This is a an excerpt from Megan Fitzpatrick’s new book “Dutch Tool Chests.” I have been looking forward to its release for some time now and have finally had a chance to read through it. It is incredibly beautiful, which may not always be an applicable word for an instructional book, and clearly written. I appreciate this as one who is not a regular woodworker.
I will include bits of the instructional parts in later excerpts but for now I want to show off some fun pictures of Dutch tool chests that were submitted by LAP friends and readers. The options of how to make your tool chest more versatile seem endless after looking at these…not to mention some of the paint jobs!I only picked three at random but there are quite a few in the book to drool over.
I consider what I’ve presented in the preceding chapters to be the “base model” of the Dutch tool chest form – the Toyota Corolla, if you will. It will last you forever as-is, but might not be as comfortable in the long run as you’d desire.
This Dutch chest form is highly adaptable to different storage needs, sizes and aesthetics. And it sometimes serves, as you’ll see herein, as inspiration for variations that are at times but loosely inspired by the basic form.
I could not possibly cover all the possible storage options, bases, sizes, colors, wood choices and other creative decisions made by others who’ve built or adapted this form. So, I invited people to submit pictures of their chests, with detail pictures of their upgrades and clever ideas.
I present to you in the following pages as many of those as is practical – but without repeating too much of the same (I hope). But it turns out that many great minds think alike. So if you sent me pictures and I didn’t use them here, please know that I appreciate your submissions. It’s likely your chest isn’t blue, so I chose not to include it (just kidding). More likely is that the images simply weren’t large enough to use in print, or that there weren’t enough of them. But know that I nonetheless enjoyed seeing your work; I’m sorry if I couldn’t share it.
I hope the chests that follow (in no particular order) inspire you to build a Dutch tool chest and make it your own.
Jonathan Schneider
The chest is built from local (to Berlin) pine; the unpainted pieces are beech. There are pegged breadboard ends on the lid and fall front, and the dovetailed tray pulls out for easy access.
Note the groove in the drawer front’s center. That allows the drawer to be full depth, and it provides a sure path to guide the lock into its bottom recess. The lid-mounted saw till features cutouts that perfectly fit the blade guards.
Michael McCormick
McCormick’s walnut chest was made from “rough lumber, pretty much 90-percent unplugged,” he wrote. “It was exhausting.” Why the fancy wood? Because he had no climate-controlled shop space, McCormick’s chest lived in his family’s home office, where it needed to blend in as a piece of furniture.
The hardware is by John Switzer at Black Bear Forge.
McCormick says the lid board is the widest piece of walnut he’s ever found; the breadboard ends have kept it flat. Note the hanger for the tool brush, and the slotted hanging rack, which allows McCormick to slide wide chisels into a small hole.
In the bottom, McCormick made stalls for his shoulder plane, tongue-and-groove plane and router plane.
Olivia Bradley
The Dutch tool chest is the perfect size for Bradley’s small shop; she’s customized the interior to hold a lot in the chest’s relatively small footprint – but the interior is still flexible enough that she can stock it as needed for various classes. The elastic bands on the lid and fall front, which can be used for a number of tools, are inspired by toolmaker Liam Rickerby, who ships his winding sticks corralled by bands.
“When I got back from a stick chair class” at Lost Art Press writes Bradley, “I finally finished the cart to go under the Dutch tool chest. I needed a place to put [more] stickers.”
There’s a magnet embedded in Bradley’s lock, by which it sticks to a nail on the front of the chest when it’s not securing the fall front. The drawers in the lower compartment pull all the way out for easy access.
Against a side wall, a rack with 1″-dia. holes houses wider tools and bits. Also shown here is Bradley’s three-sided pencil box; the bottom is screwed to the shelf below.
FIG. 221. Chest, dated 1724: 1. Front view; 2. Side view; 3. Transverse section A–B, Pilistvere, Kõo vald, ERM A 350:11.
The following is excerpted from “Woodworking in Estonia.”The author, Ants Viires, devoted his life to recording the hand-tool folkways of his country without a shred of romanticism. Viires combined personal interviews and direct observation of work habits with archaeological evidence and a thorough scouring of the literature in his country and surrounding nations.
If all this sounds like a dry treatise, it’s not. “Woodworking in Estonia” is an important piece of evidence in understanding how our ancestors worked wood and understood it more intimately than we do. Viires records in great detail everything from the superstitions surrounding the harvesting of wood (should you whistle in the forest?) to detailed descriptions of how the Estonians dried the wood, bent it, steamed it and even buried it in horse dung to shape it for their needs.
Viires covers, in detail, the hand tools used by the Estonian, including many that will be unfamiliar to moderns (a beehive turner?). He then discusses all the different products Estonians made for their own use and for sale in the markets, including bent-wood boxes, chairs, chests, tables, sleds, carriages, spinning wheels, spoons, tobacco pipes, bowls and beer tankards.
Of older products of woodwork, the coffin and chest merit special mention, since already in feudal times a variety of methods were being employed for joining their sides, legs and the lid.
Priidu Anise (b. 1854) from Kaarma makes the following interesting comments concerning coffin and chest production.27
“They were always made of spruce or pine, which was soft and smooth. Chests were made to order by the village carpenter from wood supplied by the customer. The boards were also provided by the peasant placing the order.
“There were some people who made the complete chest at home. But clothes chests were a carpenter’s job; it always had to be more accomplished and so it was. I used to charge a basket of rye for making a grain chest; for a clothes chest – one and a half baskets of rye. The wood was provided by the customer…. The trunk of the pine was split in two, and if it was a thick one, the halves were split in two again. Of these you could get two wide boards and two narrow ones, for lids…. Such boards were put on the block and the edges cut clean, first one then the other.…”
The split boards were left to dry for a couple of years, first on the bathhouse and, just before use, in a room near smoke. This kept them from warping. The dried boards were taken to the carpenter “who went over them with a plane.” If the boards were wide, two were enough for the side, or base, of the chest. “I planed the sides of the boards until they were even, knocked in the tenons, and joined them together. Once the sides and the bottom were thus assembled, I marked the legs and cut the grooves and the holes for them.” (In cutting the groove “the work was done with the gimlet, and a chisel was used for cleaning up.”)28
“Now I put the whole thing together, first the ends, then the base and the front and back.“ Then came the making of the joints, which had to be strong enough to hold up the chest.
“The joining proceeded thus: The board which went through the leg was cut into and a wedge made of spruce was driven in…. This was an old method. In my time they began to put in tenons and join it that way.29 A hole was cut across the tenon with a fine gimlet, and the joint was sealed with a peg made of oak.” (“The bottom of the chest was placed so that the board on the side was ridged, or grooved, and thus it was joined (see Fig. 221). In larger chests an additional cross-piece was inserted, which went through to both side boards. If large tenons – 4″ (10 cm) in size – were used, it was not necessary to apply a cross-piece.”
To secure the top “the two rear legs were made higher, and cut so that the top would be forced onto them. Here also, oak pins were used…. Oak pins were strong and kept the top in position. Two more pins about 2″ (5 cm) in size were placed, and then the top rested firmly.”
FIG. 222. Chest with gable-type lid, presumably made before the Northern War. Rõuge, Kasaritsa vald. Somi village, ERM A 101-40.
The last stage was the smoothing and cutting away of all protruding ends. “All were cut away, from the top and the legs, with a sharp knife and a small plane where necessary.”
Altogether the work was completed with a minimum of tools, available in every peasant household: “An axe, knife, chisel, gimlet and an occasional plane… the edges were cleaned with a draw knife.” For making clothes chests a curved chisel was needed, and a special plane for the mouldings. The moulding planes in Kaarma came into use in 1870.
“It was first seen in the tool shop of the estate carpenter.” But it must be assumed that carpenters used such planes already in the early part of the 19th century, or even previously, for chest making; the museums abound in exhibits with moulding on sides and legs, obviously made by moulding planes.
FIG. 223. Chest with curved lid. Tõstamaa, Seli vald. ERM 4933.
The above methods of chest making must be considered general for the whole of Estonia, since the same features are found in all chests in the country, beginning with the oldest known one (1724) as may by be seen clearly in Fig. 221.
Chests with pillars in the four corners were common in Mediterranean countries in ancient times, from where they made their way through the Balkans and Central Europe, reaching as far as Scandinavia in the north. In the northern countries chests of the model described above appeared already in the 12th century.30 In Sweden, farmers made their own grain and flour chests until modern times.31
In the Baltic countries pillared chests are not commonplace. Apart from Estonia they were known to some extent among the Votyaks, as in Livonia and northern Latvia (Vidzeme).32 In other parts of Latvia, as well as in Lithuania and Belarus, the board chest with a lid that could be locked was popular until well into the 19th century. Specially decorated chests were used for clothes.33 Only in Pskov, where there was a strong element of Baltic nationals, was a variety of chests to be found, including the Estonian type. It is not unlikely that the chests reached Pskov parallel with their development in Estonia in the 19th century. In other parts of Russia chests of a different structure (“sunduk”) dating to the 17th century were used.34
FIG. 224. Lid with ridge on the top. Tartu-Maarja, Väägvere village. ERM vv.-akt 234:1.
The term for the pillar-cornered chest is closely linked in all Baltic-Finnish languages (Estonian – “kirst;” Finnish, Votyak – “kirstu;” Karelian – “kirsto;” Izhorian – “kirštu;” Livonian – “kiršt”), and was carried over into Old Russian – “kersta;” Latvian – “šķirsts”).35
On the basis of the ancient terms and in the light of archaeological discoveries in Scandinavia, it may be assumed that the type of chest as described above was known in Estonia before the 13th century.
Our impression of the Estonian chest so far is somewhat incomplete. We have admittedly noted that the basic structure of chests in Estonia was fairly uniform throughout the country; however, certain distinctions in detail and outward appearance exist between various districts. The most significant differences concern the lid. In the 19th century the gable-type lid was most in use in southeastern Estonia (Fig. 222). This type was produced by the Haanja home industry until the trunk and commode made their appearance in the 1880s. This was also the case further south, in Vidzeme.36 Similarly, in Pskov and other Peipus areas, as well as further north among the Votyaks, it was equally popular. The origin of the kind of lid can be traced back to ancient sarcophagi, and it is therefore considered to be the oldest type of lid in Estonia.37
FIG. 225. Chest (bridal chest). Pöide. Ardla village, Drawing from Archives of State Committee for Building and Architecture.
Chests with a curved lid, which in central Europe were associated with the Gothic period, predominated in Estonia in the 19th century. They were already popular in the early 18th century (see Fig. 221).
Various methods were employed for the decoration of these lids, and chests generally, including poker work (Fig. 223). In eastern Estonia, e.g. in the former Tartumaa region, it was customary to cover the top of the lid with a narrow board forming a ridge in the center (Fig. 224). In Saaremaa and Hiiumaa the edges of the chest were covered with ornamented boards (Fig. 225), which is obviously a characteristic feature of Swedish origin.38 This meant that the cross-piece was also on the outside, while the chest construction on the mainland placed the cross-piece inside the chest. All these distinctions, however, are not confined only to certain territories, and the same features may be found anywhere in the country.
27 Description taken from KV 79, 108-121. The additions in the parentheses date from KT 71, 45 onwards. Both the descriptions have been noted down by A. Toomessalu.
28 There were also more specialized tools, such as the croze and the grooving planes, but only a few village carpenters had them (Cf. p. 68 and Fig. 51:2).
29 Actually, use of pins was typical even at the oldest coffins (see Fig. 221). They have already been used in the Swedish 12th century coffins (Svensson, Figs. 5, 19-20, 34–36).
30 Erixson, Möbelkultur, pp. 126–128; Shoultz, p. 6; Karlson p. 91 and the following.; Svensson, Figs. 1–5, 17–21, 31–38.
31 Erixon, Möbelkultur, p. 127.
32 LE, p. 931; data received concerning Vidzeme from L. Dumpe, a scholar of the LVM.
33 Bielenstein, p. 235 onward; Figs. 166–168; Бломквист, p. 424 onward. Fig. 116; data of V. Milius, a Lithuanian candidate of history.
34 Бломквист, p. 426 onward.
35 Kalima, Balttil. Lainasanat, p. 118; Toivonen, p. 200; Aben p. 206.
36 LVM, chests with gable-type lid 21246 (Valga County), 21246 and 21247 (unknown origin); also LVM archives, folder 2440 (chests from Cēsis County).
37 Põldmäe, pp. 42-44.
38 See Erixon, Möbelkultur, p. 127; Schoultz, p. 10 and Fig. 10.
Age-old elegance. A traditional dovetailed drawer that slides on wooden runners in a table made by Kent Perelman. The guides at each side are precisely in line with the opening and perpendicular to the table’s face. The runner itself is just wide enough to accommodate the thickness of the drawer side. The table is fitted with traditional wooden drawer stops that go immediately behind the face. The runners and side guides have been waxed to promote smooth movement.
For two decades, Nancy made a living by turning limitations into creative, lively and livable kitchens for her clients. This, her final how-to book, is an invitation to learn from both her completed kitchen designs (plus kitchens from a few others) and from the way she worked.
Unlike most kitchen design books, “Kitchen Think” is a woodworker’s guide to designing and furnishing the kitchen, from a down-to-the-studs renovation to refacing existing cabinets. And Nancy shows you how it can be done without spending a fortune or adding significantly to your local landfill.
In this excerpt Nancy gives options for mounting drawers – handy when facing a kitchen renovation or for any casework where a drawer is included.
The inside view of the drawer mount shown above.
1. Wooden Slides
Traditionally, drawers have slid on wooden runners: strips of wood tenoned into horizontal rails at the face of a cabinet. In casework where a drawer will not be guided by the cabinet’s sides – for example, when the cabinet has a face frame that protrudes into the drawer opening – the runners are fitted with guides to keep the drawers from sliding left or right and binding as they’re closed.
Wooden runners have several qualities to recommend them:
• They work wonderfully when drawers are well-fitted. When it comes to fine furniture, they’re the gold standard, not least because it takes finesse to make a drawer fit snugly while not so tightly that it’s a challenge to open and close.
• Their only cost is your labor.
• The drawer front is the finished face.
• They let your drawer sides and joinery shine without intrusion by metal hardware.
At the same time, wooden drawer slides are less than ideal in some respects:
• They don’t allow for full extension. Once you pull the drawer out to a certain point, it will sag and can fall out of its opening.
• A well-fitted drawer can stick in humid weather where humidity fluctuates significantly.
For decades, cabinetmakers have had access to mechanical slides, the features of which have improved steadily. Today there’s a variety of options offered by manufacturers such as Blum, Accuride, Salice, Knape & Vogt and more. I cover just a couple here.
Mechanical slides have a few advantages over traditional wooden runners, even if they lack the cachet that comes with a piston-fit drawer. They’re quiet, smooth-running and allow you to pull a drawer out fully without danger of it tipping its contents all over the floor, or worse, falling out and being damaged.
An earlier generation of full-extension hardware. A drawer in a simple set of kitchen cabinets fitted with Accuride side-mounted ball bearing slides. This kitchen uses Accuride model 3832. One part of the slide is screwed to the interior of the cabinet; the other, visible here, to the drawer. The slides telescope to allow for full extension, which makes a drawer’s contents completely accessible.
2. Side-mounted Ball Bearing Slides
Side-mount ball bearing slides, such as those made by Accuride, are affordable, dependable and hardwearing. They come with a huge variety of optional features, among them a detent (helpful in cases where you want to use whatever is on the pull-out surface, such as a keyboard, without the drawer or tray closing when you touch it); extra-heavy load capacity; specialty slides for file drawers, lateral files, and so forth. Other advantages include:
• They’re extremely easy to install in casework. You can put them almost anywhere you want, mounting the support to the cabinet side or using mounting plates to attach the hardware to the cabinet’s front and back.
• They only impose one constraint on the dimensions of your drawer – the width of the drawer must be at or just a hair under the precise width between the slides once they’ve been installed. Beyond this, you can use these slides on drawers that are deeper (from front to back) or shallower than the slides, depending on your application.
• It doesn’t matter how your drawer bottom fits into the drawer, i.e. whether it’s flush at the bottom surface, fitted in slips, or slid into grooves in the drawer front and sides.
• While this flexibility may not sound so impressive in principle, it can be a life-saver in rare circumstances where you need the combination of affordable price, full extension and flexibility in drawer construction that such hardware allows.
These slides allow the drawer to be removed simply by disengaging a lever. To replace the drawer, slide it carefully into position – if you don’t align the parts perfectly, you can damage the slides – then push until you hear a “click.” Now pull the drawer out and close it fully to check the fit.
Before you install set screws, the slides are adjustable up and down in addition to forward and backward, thanks to slots on both parts – the part that goes on the drawer and the part that goes in the cabinet. Some models also have screwdriver-adjustable cams.
As for drawbacks, side-mounted ball bearing slides are not completely silent; there’s a metal-on-metal sound when the arms of the slides are closing or opening, but it’s minor. These slides also take up some width. This space varies somewhat, depending on the model; most require 1/2″ on each side. As a result, in most applications, you need to cover the front of the drawer with an applied face. This face can be inset, as shown here, half overlay or full overlay.
When choosing these or other mechanical slides, read the specs and installation instructions to make sure the slides are compatible with your design.
My least favorite feature of these slides is their visibility. Although they come in different finishes (many lines are available in white, black and stainless, in addition to zinc), they do detract from the pristine beauty of a nicely finished drawer side – at least, when the drawer is open. When the drawer is closed, the slides are invisible.
The bee’s knees – with exceptions. A drawer on Blum Tandem undermount slides, which are invisible other than a little lever just behind the drawer face (not visible in this photo). While Blum Tandem drawer slides work well in many applications, there are times when ball-bearing (or other) slides are the best choice for the job.
3. Self-closing Undermount Slides
Since about the turn of the millennium, cabinetmakers have had access to a type of slide that combines full extension and smooth, silent operation with almost complete invisibility. The Blum Tandem is the most widely known version, but as soon as other manufacturers saw how popular the new design was with cabinet manufacturers and their customers, they began devising their own variations on the theme.
Not only are these slides silent, smooth-running, full extension and invisible, when fitted with the right locking devices (available from the same suppliers as the slides themselves), they offer a new dimension in adjustability over previous kinds of drawer slide hardware. You can move the drawer face up or down, forward or backward, tilt it to make it flush with the face frame and move it from side to side – a boon when you’re dealing with inset drawer faces in particular. These features come with some strict requirements:
• There are precise dimensional requirements: Drawers must be just the right width and depth (front to back) to fit specific slides. These and other specifications are laid out in a handy instruction guide published by hardware manufacturers.
• There needs to be a 1/2″ recess beneath the drawer bottom so that the sides and front will conceal the runners.
• You need to drill a couple of holes at the back of the drawer for the tilt mechanism.
• Because the position of the slide hardware is fixed in relation to the drawer sides (it has to go below the drawer bottom), you need to be more precise in positioning the hardware inside the cabinet than you do with sidemounted ball bearing hardware. You must also leave more clearance in height than with side-mounted hardware, which can eat up space, depending on other elements of a cabinet’s design.
As with the side-mounted slides, there will be a bit of space on either side of the drawer with undermount hardware. This space works out to about 5/16″ on each side. An applied drawer face hides the gaps.
One Way to Level the Legs. The chair is sitting on a level worksurface, the front legs are raised on blocks to achieve the proper tilt to the seat. The seat is then leveled from left to right with shims (if necessary). Measure from the front of the seat to the worksurface – 17-3/16″ in this case. Decide on a final seat height – 15-11/16″ in the illustration. Subtract the seat height from the overall height to determine how much wood you need to cut off – 1-1/2″ in this case. Cut a block of wood to that length. Use the block to scribe the legs with the help of a Half Pencil™.
Cutting down the legs of a chair so they rest flat on the floor is another one of the “great mysteries” faced by most beginning chairmakers. If you’ve never done it, it seems impossible. But if you’ve done it even once, it seems completely obvious.
If you’ve never done it, know this: Leveling the legs requires no special talents in geometry or math. The only skill required is being able to saw to a pencil line.
There are about five or six ways I know of to level the legs of a chair. I have tried them all. The following method is the one that is the easiest to teach. Most students grasp this method with ease, in my experience. If, however, you read through this technique and say: But why don’t you do …? My answer is simple: Try your theoretical method and see how it goes. There are lots of ways to do this operation.
Set the Stage
To trim the legs of your chair you need a flat worksurface that is level. This can be a piece of plywood that you have shimmed with wedges, the top of a table saw, your workbench or that one patch of floor in your shop that is inexplicably level.
To level the worksurface, I use a spirit (aka bubble) level and construction shims. I test the surface in the X axis and Y axis and add wedges until the surface reads level according to the spirit level. Then I gather the tools necessary for laying out the cuts on the legs: a handful of small wedges, the spirit level, a modified carpenter’s pencil, a tape measure, a 6″ rule and some scrap wood.
The Modified Carpenter’s Pencil
One of my favorite layout tools is a carpenter’s pencil that has been planed to half its thickness. I call it the Half Pencil™, and it is a useful thing to have around. It allows you to make pencil marks in the same way a spear-point marking knife works.
A marking knife works well for joinery because you can run the flat back of its blade against one surface (such as a try square) to accurately mark another surface below. The same principle applies to a half pencil. You don’t have to tip the pencil to make a perfectly accurate mark.
If you are skeptical, plane a carpenter’s pencil in half. This is easily done by placing the pencil against a planing stop. If you don’t have a planing stop, stick it to a scrap board with carpet tape and plane it in half with a jack plane. Once you own one, I suspect that you will find uses for it outside of chairmaking.
The Half Pencil™. Plane a carpenter’s pencil in half with a jack plane until you get to its lead. This pencil (turned upside down in this photo) can scribe your legs without accounting for the pencil’s thickness.
The Two Big Ideas
Put the chair on your level surface. I’m sure that (like my chairs) it will wobble on the flat surface and look a bit awkward. This is how all that gets fixed.
The goal is to prop up the legs so the seat is:
1. Level from left to right.
2. Sloped from front to back so that the chair is ideal for either dining/ keyboarding or lounging.
Getting the chair level from left to right is straightforward. Place your bubble level on the seat and shim the legs so none of the legs wobble and the seat is level to the floor left to right.
Level, Left to Right. Use shims to level the chair’s legs from left to right. Make sure the legs don’t wobble.
Now you need to set the “tilt” of the seat. How much does the seat slope downward from front to back? A seat that is level from front to back isn’t ideal. The sitter will feel like she is being pushed forward a tad. The seat needs to slope backward.
But how much?
The system I use is based somewhat on the way chairmaker John Brown worked. The seat should slope backward by “one finger” for dining chairs. And “two fingers” for lounging chairs.
Place the level on the pommel and the back of the spindle deck. Place one finger under the level at the back of the chair. Does the bubble level read level? If yes, then your chair is pitched correctly for a dining chair.
Usually, most chairs need to have their front legs propped up on scrap blocks to be sloped two fingers or three fingers back. If your chair (as built) is pitched at “one finger” and you want it to be “two fingers,” then you need to prop up the front legs by “one finger.” My fingers are about 3/4″ wide. So, I’ll cut scrap blocks about 3/4″ wide and place them under the front legs and any wedges.
Two Fingers. I have put blocks under the front legs of the chair until the bubble level reads level from front to back with two fingers under the rear of the level. This pitch is ideal for lounging.
Then I check the slope from front to back. If I can put two fingers under the bubble level at the back of the chair and the bubble level reads level, then I’m where I need to be. If I want more pitch, I’ll add taller blocks at the front legs. If I want less pitch, I’ll use shorter blocks.
Mess with the blocks and wedges until the seat is level from left to right and pitched like you want it in real life. And make sure it doesn’t wobble on the block and wedges.
The following is an excerpt from Chris’ newest book, “American Peasant.” The book is an introduction to a style of peasant furniture and decoration that is almost unheard of in the Americas. Built primarily with tongues, grooves and pegs, the furniture is frequently engraved with geometric symbols that beautify the piece and protect its owner.
With this book, you will learn to build 10 simple pieces using common tools and whatever lumber is on hand. And you’ll learn to engrave the pieces using nothing more than a cheap craft knife and a vinyl flooring cutter. (We were so thrilled with this tool that we now make a commercial version of it.)
In addition to furniture making, “American Peasant” delves into other areas of the craft that will make you a more independent woodworker. Learn to make your own commercial-grade glue using only three ingredients (food-grade gelatin, salt and water), all of which you can find at the grocery store. The glue is strong, reversible and non-toxic (it’s edible, though we don’t recommend eating it).
You can make your own finish using beeswax, linseed oil and citrus solvent. This non-toxic finish is easy to apply and to repair. Plus, it looks better with age and use.
Finally, you’ll learn the language of the engravings, which come from Scandinavia, Eastern Europe and the U.K. These geometric engravings can protect a loved one from sickness, guard your valuables and grant good fortune to others (there are no negative engravings or spells in this book).
Many projects in this book use a tongue-and-groove joint to create the wide panels that make up the fronts, sides, backs, lids and bottoms of the pieces.
On many original pieces in Eastern Europe, this joint was created using rived stock, as discussed in the previous chapter. The tongue was at the tip of the board. The groove was plowed with a T-shaped grooving tool that is unavailable in the West. It’s a clever and effective way to build furniture – if you have rived stock.
Sawn stock from the lumberyard or mill is rectangular in cross section. And the grain is rarely dead straight through the board. So the approach to making these pieces requires a different tool.
For centuries, planemakers have made wooden-bodied tongue-and-groove planes, sometimes called “match planes.” One plane makes the tongue; a second makes the matching groove. These tools are effective, if you can find them in working order and they haven’t lost their mate.
Stanley Works had a clever solution. In 1875, Stanley started making the No. 48 Tonguing and Grooving Plane. It is one plane that makes both parts of the joint. The position of the tool’s rotating fence determines which part of the joint the plane cuts.
In one position, the fence exposes only one of the plane’s two cutters to the wood. So it makes a groove. Spin the fence 180 degrees, and it exposes two cutters, which makes the tongue.
Vintage Stanley catalog listings for its tonguing and grooving plane.
The No. 48 was designed to be used on stock from 3/4″ to 1-1/4″ in thickness, with the tongue centered on 7/8″-thick stock. Later, Stanley made a smaller plane, the No. 49, which joins boards that are 1/2″ thick (though it could handle boards that were slightly thinner and thicker).
The Nos. 48 and 49 are remarkable tools, and Stanley made many of them. So you can find them (and copies of them) on the used market. Sometimes their irons go missing, but replacements are out there or can be made easily.
A Stanley No. 48 set up for tonguing (left) and grooving (right).
Lie-Nielsen Toolworks makes heavy-duty versions of the Nos. 48 and 49, which have some improvements, especially the tools’ wooden handles and the use of a single iron, instead of two irons. These are the tools I use throughout this book, and I recommend them. (Note: There are other modern manufacturers who make planes that can do the same task, but you must swap out some tooling to make both parts of the joint.)
Both the Stanley and Lie-Nielsen tools have some peculiarities in setting them up and using them. Here are some tips to get you started.
Sharpening
I sharpen almost all my plane blades at 35 degrees. This keeps my life simple, and it doesn’t hurt how the tools perform. Argue the minutiae with me over a beer sometime, but the simple fact is that this is how I have worked for many years.
To ensure my edges are dead-square and at 35 degrees, I use a side-clamping honing guide when possible.
To sharpen the two blades for the Stanley versions of these planes, you clamp them in the honing guide and sharpen them like a bench chisel.
The ingenious Lie-Nielsen forked cutter clamped (with care) in a honing guide.
If you own a Lie-Nielsen version of this tool, you have only one iron to sharpen, which looks like a forked tongue. You can sharpen this iron in a honing guide, but you need to be careful when cinching down the guide on the blade. With some honing guides, you can bend the forks of this blade. So take care and cinch the guide down to where the blade is held firm, but isn’t bending.
Setup
Setting up the Lie-Nielsen tools is simple. Put the forked blade in the tool, secure the lever cap and set the blade projection. Set it for as heavy a cut as your muscles can manage.
Setting the blades for the original Stanleys takes more fiddling, but that is a positive aspect of this plane. I set the blade that is farthest from the fence a little deeper than the blade near the fence. These slightly offset cutters ensure tight-fitting joints. Here’s how:
First thing to know: The fence of the tool should always run against the “true surface” of every board. This is true for both the tongue and the groove.
If the term “true surface” boggles you, here’s a quick explanation. In handwork, we call a surface “true” if it has been flattened so it can join other surfaces. On a dining table, for example, the underside of the tabletop needs to be true so it sits flat on the table’s base. The top surface just has to look flat. So when you are tonguing and grooving backboards for a cabinet, the fence needs to ride against the faces of the boards that will face toward the inside of the cabinet.
The true face relates to other pieces of the project. The true face of a tabletop is the underside because it has to mate with the base.
So, when the single cutter is exposed to make the groove, the groove is a little deeper than normal because the blade is set deeper.
When set to make the tongue, the deeper cutter overcuts a little compared to its shy cousin. The net result: The show surface of the joint is always tight. The non-show surface has a small gap between the boards.
One of the advantages of separate blades is that you can set one deeper than the other – ensuring a gap on the back and a tight joint facing the user.
Use
The main difficulty with these tools is that the fence becomes wobbly. This is almost always caused by the user “unscrewing” the fence as they switch back and forth between the tonguing and grooving settings. If the fence becomes too loose, the boards won’t mate flush.
I keep a screwdriver on the bench when I use these planes. And I make sure the tip of the screwdriver fits the head of the screw on which the fence pivots (this prevents the screw’s slot from getting chewed up). After I adjust the fence, I snug up the screw, which prevents the fence from wiggling.
Whenever I spin the fence on my tongue-and-groove plane, I cinch the center screw to keep everything tight.
