar method is followed on the carcase. Another plan is to make a template of the hinge plate in tin plate, making a small hole at the centre of the pin, and using this to mark out. The hollow in the end is partly ploughed out and finished off with the scratch tool.
Fig. 5. Cranked hinge. Fig. 6. Projecting pilaster. Fig. 7. Door in front of end. Fig. 8. Simple way of fitting. Fig. 9. Queen Anne Hinge.
Cranked Hinges. In Fig. 5 the cranked hinge is used. Its advantage is that there is no need to hollow out the ends because the pin is immediately in line with the corner. On the other hand the hinges are partly visible. The application of the same hinge is given in Fig. 6 in which there is a projecting pilaster or moulding. The centre is in line with the front edge of the door and is a trifle farther in than the corner of the pilaster. A loose cornice is needed in both these cases.
The door is in front of the ends in Fig. 7, and as centred no hollowing-out is necessary in the carcase end. It is not essential that cornice is loose. The fittings are cut in and the parts screwed in before the door is in position. The plate at the top of the door is next unscrewed and its pin put in its hole in the plate fixed to the carcase. Then, by dropping the bottom pin into its hole, it is possible to slide in the top of the door so that the hinge plate goes into its slot. The screw holes are naturally revealed when the door is open, enabling the screws to be put in.
Simple Method. Fig. 8 shows how the hinges can be invisible when the carcase end is not hollowed out (the door is between the ends). It means that the door must be slightly rounded, and the appearance is naturally not so good as that in Fig. 2. It is, however, simple. If the cornice and plinth are fixed the recess for the plate at the top must be continued through to the end as shown by the dotted lines. This enables the door to be passed into position in the way described for Fig. 7.
The special hinge in which the parts cannot be separated (C, Fig. 1) is shown in Fig. 9. Queen Anne furniture usually had centre hinges of this kind. The centre stands clear of the door. A loose cornice is not necessary because the hinge can be slid in afterwards. It is always as well to obtain the hinges before setting out the opening of the door. It saves mistakes.
More than 43′ long and 5,000 years old, the top of the table made by The Fenland Black Oak Project is the culmination of more than 30 years of research, trial and error in milling and drying bog oak.
Around 2012 I was building some cabinets into a sitting room off my clients’ kitchen when Paul, a member of the general contractor’s crew, struck up a conversation. “I just saw this amazing video about bog oak,” he said. “There’s this guy in England digging up 4,000-year-old trees and using them for furniture. I bet you know him.”
Know him? I had never even heard of bog oak and certainly had no idea who Paul might be talking about. That night I Googled “bog oak and furniture UK.” Up popped a link to an article by Derek Jones published in Furniture & Cabinetmaking magazine, on the website of Adamson & Low.
It was one of those small-world moments in which time and space collapse. Here I was, working in rural Indiana, suddenly transported back more than 30 years to the woodworking shop at the Isle of Ely College in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, where Hamish Low was a fellow student in a City & Guilds furniture making course. It was no surprise that Hamish had distinguished himself in the field – he’d been the most impressive student in our cohort. The culture of that classroom was brutal, with intense competition and merciless teasing; I used to swear that someday people would brag about their “low quality” furniture. I knew he’d gone on to train at West Dean, then worked for the Edward Barnsley Workshop. But beyond that, his adult life was a mystery to me. So I was interested to read that he had partnered with Nicola Adamson to build a business and a family, and was involved in pioneering work.
Nicola and Hamish, 2018.
Nicola Adamson and Hamish Low met in 1989 when she was a student in the two-year residential program at the John Makepeace School of Craftsmanship in Wood at Parnham House. Hamish was employed in Makepeace’s workshops as one of the craftsmen who turned the renowned designer’s drawings into three-dimensional furniture.
Makepeace wasn’t keen on having students mix with his cabinetmakers – students who were being trained in business and design might try to make off with an experienced cabinetmaker, robbing Makepeace of an invaluable member of his workforce. “Every student wanted a cabinetmaker to make their designs,” says Hamish, adding, “I was just head-hunted [by Nicola] for my cabinetmaking skills. Plus, Nicola had a whole load of machinery, so that was obviously part of her dowry! So it was basically a marriage of convenience.” Same old humor, even after three decades.
Bog oak ball and chain jewelry box, Hamish’s wedding gift to Nicola in 2000. The part that goes around your leg is laminated veneer with a knuckle joint.The chain is carved out of a solid block of plied bog oak, with alternating grain direction..
“I had started setting up a workshop in Kent,” Nicola adds. She planned to use the shop herself following her time at Parnham. For a couple of years, while she and Hamish had a long-distance relationship, she rented bench space to another student, until the couple started working together in 1992. “Business and I are just hopeless,” Hamish says. “Nicola has always run the business. Nicola is also more of a designer, so I was really shackled to the bench.” Another bit of hyperbole. They worked together until the birth of their first child, Hazel, in 1996.
Nicola has always lived in Kent, southeast of London. Her father was a motor engineer. Her mother was a housewife who also worked from home making lampshades and curtains commercially. In other words, “both [parents were] quite practical.” She went to the local comprehensive school, then to art college for two years before leaving for Parnham.
Initially, their work came by word of mouth. They did whatever clients wanted – furniture, as well as a few kitchens. One kitchen stands out – the cabinets were in burr oak, and the job was for an oast house. Oast houses are a traditional Kentish architectural form, built to dry hops for brewing beer. In recent decades, they’ve become popular for conversion to residential use. Circular in form, their roofs rise to a point, so anything built-in must be custom-designed. After Hamish and Nicola did that kitchen, the oast house clients called them back for a new commission each year. Gradually those clients’ friends began to hire them, as well. When clients had children, they wanted beds and desks “and stuff to go on uneven floors of Kentish barn houses,” Nicola adds. So while their clients were few in number, they had multiple commissions from each one.
“You only need one customer, one client, and if you’re successful they recommend you,” says Hamish. “It just seemed to snowball. We’ve always had a year’s work booked up ahead of us. When you work to commission, everything is always a compromise because [the clients are] paying the bill. You can’t really progress from that unless you make what you want and exhibit it. But it’s in your clients’ interest [for you to move on to your own work]. People are speculating on you more. You try to break into the art market.”
Early on, kitchens paid for everything. “It was a lot of work for two people,” Nicola says. “We designed it, made it, installed it, did all the plumbing and electrical; it was all-consuming.”
“People would spend a fortune on their kitchens,” notes Hamish, “and yet something that would become a family heirloom and become collectible, they didn’t seem to value it in the same way.”
Although the income from kitchens was good, they switched to freestanding furniture when their children were young – their son, Archie, was born in 2001. “The last [kitchen] we did, Archie was born in the middle of Hamish installing it,” says Nicola. Both children were born at home. “I had to call the client to say ‘I think Hamish ought to come home.’”
“It was just easier,” Hamish says, prompting Nicola to add, “I could just get down from the drawing board!”
Bog oak bench. Hamish made this piece before he had his drying technique worked out. The plank had twisted and also cupped significantly. He decided to embrace the defects. Before carving the seats he blasted it with crushed glass in a process like sandblasting, then he did the carving. The result: a lovely contrast between the rough texture of the main sections and the smoothness of the seats.
Backgammon set made with brown oak, burr oak, quartersawn and bog oak.
Part of a set of six bog oak tables.
Marquetry folding door screens inspired by the elevators in the Chrysler Building. The clients live in a 1930s Art Deco house and are Art Deco collectors.
Drinks cabinet in burr acacia and bog oak.
Since the beginning of their partnership, they’ve focused on using native hardwoods that would otherwise be wasted. Some of the timber came from their clients’ own trees. “We were quite unusual in that we would do everything, from tree to chair,” Hamish says. The client would be engaged in the entire process. “That was quite interesting to them; a lot of it is very old, established country tradition, and yet a lot of it was sophisticated technology.”
For example, he explains, air drying of oak has been done the same way for centuries. “It’s a very direct process.” But the “technology” would come from the new mills, such as Wood-Mizers. “We would use technology alongside established traditional approaches to drying timber. You start with a huge, sopping-wet liability and you turn it into a plank of wood. Everything we make starts with a plank of wood. It becomes the most usable, fantastic thing. And there’s a lot of technology involved in drying it in the kiln. The client was involved in all of that.”
So much of the beauty of wood can depend on how you cut the tree, he points out. “Amazing grain and visual impact can be created from pretty shit trees. If you’re a little bit savvy and a little bit arty about how you apply yourself to using very defective trees, you can produce some very beautiful things.”
This appreciation for the design potential of timber considered low grade or defective is what led Nicola and Hamish to their work with bog oak.
Bog Oak
Hamish grew up near Cambridge and attended the Isle of Ely College in Wisbech, a town built on the banks of the River Nene. Wisbech and its environs lie close to sea level in a marshy region known as the fens. At the end of the last Ice Age, some 10,000 years ago, the area was densely forested with gigantic oaks, yews and pines. As the Earth warmed, sea levels rose and the area between England’s south and eastern borders was cut off from the European mainland by what we now call the English Channel. In low-lying areas of the east coast, such as the fens, the forests were flooded. Trees fell into the silt, where the absence of oxygen led to their preservation.
In the 1600s, wealthy landowners hired Dutch engineers to drain the fens and build dams in hopes of increasing their agricultural acreage. Newly exposed to oxygen, the peat began to oxidize, shrink and slowly blow away. Drainage work began anew in the late 18th and early 19th centuries; the entire region is crisscrossed by drainage ditches today.
Hamish had known about bog oak for years, because he often visited an uncle who lived in Wisbech to go fishing in the fens. He’d see bog oaks just lying in the fields. Farmers hit the logs with expensive modern farming machinery, which causes damage, so they typically want to get rid of them. His friend Frank, whose father was the vicar in the nearby village of Methwold, was into photography and had shown him photos of bog oaks coming out of the fields. “They were very arty photographs,” Hamish remembers. He asked what happened to the trees. “They’re going on the fire,” Frank told him. Hamish decided he’d be interested in trying to process them. As he soon learned, “That is notoriously difficult.”
“Other, very famous makers were using [bog oak], he says – Makepeace, Alan Peters, Wendell Castle. But no one knew how to dry it, so they were using it as details and accents, such as inlays or handles.” He was convinced there must be some way to process the wood for structural use in furniture. “It’s such amazing material. We’re doing it with all the other native hardwoods,” he remembers thinking. “This is the mother of waste! It’s the holy grail of trying to use material that would otherwise be wasted. They burn it, for God’s sake!”
The newly unearthed Jubilee Oak.
Air-drying is too aggressive, he learned. Bog oaks must be dried under the most carefully controlled conditions. While most woodworkers kiln-dry for speed, Hamish dries bog oak in a kiln because it’s a far more precise way to manage the process. “You can take a thimble of water over a year, or ten gallons in a day.” His kilns never go above 35° Celsius (95° F). It’s a technique in which he has invested 30 years of trial and error – “mostly error!” he adds.
“It’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen,” he continues, describing the kind of scene where bog oaks tend to appear. “The soil is jet black. Flat. You turn up and there’s the most enormous lump of black mud sitting there and you think ‘Where the hell does this come from?’ He has watched bog oaks get unearthed with huge machinery; a machine operator puts the bucket into the ground, “and you can see the peat moving 20 meters away. It’s an extraordinary sight. They are so straight – such perfect specimen oak trees.”
“You’ve found it,” he continues. “Then you have to decide whether it’s worth investing in. You can dry bog oak and it can be soft and full of splits; or it can be super dense, as dense as ebony – 1,166 kilos per cubic meter.” (That’s roughly 72 pounds per cubic foot.) “And it’s figured, so it’s like a figured ebony if it’s quartersawn. It has a particularly fat medullary vessel.”
“A log can be rubbish or black gold. You have to identify whether it’s any good. They all look the same and weigh the same.” So, how do you tell? “You get a very sharp hand axe and chip away at it. If it’s any good, you’ll meet resistance; it will sound like it’s going to be good. It vibrates.” It’s a subtle way of knowing material, he explains. “What you don’t want: It’s soft and mushy and you can keep going; it doesn’t reverberate. You can feel it and hear it.”
You have to test the whole length of the log, because there are pretty much always pockets of rot. The really big logs were typically immersed unevenly in the peat, with parts exposed to the elements and subject to insect attack, splitting and fungal disease. Color is another good indicator, once you cut into the log, as is how far below sea level the log has been buried. Hamish looks for logs from 3′-4′ below sea level as a guide.
Generally speaking, he cuts logs with a chainsaw, in the field, into 12′ lengths; anything over 6′ is usable. He looks for those that look like a half moon, a segment of an orange – no heart, no pith, and so, no heart shake. Nicola explains: “The logs are often dug up half-moon-shaped, as one half has already rotted away.” They mill them to produce quartersawn planks for optimal figure and stability.
At times he has brought trees back in the round, planked them and put them in the kiln. Even boards close to each other in the log can vary dramatically – one will have splits all over; the next won’t, even though both have been processed in exactly the same way. This variation in quality is often due to part of the tree having been exposed to the elements, which causes it to split along its medullary vessels. To illustrate this, Hamish once put a tree back together after it was dried. While the “top” half of the log was all split, the bottom was perfect, because the bottom half had originally fallen into the silt. The part that had been exposed to oxygen “split like mad” before falling into the silt, whereupon the splits filled up to absolute fiber saturation, only to split again when dried.
In 2012, Hamish and his colleagues found the best bog oak they had ever encountered. The log was perfectly preserved, with not so much as a single pocket of rot or insect fly hole. And it was massive, at 43′. “You couldn’t even tell which end was which; it was so parallel,” he recalls. “It was only part of a much, much bigger tree.”
Nicola and Hamish call this image “18 people carrying a wet 43′ Black Oak plank.”
“I don’t think we should cut this,” Hamish decided on the spot. “We should keep it full-length.” He and his crew returned home empty-handed. The whole way back, Bob, a friend, neighbor and experienced woodworker who often travels with Hamish to the fens when collecting trunks, was saying, “You’re bloody mad. How are you going to lift it and dry it?” Hamish simply replied: “Imagine jet-black planks that are 13.2 meters long.” They subsequently named it the Jubilee Oak.
Tell me you’re not drooling as you look at this material.
Nicola recounts how they put together the people and resources required to turn this prized find into a piece of furniture – a table – worthy of its history and rareness. “After finding the Jubilee oak, Hamish contacted The Worshipful Company of Carpenters and subsequently The Building Crafts College (The Worshipful Company of Carpenters run this college) to help further this endeavor. Steve Cook and Mauro Dell’Orco were both students there at the time and have now become part of the long-term project. Steve became artist-in-residence at The Building Crafts College for a year after he completed his course and was also funded for a year by the Queen Elizabeth Scholarship Trust to assist Hamish in the drying of the boards. Mauro, who previously had a career in architecture, has become the lead designer for The Fenland Black Oak Project.
They milled the tree in 2012 and dried it in a purpose-built kiln at The Building Crafts College. The drying took nine months. In 2019, with help from more than 20 students who gave up part of their summer holidays for the privilege of contributing to the project, Hamish painstakingly constructed the table’s top from four of the boards in the spacious and well-equipped workshop at the Building Crafts College.
The tabletop at the Building Crafts College.The joints between the boards are not glued. They’re a perfect fit (you can find information about the process on Instagram @fenlandblackoakproject).
In the intervening years, they had set up a charitable trust to manage and protect the boards. The trustees come from varying backgrounds – farming, accounting, film making, legal work and administration. Hamish was appointed chairman in 2020, after the previous chair stood down.
The tabletop is currently in a climate-controlled kiln while the group raises funds to complete the base, which will be fabricated in bronze, in recognition of the era during which the trees were standing. “There’s a whole team of people who have worked on the design,” Hamish says. “It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done, and the most amazing.” When I ask, in view of how integral Nicola is to their business, whether Hamish really means to use the first-person singular in that quote – “It’s the most important thing I’ve ever done” – Nicola replies: “I in theory am not involved in The Fenland Black Oak Project. It is very much Hamish’s other woman! That said, there does seem to be quite a big workload that comes my way!”
For the first 18 months after its completion, the Jubilee Oak table will be on display at Ely Cathedral, a spectacular Gothic structure on high ground overlooking the fields where the ancient oaks were buried. “By displaying this table at Ely Cathedral we are hoping to raise awareness amongst local land owners of the urgent need to preserve as much black oak as we can,” says Hamish. “It’s going to run out. We just want to save this best-ever example so people can see it when it’s all gone.”
Other Work
Nicola and Hamish are no longer working to commission. After 30 years of that, they’re ready to switch to spec work and are currently developing some innovative construction techniques. “In order to make something amazing, you’ve got to go back to the basics,” Hamish says. His motivation: “Let’s develop some construction techniques that will allow us to do something visually amazing! You can’t just decorate something in a different way. Who cares? You need to start again.” For now, this is all I can reveal, as they’re keeping the particulars of these techniques under wraps.
They make their home on a smallholding in Kent, where they live with cats, chickens and Paisley, their dog, and finished building their own workshop in 2020.
Hazel, Nicola, Archie and Hamish.
At this point we return to Hamish’s youth. His father worked as an underwriter for Lloyds of London. His mother was a school teacher who eventually became a headmistress. Hamish went to a Quaker school, Sibford Ferris, that had a good woodworking department.
“I was severely dyslexic,” he says. “Still am. Basically I was hopeless at school until we were allowed in the woodwork shop. The woodwork teacher said, ‘You’re good at this!’ This useless pupil was good at something.”
“Don’t ever underestimate a craftsman,” he emphasizes, “because they’re highly disciplined, highly trained, very determined individuals. I’m a real advocate of traditional apprenticeships. I don’t think you could be good at this job other than by doing it as an apprenticeship. Doing it as an apprenticeship teaches you humility. One of the people I worked with said, ‘Somebody who never made a mistake never made anything.’ Processing bog oak went so wrong, so often; you could take the view that it’s a waste of time. Or you can say, ‘I’ve applied myself to this in the wrong way, so what can I do to do it right?’ A craftsman accepts that they’ve made a mistake. Then, rather than saying, ‘That’s a stupid idea,’ or ‘This is impossible,’ they say ‘What did I do wrong and what have I got to do to make it work?’”
With bog oak, Hamish applied himself to this question for 30 years and now says, “You only have to get it right a couple of times for it to show you that this is worth it.”
If you’d like to contribute to The Fenland Black Oak project, you can do so here. All contributors donating £1,000 or more will have their names carved into the underside of The Jubilee Oak top as a reminder to future generations of this shared vision.
Paisley, whomNicola calls “the bog oak inspector.”
Fig. 1. Simplest form of square shooting board. Fig. 2. Alternative pattern with detachable mitre stop. Fig. 3. Mitre shooting board. Fig. 4. Square board with one end raised. Fig. 5. Donkey’s ear mitre shooting board. Fig. 6. Board for wide internal mitres. Fig. 7. Waste piece to prevent edge from splitting. Fig. 8. Wood planed at angle in its width. Fig. 9. Wood planed at angle in thickness. Fig. 10. Angle in both width and thickness.
Although the shooting board is a well-known appliance in the workshop, we are frequently asked by readers for more information about it, and we therefore give here the chief types and their use.
The purpose of a shooting board is that of planing the edges of thin wood, either to form butt joints, to make the edge straight, to trim an end square, or to form a mitre. Normally the edge is made square, though in special cases it can be at an odd angle, as we shall see. If you tried to plane the edge of a piece of thin wood in the vice it would be difficult to hold the plane square and it would be liable to wobble. When the shooting board is used, the wood is held flat on the upper step, and the plane is worked on its side on the lower step, all wobbling being thus eliminated.
Types of Shooting Boards. The simplest form of shooting board for square trimming is given in Fig. 1. It can be of any length from about 18 ins. upwards in accordance with the size of the work to be trimmed. The upper step might be from 4 ins. up to about 6 ins. wide, and the lower one should project far enough to take the largest plane in use—say, 4 ins. At the far end a stop is fixed, this fitting in a groove. The near end is at right angles with the working edge, but it is tapered in width, partly to simplify fitting, and partly to enable it to be driven in with a dead tight fit. After being knocked in, screws are driven in and any projection is trimmed off flush.
There are one or two points to note. Firstly the heart sides of the two pieces face each other, so that in the event of shrinkage the twisting tendencies are opposed. Then again, ledges or battens are screwed to the underside, also to help in keeping the parts flat. Along the under-corner of the top platform a chamfer is worked so that any dust which may accumulate will not interfere with the true running of the plane. So far as thickness is concerned, the upper step should bring the work to about the middle of the plane—7/8 in. wood is about right.
A rather more elaborate type of square board is given in Fig. 2. The two parts are fixed to two or more notched cross-battens, a slight gap, say, 1/8 in., being allowed between them to allow dust to escape. Such a board is more likely to keep flat but will not produce better work. If desired, a detachable mitre stop can be fitted with dowels, though generally it is more satisfactory to have a separate mitre shooting board, as in Fig. 3. The construction of this is similar to that of Fig. 1, except that the stop recess is cut in at 45 deg.
Yet a third kind of square board favoured by some workers is that in Fig. 4. In this one end is raised so that as the plane passes forward a different part of the cutter comes into operation, thus spreading the wear over a wider length of edge. It is satisfactory providing the cutter of the plane is sharpened with its edge perfectly straight. Otherwise the shaving will be thicker in one part of the cut than in another.
Mitre Shooting Boards. The board normally used for small mouldings and for wood mitred in its width has already been dealt with in Fig. 3. When wood is mitred in its thickness, however (as in the case of, say, a plinth) the donkey’s ear board in Fig. 5 is used. The construction is obvious from the illustration. The piece beneath, running along the length, is to enable the board to be held in the bench vice. External mitres are trimmed in this way, the wood being held so that the plane always cuts into the moulding, so avoiding splitting out. Internal mitres need the board in Fig. 6. The stop of this could with advantage be fixed in the middle instead of at the end so that the moulding could be placed at either side of the stop, enabling the plane to work into it. Note the dust groove.
Use of the Shooting Board. When the end of a piece of wood has to be trimmed square it is held against the stop, and the plane worked so that its sole bears against the edge of the upper, step. As the plane is worked, the wood is pressed steadily against the plane. To prevent the far corner from splitting, the corner can be chiselled off. Should, however, the wood not be wide enough to permit this, a waste piece with its corner chiselled can be held against the stop as in Fig. 7. Thus the far corner of the wood is supported and is so prevented from splitting. Note that the waste piece should be somewhat thicker than the wood being planed. In the case of a joint being planed the method is somewhat different. The wood should overhang the edge of the upper step by about 1/4 in. or so. The joint is planed true by virtue of the trueness of the plane itself. The latter does not touch the upper step. Remove shavings from the centre of the wood until the plane ceases to cut, and then take a couple of shavings right through. If the plane is accurate (and is long enough) the joint will be straight. It may be necessary to take an extra shaving where needed, but it will not be much out. It is better to rely on the truth of the plane rather than to keep it running along the step—unless the wood is quite short.
Incidentally, always have one board face side uppermost and the other face side downwards. In this way the two will go together in alignment, because if the edge is not dead square (possibly owing to the plane side not being square with the sole) the two angles will cancel out, so to speak.
Odd Angles. Sometimes several ends have to be trimmed at an odd angle, and, when the angle runs across the width, a piece of wood planed to the required angle can be placed against the stop as in Fig. 8. Thus any number of pieces can be planed to the same angle.
When the angle is across the thickness, an angle piece can be used as in Fig. 9, the wood being placed above it. Fig. 10 shows how compound angles which occur in both width and thickness can be dealt with. The two angle pieces are prepared to the required angles first, and the wood placed as shown.
