Peter Follansbee’s “17th-Century Essex County Cupboard” is about as close a description as we’ll ever get to how complex pieces of 17th-century furniture began in the forest and progressed through the workshop. This particular cupboard contains a multitude of operations: riving stock, insane amounts of tricky (and simple) joinery, drawboring, nailing, faceplate and spindle turning (some of it on a massive scale), plus sometimes-wild mitering jobs to add all the decoration to this enormous and beautiful piece. Plus, it includes measured drawings by Jeff Lefkowitz, with details of the turnings and mouldings.
Building a cupboard like this isn’t just figuring out the joinery. It’s also figuring out how the original makers may have held some of the odd-shaped bits to work on them. It’s puzzling over the order of operations to assemble the components. It’s figuring out when to carve and paint, when to rive and when to cut joints to keep the whole operation moving forward.
It isn’t often that Lost Art Press gets to publish a book like this. Written by a joiner at the top of his game after a lifetime of research, training and daily work. Plus a project that is worthy of all the long years of toil it took Follansbee to be able to build it.
Follansbee has spent his adult life researching and building 17th-century furniture to understand the tools and processes used to build the cupboard featured in this book. “17th-Century Essex County Cupboard” represents the culmination of decades of serious research and shop experimentation. But it’s no dry treatise. Follansbee’s wit – honed by 20 years of demonstrating at Plimoth Plantation – is reflected on every page.
Even if you never plan to build this cupboard, you’ll find Follansbee’s book a gripping account of what has been for him (so far) a twice-in-a-lifetime project.
And, the first 100 books ordered include a special treat: a signed bookplate from the author!
We’re cooking up answers for Open Wire this Saturday (June 20) on the Lost Art Press blog – so if you have a woodworking question, you’ll have until 5 p.m. Eastern to ask it in the comments section on the Open Wire post, which will go live at 8 a.m. Chris and I will do our best to answer, and readers are free to offer their expertise as well.
One caveat: Chris is leaving for the airport in the afternoon, so best to ask your stick-chair-related questions before lunchtime.
The covers proofs of the three new books we’re (rather impatiently) awaiting.
Our printer is a bit more than a month behind right now, so the three new books that are gestating are overdue. They are, in order expected, Peter Follansbee’s “17th-century Essex County Cupboard,” our “Smalls” pocket book, and volume four of “The Stick Chair Journal.”
We do not know when they will be in … so we’ll go with “much anticipated.” (That is a true statement no matter if they arrive this week or next month. We hope they arrive before next month.)
Also delayed are reprints of the four Hayward volumes (we’re out of stock on two of them), the 18th printing of “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest” (fingers crossed it arrives before we run out of the 17th printing) and the eighth printing of “Doormaking and Window-Making” (out of stock in print). For the out of stock reprints, you can sign up on each item’s web page to be notified when they’re in. (No pre-orders or notification on the new ones – though you can be sure we’ll let you know when those are in!)
On the good-news front, as of this morning, our handmade Lost Art Coffee Mugs are back in stock.
We just got the final files from Matt Bickford for a new book on making side escapement moulding planes – so I’ll be diving into the editing and design of that soon. No word just yet on when it will be published, but it’s in the batter’s circle. So I thought, “Why not take a look back at Matt’s first book, ‘Mouldings in Practice,’” which shows you how to turn a set of complicated mouldings into a series of predictable rabbets and chamfers that guide your hollow and round planes to make any moulding.
Because we get a fair number of questions about buying and using old moulding planes, below are Matt’s circa-2012 thoughts on the subject, from Appendix 1, “Antique Planes.”
– Fitz
I have neighbors who live in the oldest house in Haddam Neck, Conn. The house was built in the early 18th century. I love visiting their home because I am infatuated with the idea that the American Revolution, the Civil War and Beanie Babies were all discussed in front of their fireplace. When we gather in front of that fireplace and the talk turns to our kids, my mind wanders, and I imagine the house’s previous occupants’ conversations about, “What are we going to do?” in several different historical contexts.
One of the subjects I wrestled with when writing this book was whether to include a chapter on antique planes. I started with these tools. You likely will do the same. Antique planes are available, plentiful, cheap and have a great patina. These planes, like that house, have history. These tools have contributed to the pieces that we ogle, much like that house played a part in our country’s history. They have a lineage of which we are only a part. They have been used by hands more adept than our own. It’s awe-inspiring, intimidating and romantic.
I struggled with writing the chapter, though, because I am simply not the man to do it. I have restored a bunch of antique planes in my woodworking life. It is often difficult, tedious and blind work for the beginner. The knowledge that these vintage planes did work was often the only thing that kept me trying to transform them into workable tools. The idea that they did work and now, with the current wedge, iron or body, cannot wasn’t apparent until I had made several moulding planes for myself.
In short, my experience with antique planes led me to jump at the opportunity to make my own when Lie-Nielsen and Clark & Williams collaborated to begin producing the necessary tools and instruction. The only source I had when I set out to produce my own tools, outside of my blind experience, was Larry Williams’s DVD “Making Traditional Side Escapement Planes” (Lie-Nielsen Toolworks). I watched the entire thing once (with my mother, who loved it! I was two weeks out of major back surgery, and I love her so leave me alone) and a few select chapters of that DVD a couple times more.
There are a few things that I do now when making my planes that differ from the methods Larry shows, but there were none when I made my first planes. That DVD and my limited experience led me to creating functioning planes that hold an edge. The journey is well worth it. I recommend it highly. There is so much information that is superbly presented in that DVD that you could practically start your own business… .
I am not the man to write this chapter because my conclusion was ultimately that, given the time commitment, I would rather make my own. Should you choose to make this antique tool trek on your own, with the help of only books, videos or the Internet, keep the following 10 points in mind when dealing with antique planes:
Assume that the sole needs to be addressed, and know that you will need a way to address it. A No. 8 hollow is easy to fix if you have the matching No. 8 round that works. A 1/8″ side bead will likely need a matching router bit in order to repair its sole. For a cove and astragal you will need either a mother plane, or a matching hollow, a router bit and a method for holding the plane at the spring angle across a router table. You are on your own for anything with a Grecian shape.
Assume that the iron will need to be reground and resharpened. This often will lead to annealing and re-hardening the steel. Again, I am no authority regarding either of these subjects, and I chose not to write about them. The DVD “Sharpening Profiled Hand Tools” (Lie-Nielsen Toolworks) by Larry Williams of Old Street Tool addresses these both. There are certainly other sources.
Warped planes can often be fixed. This will involve planing the chamfer and face flat and, ideally, parallel. It will also require re-establishing the profile upon the sole and getting it centered. The iron will then likely need significant work.
The plane’s mouth will never need to be opened because it is simply too tight. It might need to be opened because even a small amount of damage has occurred there and even the slightest shaving will not eject. Which leads me to…
There are a wide range of reasons why a plane clogs. I will limit myself to what I can think of in the next five minutes. a. The mouth is damaged. b. The wedge is damaged. c. The blind side of the mouth is damaged. d. The iron is not sharp. e. The iron does not match the sole. f. The iron’s sides have been misground. g. The sole is not flat. h. The sole is warped. i. The ramp is damaged. j. Etc. (The list really does continue.)
Making an old plane functional will destroy its resale value to anybody but people who make furniture using these tools.
“User” grade does not mean ready to “use.”
“Fine” does not mean “fine” to go.
“Ready to go” does not mean “ready to go.”
These planes were often used for several successful working generations. They then sat, were mishandled or, most likely, a combination of both for more than 100 years.
Bottom line: There is much that can be wrong with antique planes. If you have limited experience with troubleshooting these matters it is often frustrating and, in my experience five years ago, sometimes futile. I could economically fight this fight now, but I do not want to. Sometimes I look at my old planes and want to finish what I once set out to do. There is a failure that literally stands above my bench. We mock each other daily. Then I think about the other things I like.
When these planes are made functional there is no question that they can perform the same way that a new plane will. On top of that function you will also be included in a noble lineage that new planes do not have. The owners’ name stamps will inspire you. Buy a name stamp of your own and add it. You might hold the plane and think about the time when these curved embellishments were a living art. Imagine the conversation that begins with, “What’s next?”
When I stand in front of a high-style Philadelphia highboy at the Philadelphia Art Museum I imagine the same question being posed. It might have happened at that case’s foot before it was shaped. “What’s next?” This history in wood cannot be replaced. It cannot be trumped. And a lack of this historical lineage is a major shortfall of the most sublime reproductions. Even a reproductionist extraordinaire such as Charles Bender cannot replicate that true history – though his appreciation, coupled with his skill and execution, does challenge it.
These butt hinges from Horton Brasses – while not the cheapest option – are always reliable and lovely.
When I can’t afford the fancy forged hinges (or would rather spend that money elsewhere), I most often reach for 2-1/2″ butt hinges from Horton Brasses (item PB-409, about $42 per pair, including screws and shipping). And while butt hinges are available at any hardware store and at a range of price points (some incredibly cheap in both price and quality), I know the extruded brass Horton hinges are always exactly the same and thus interchangeable. I can use one I have on hand to lay out the mortises, and when the new set arrive, I know they’ll fit. (That, however, is perilous behavior – indulge in it at your own risk.) And I know they’ll come with the finish-matched slot-head screws I request. And no, I get no kickbacks from Horton Brasses (or anyone else).
This is a more minimalist look than strap hinges of any kind, but I like the way they look, and they take up zero usable surface area on the chest. Plus, I always have extra hinges on hand from other projects when I buy two sets because I need three hinges.
My starting point for locating these is to go by an old rule: Measure the overall width of the lid (or door or other surface to be hinged) and divide by two. That number is the distance between the hinges – or at least a good starting point. I often bump them out a little more. With the help of a square, knife a line at the location for the outside edge of the hinge. And I always mark the outside edges on every hinge, every time. If I follow the same steps no matter the project, the less likely I am to screw up.
Align the hinge to the first mark, then use the hinge itself to guide the knife as you mark the other end. Try not to slip and scratch the hinge – especially if you chose an antique finish, as it scratches somewhat easily.
Set a cutting gauge to the thickness of the hinge plate, then scribe the mortise baseline from edge to edge on both faces.
Saw to the baseline. Or use a chisel to cut a V in the waste toward the line (a relief cut), then place the chisel, bevel toward the waste in that V with the tool perpendicular to the work, then give it a good smack to reach the baseline. Pare out the waste, or do it with a small router plane (which is overkill … but fun), or a combination of the two.
With the waste removed, test the fit (and I always put the leaf with the barrel piece reaching to the edges on the carcase; the leaf with the cutouts at the end goes on the lid). If all is well, punch the locations for the pilot holes. Why a punch instead of eyeballing it with an awl or pencil? The punch has sloped edges to fit the countersink, so the point automatically finds the center. Eyeballing it can also work – but my eyesight is less reliable than my centerpunch. And the punch (with adjustable pressure for different hardnesses of wood) is awfully fun to use.
Have your marking knife close at hand, then place the lid atop the chest and center it side to side with the back edge butted against the hinge barrels. I set an adjustable square to my best guess on one edge, then show the square to the other edge. Adjust right to left as necessary, then hold it tightly in place. Or have a friend do it for you.
With your marking knife, flat side always against the hinge, nick a mark on the back corner of the lid where the barrel meets it on both ends of both hinges. Make sure the mark is deep enough that you can see it, but be wary of pushing too hard, as that can move the lid out of alignment. It needs to remain still while you make all four marks.
If you used a less reliably made brand of hinges, mark each for its location on the chest so you know which one goes back where, then remove them. You’ll need to use the mated hinge leaf on that exact hinge to mark the mortise on the underside of the lid. If you used a reliably made brand – that is, you know they are interchangeable, you can remove just one … or none, if you happen to have an extra handy.
Fold the hinge over the mortise location (make sure you have the correct leaf), then mark around it with a marking knife (flat side toward the hinge) – or a thin pencil (0.5mm) if you’re afraid of nicking the finish on your hinge. But the knife will provide better accuracy.
Set your marking gauge to the hinge leaf’s thickness if it’s not still set. Or if you’re using a small router plane, set that to the thickness. Either can be used to mark the baseline on the angled edge of the lid (fencing off the flat underside). If you use the router plane here, turn it so one corner of its blade cuts the wood as you drag it to score a baseline.
Chisel or rout out the waste. Deepen the edges of the mortise with a wide chisel as needed – and be careful at the front edge of the mortise; that’s a long-grain cut. If you hit too hard there, the wood will split. If it does, don’t panic. Just pull the chisel out of the cut, then remove the waste on the chisel floor up to the line. If you still need to remove waste at the shoulder, use a sharp knife instead of a chisel.
Reattach the hinges on the back of the chest (if you took them off), then place the chest on its back, and the lid with the inside face up, on your bench. Slide the lid into position at the back edge until the hinges meet their mortises. Punch the hole locations, then drill and drive the screws.
The above is excerpted from the hardware chapter of “Dutch Tool Chests,” by Megan Fitzpatrick.
