Note: It is entirely in the realm of possibilities that the events recounted may have been slightly exaggerated. Nevertheless, it is all true.
Towards the middle of August on nice pre-autumn afternoon I was in the backyard minding my own business when, with a loud bang, something hit the garage roof. A second later, at the far edge of my peripheral vision, something whizzed by and landed with a sharp crack on the driveway. (Here it should be noted that the last time my vision was tested at the DMV office the agent said my peripheral vision was extremely good.) Whatever it was, it missed. Minutes later it happened again with the “missile” missing my head by just a few inches. It crossed my mind that it would be advantageous to take cover in the garage. When the barrage ended I collected the spent shot from the garage walkway and the driveway.
It was the Mockernut! Our hickory tree was throwing murder marbles at me! I was appalled. This is the tree that provides much-needed shade in the summer and gorgeous golden leaves in the autumn. This is the tree I always stop to give a pat to when walking by. It is solid, straight, true. And, apparently, a punk teenager.
The Mockernut hickory, Caryatomentosa, is a member of the Juglandaceae, the walnut family. Our tree is around 55-60 feet high and at least 40-45 years old. These trees don’t start producing murder marbles until they are 25 years old. That seems such a long ”childhood” until you learn they are both slow-growing and long-lived, with some trees reaching the age of 500 years.
Assassins in waiting.
As woodworkers are well aware, hickory wood is extremely hard and is an excellent wood for tool handles. The nuts are also exceedingly hard. People who enjoy hiking or camping in the forest and who have unfortunately lost their food supply to bears can enjoy a snack of hickory nuts if they happen to have brought along a sledge hammer. Try as I might, none of the many nutcrackers in the house could open a fresh Mockernut nut. Hickory nuts are an important food source for squirrels, rabbits and other wildlife, but how in the world do they get them open? Being much smarter than the average human they gather the nuts and wait. After a few weeks of aging the nuts are much easier to open.
Perhaps our Mockernut was feeling feisty after several “off” years and the beating it took last year. On a warm day in April 2020 we had what seemed to be a mini-derecho tear through our neighborhood. In just 15 to 20 minutes shearing winds tore thousands of leaves and small branches from trees. The wind was accompanied by hailstones the size of nickels and quarters. When the wind and hail stopped every surface was covered with ragged green leaves and the air was filled with a fog as the hailstones melted. Weeks afterward the damage inflicted on the springtime trees, especially to the crowns, was hard to miss. In our yard the Mockernut and Southern red oaks faired much worse than the white oaks.
Beyond the deep shade it provides in the summer the Mockernut is an important part of our yard’s ecosystem. It is home to myriad insects that provide food for several bird species. For many birds it is an intermediate stop and refuge on the way to the water bowls. The squirrels have made it their highway connecting their nesting trees to the yard. The Mockernut is also an important feature in squirrel parkour exercises and several branches are used as napping sites during the summer.
I have to admit the initial attack brought back childhood memories of the apple trees in the “Wizard of Oz.” It was upsetting to see an apple tree, mind you a talking apple tree, slap Dorothy and then pelt her with apples. Although there were days when there were so many nuts on the ground walking felt more like in-line skating, I made my peace with the Mockernut. Or so I thought. Just a few days ago we had a light rain followed by a nice breeze. I was in the yard minding my own business when suddenly, WHAPP! I was struck on the side of my head by a golden compound Mockernut leaf.
A plank chair seat with spindles and legs sawed off and repainted to make a sign. Possibly Pennsylvania-German. Photo: Garth’s Auctions, Columbus, Ohio.
While working on a research project earlier this year I had the opportunity to delve into 19th-century business directories. For some tradesmen using newspaper ads and business directory listings was the only effective means of advertising their goods and services to the public. For those newly arrived in town the local business directory provided maps, locations of city offices, churches and where to find merchants selling all manner of goods. For present-day researchers, from economists to those tracing their family history, old business directories provide valuable information on American life from the late 18th century to early in the 20th century.
A business directory for New York City in 1794 included a list of goods on which a customs tax had to be paid. An exception was made for the tools belonging to persons involved in one of the mechanical trades. This was one way to attract badly needed skilled mechanics to the new Republic.
Let’s take a look through advertisements placed by tradesmen associated with woodworking. The ads are from the 1830s to early 1880s with the majority from the “western cities” of Cincinnati, Columbus, Pittsburgh and St. Louis. All business directories were found in the collections of public and university libraries.
Paid advertisements were usually in a section towards the back of a directory. The cost of an ad depended on the size of the ad space. Consequently, a small business (and most were small businesses) needed to cram in all the necessary details in a space that might measure only 1 inch by three inches. Fortunately, there were numerous fonts and font sizes to jazz up their ads and grab the attention of the public. The combination of fonts and stock images used in these old ads is one feature that makes them so attractive to today’s woodworkers (and others).
A checklist of items to put in an ad include the tradesman’s name, business name, location, goods and services provided and references. Some directions on how the find the business (two doors down, westside, next to, between) were particularly helpful in the crowded conditions of the city. Phrases that communicate the tradesmen is ready, willing and able to meet the needs of a customer include “prepared to” “at the shortest notice” and “always on hand.”
Joseph Stringer (top-left) let his Cincinnati customers know he was previously a foreman at a premium saw manufacturer in New York. He is a “practical” saw maker and repairer indicating he will make or repair saws that fit the needs of the customer. The last lines of the ads are worth reading if you are looking for a job, can only afford a refurbished file or saw. First Premium Saw Manufactory of Cincinnati (bottom-right) has some weighty references. Mitchell & Rammelsberg made all varieties of furniture and at one time was considered one of the largest furniture factories in the world. Mudge & Clawson made over a hundred different styles of bedsteads.
It never hurts to have your name match your business.
Stock images, such as the handplane, made it easier for the woodworking customer find a merchant. The ad at the top-left is from a Cincinnati newspaper. After E. F. Seybold had a fire (or fire spread to his premises) it was a matter of urgency to let the public know his new location and that he had stock on hand. Business directories also helped customers find merchants after fires or other situations forced merchants to relocate.
Stout & Richey of Louisville, Kentucky advertised in a directory that seemed to allow only business-card type ads. Note that A.B. Seidenstricker of Baltimore is the successor to well-known planemaker Phillip Chapin. In the small print at the bottom of his add F.B. Marble of Cleveland boasts he can make BETTER tools at cheaper prices “as any establishment west of New York, or east of the Rocky Mountains.” That’s a lot of chutzpah and about 1800 miles (on today’s roadways).
Wood and metal compass from a toolmaker’s shop. It would have been displayed inside the shop. American, late 18th century to early 19th century. Photo: 1stdibs.
This is a well-ordered ad using its products to form a border. It also has the power of three: three products, three owners and three consecutive lots on Biddle Street. It makes me wonder if bolts were kept at No. 17, nuts at No.19 and washers at No.21 (and now you know why they would never have hired me). Richard H. Cole was granted a patent in 1857 for a machine that fabricated metal nuts. Denizens of St. Louis will recognize the names of the other two proprietors. C.P. Chouteau is likely a member of the family that helped found St. Louis. J.J. O’Fallon is likely the son of John O’Fallon. O’Fallon, senior, was a nephew of William Clark (of Lewis and Clark) and, after a career in the U.S. Army, made St. Louis his home and was involved in the expansion of the railroads.
The image of the adze draws the eye to Osborn & Swan’s ad and the name brands of tools on offer. Samuel Worl, cooper of Pittsburgh offered a full line of products. With his business located near the convergence of three rivers, including the Ohio River and steamboat traffic, he could take and fill orders from customers outside of Pittsburgh.
One 1844 business directory featured histories and advertisements from what it termed the cities of the Mississippi Valley. It was essentially a tour from the large cities that were along the Ohio River (or had access via canal) and those cities along the Mississippi River. The last city was, of course, New Orleans. Antognini, like many French craftsmen of the city, had his advertisements offered in French and English. However, he is a bit sly in offering one particular item to only his French-speaking customers (and you will have to figure that out for yourself). But, billiard tables? Yes, let’s not forget the importance of a game of billiards, fine liquor and the opportunity to make a business deal. Billiards was a popular pastime and Monsieur Roubo had a whole section on games tables. Plate 255 below.
As for hat forms, every man and woman wore a hat. The wealthy citizens of New Orleans looked forward to receiving news and drawings of the latest fashions from Paris. Antognini was probably one of several businesses that supplied hat forms to the hatters and milliners of New Orleans. By 1861 Antognini had gained a partner and was still in business but seems to have discontinued making hat forms.
19th-century French wooden hat form comprised of two pieces. Photo: Elizabeth Street Gallery, New York.
Of the three coachmakers and blacksmiths on this page my favorite is Guillaume Retaud. Monsieur Retard pays for only what is necessary and he basically says “I do what it says.”
Two Columbus, Ohio blacksmiths. Mr. Bevilhimer kindly thanks his customers and offers reassurance that he will be lighting a new fire to keep up with his orders. It’s possible he may have had to delay taking new orders until he cleared a backlog. Fred Litchford, on the other hand, wants to sell his business. I checked a later Columbus directory and found he was still in business and he was Black. He continued his business and eventually his son worked with him. I had to include this Baltimore blacksmith because he just goes whole hog with his inventory and, best of all, he was at the Sign of the Bellows and Anvil. Imagine that sign.
Left: a tin-mounted wooden bellows sign for a blacksmith. Photo: Weschler’s Auctions, Rockville, Maryland. Right: a tin anvil and hammer sign. Photo: Thomston Place Auction Galleries, Maine.
Thomas J. Magee was patriotic, a punster, or both. When applied to a ladder, “E Pluribus Unum” is very clever. Magee was first listed in the Cincinnati business directory in 1856. Two years later his carpenter and builder listing expanded to include ladder manufacturer. By their nature, a ladder ad should be tall and this ad fits the bill. Magee also doesn’t get to wordy. If you wanted carpentry and jobbing work it would be done, etc., etc. His last listing was in 1860. A five-year run for a business was not unusual. Magee may have moved on to another of the “western” cities or he may have succumbed to illness or injury.
I chose these two Columbus hardware stores because of their signs: the gilt padlock and the gilt broad axe. After putting them together I noticed they were next door to each other! Both the padlock and broad axe were traditional signs used by hardware shops. It must have been quite a sight to see the two gilt signs side-by-side and shining in the sunlight while the shop owners glared at each other. As you can see a good old fashioned hardware store carried everything.
Both signs are from 19th-century hardware stores. Photos: Skinner Auctions, Massachusetts.
All of the river cities and their merchants were of great importance to the pioneers that chose to move west. They were the transfer points when traveling by boat and the last large towns or cities before overland travel into the wilderness. St. Louis and the adjacent area was the jumping-off point for overland travel to Oregon and other parts of the West Coast. It was the last place for repairs and resupply. Hardware stores were often gathering places where the westbound traveler could shop, get directions to a specialized tradesman and hear the latest news.
Several St. Louis business directories gave merchants the option of using highly detailed images and colored paper. Paper colors were yellow, green, blue and this pinkish tone chosen by J.W. Tyzack. Tyzack also paid for the full image (the smaller central square portion was also an option). Who needs words when you have a picture of many of the tools used in the mechanical trades, on the farm and in the home. It’s all there including a pocketknife.
In the top portion Herman H. Meier, another hardware proprietor, advises he has taken over from Thomas Meier. He selected a very nice border of tools and implements—all is good. The following year he has an option to have his ad on color paper. He chose green, perhaps because his shop was on the corner of Green and Broadway. He has added the words Hardware and Cutlery at each end to make his ad more distinctive. Now, imagine his consternation when the new directory is published and his decorative tool border is upside down and backwards.
Three neat and orderly turners. Daniel Williams’ ad in the center is of particular note as he keeps a tree nail yard and makes trunnels (also known as trennels or trenails).
Siedhoff & Camp chose green paper and in case you didn’t notice they turn chair stuff, boring chair stuff, chair stuff and do turning in general.
In the gallery are several more tradesmen’s signs.
–Suzanne Ellison (all typos and other errors were caused by Titivillus, explanation here.)
The back of the chairmaker sign at the top of the blog post. Photo: Garth’s Auction, Columbus, Ohio.
Photo: Robert Young Antiques, London.
A French hardware shop sign dated 1834. Robert Young Antiques, London.
A wooden axe sign from a Kentucky hardware store. Skinner Auctions.
A blacksmith’s sign with an assortment of his wares. Skinner Antiques.
Another variation of a blacksmith’s sign. Skinner Auctions.
A wooden sign, either for a business selling these goods or a lumberjack. Jeffrey S. Evans, Mt. Crawford, Virginia.
Detail of a 15th-century misericord from St. Laurence’s Church, Ludlow, England.
Back in 2016 while working on blog posts about the woodworkers depicted in misericords I encountered a devilish creature holding a scroll of paper. At the time I thought he was just one of the many little demons carved on misericords. Recently, I found his name and realized he has followed me from when I wrote my first words at age four up until the present time. He is currently perched on my left shoulder taunting me to make a mistake. He is Titivillus, the demon responsible for typographical errors. I’m throwing punctuation and verb tense errors into his basket of writing miseries.
Titivillus (also Tutivillus or Tytinillus) has a history reaching back to the Middle Ages and his purpose was different from how we think of him today. In Margaret Jenning’s 1977 study of the origins of Titivillus she explained “…in their heyday, especially thanks to the Medieval preacher, demons were omnipresent. They rode on ladies’ trains, perched menacingly on lettuce, hid under beds, immersed themselves in fermented liquids, masqueraded as Don Juans and femme fatales, and remained consistently and perversely attached to churches and church people.” Indeed, it seems visions of demons, especially visions of demons noting the behavior of the congregation, were always had by members of the clergy.
At first there were two demons stationed in churches, monasteries and convents. One carried a bag or sack into which he gathered the snippets of half-spoken words, slipped syllables and abridged prayers of the clergy and laity. Each day this demon had the task of collecting (for the Guy Downstairs) one thousand spoken errors each day.
As the English priest, John the Blind Audeley wrote in the first half of the 15th century there should be no “over-hippers and skippers, moterers and mumblers.”
The second demon listened in on the members of the congregation and made note of idle chatter and gossip.
Top: New College Chapel, Oxford, England, 14th century. Bottom: St. Mary the Virgin Church, Enville, England, 15th century, photo by David Taylor).
In these two misericords Titivillus, as the recording demon, positions himself between women to hear their idle talk. You can understand, if you didn’t know this was Titivillus, you might mistake these demons as a winged bull and a bat. The misericord at the top is especially damning as to each side of the gossips are an old woman and a monk kneeling in prayer.
At some point the demon carrying a bag of misspoken words and the recording demon merged. The more prevalent depiction of Titivillus, whether on a misericord, a fresco or printed in a book, was the recording demon. He listened and he wrote on long scrolls of paper or in large books.
Top left: St. Michael and St. Mary Church, Melbourne, England, 13th century. Top right: Bible Moralisée de Naples, 14th century, BnF. Bottom: Faneford Church, Island of Mons, Denmark, 16th century.
Some remarkable frescoes featuring the recording demon were painted on church walls. The 13th-century fresco at the top-left (almost lost to Victorian restoration) shows Titivillus above two women in an argument, with another demon perched on the back of each woman. The demon from Faneford church with his trumpet-like ears is especially well-equipped to hear the latest gossip (with the added feature of horned kneecaps).
A bench end from the Church of St. Mary of Charleton Mackell, circa 1520.
This bench end shows the merging of the bag-carrying demon and the scribe. While he toils at his writing a small flower grows near the ink pot.
Two men engaged in idle talk, St. James’ Church, Cristow, Devon, England, late 15th/early 16th century.
Ah, ha! This carved-wood roof boss proves men gossip, too. Nestled just above their gossiping heads is the recoding demon making note of their conversation. If a parishioner were to look upward to the highest point of the church ceiling there was yet another reminder to avoid distractions from the service.
My nemesis at the top of the post is a side figure on this mid-14th-century misericord from St. Laurence’s Church in Ludlow, England (sketch is from Project Gutenberg). Another function of the recording demon was to be present when a sinner was judged. This is the judgment of a dishonest alewife, a most grievous offense in the Middle Ages. Titivillus, on the left, has an account of her transgressions. In the middle section one demon has the alewife over his shoulder while the second demon plays the bagpipes. On the right, the alewife is thrown into the jaws of Hell.
In Margaret Jennings study of Titivillus she wrote the point of this Medieval demon was to remind clergy and laity of the danger of “spiritual sloth.” The litany of the service, each prayer and each song were to be unhurried, expressed clearly and with fervor.
Woodblock from Der Ritter vom Turm by Geoffroy de La Tour Landry, 1513, Bayerische Staats Bibliothek.
To say or sing by rote and without care, to attend church, but not participate wholly was to open oneself to sin. Hence, visual reminders of a recording demon, as well as other devilish minions, were found on wood, walls and paper. In the hand-colored woodblock above three women gossip, one demon scribbles away and the second demon stretches a scroll with his teeth because they need more paper!
Church of Sts. Stanislaw and Wojciech, Poreby Dymarskie, Poland
This lovely old church was built in 1674 in Cmolas and later moved to Poreby Dymarskie. The walls have polychrome paintings including one in a note-worthy spot.
Under the steps leading to the pulpit there is a painting of Titivillus, pen in hand, observing the parishioners. He probably has already recorded the transgressions of the women behind him. If the priest abridges, mutters or mumbles that will be recorded, too.
Libro de horas de Leonor de la Vega, 15th century, Biblioteca Nacional de España.
Even saints were not immune to the presence of Titivillus. As St. John the Evangelist sits calmly and writes his gospel his ink is being pored out by the demon. This image is a turning point in that the demon is not recording a transgression, he is setting up St. John to fail in his writing. This may be some mischief on the part of the scribes that drew and decorated this page. Each saint in this manuscript depicted writing their gospel or teachings can be easily identified by a personal symbol, in St. John’s case, the royal eagle. St. John’s page is the only one with a demon “up to no good.” In remarks in the margins of manuscripts scribes often complained about their working conditions, spoiled ink and poor-quality paper. Perhaps this is the start of Titivillus shifting from the recorder of transgressions to the instigator of written errors.
Livres d’heures, circa 1510, Bibliotheque Municipale, Tours.
St. Bernard, pictured above, had an argument with a devil. The argument was over the recitation of psalms that would lead to salvation. This image is often used today to illustrate the the stand-off between the writer and Titivillus. I look at his illustration and can imagine Titivillus taunting me in a sing-song voice saying, “You are going to make a mistake.” I’m OK with a typo or two, or three.
Fortunately, there is a way to quiet the pesky causer of typos (and other writing errors) and it is comes courtesy of the Virgin Mary.
The De Brailes Hours by William de Brailes, 1240, British Library.
Wooden spingerle cookie mold for the First Day of Christmas.
Christmastide, the twelve days from Christmas Day to Twelfth Night, is one of my favorite times of the winter season. The long rush to Christmas is over and, for me, it has always been a time to relax. I spend time out-of-doors bird watching and squirrel wrangling. All of our many oak trees have shed their leaves and the loblolly pines, the magnolias and other evergreens are easier to see and admire. This is the time of year I like to reread a favorite book and this year my selection is “The Outermost House” by Henry Beston. January 5, or Twelfth Night, calls for another read of Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night or What You Will.”
The deconstruction of the partridge in a pear tree involves a dip into one of the origin stories of woodworking from the ancient world followed by an article by a very-much-missed modern-day woodworker.
The Partridge
This is a drama involving gifted inventors, ambition, jealousy, treachery, broken familial bonds and a goddess. It must be a three-hankie opera, you are probably thinking. No! That’s very close, but incorrect. It is a sordid episode from Greek and Roman mythology. The story has two possible endings, neither of which is of particular benefit to the victim. There will be some confusion about the name of the victim but it will possibly be made clear for you.
First, we will hear from Book V of Diodorus of Siculus (Greek 60-30 BC): “Talus, a son of the sister of Daedalus, was receiving his education in the home of Daedalus, while he was still a lad in years. But being more gifted than his teacher he invented the potter’s wheel, and then when once he had come by chance upon the jawbone of a snake and with it had sawn through a small piece of wood, he tried to imitate the jaggedness of the serpent’s teeth. Consequently he fashioned a saw out of iron, by means of which he gained the reputation of having discovered a device which would be of great service to the art of building. He likewise discovered also the tool for describing a circle and certain other cunningly contrived devices whereby he gained for himself great fame. But Daedalus becoming jealous of the youth and feeling that his fame was going to rise far above that of his teacher, treacherously slew the youth.”
Fresco from Pompeii in the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. Photo taken in 1895, Goodyear Archival Collection, Brooklyn Museum.
You might know this fresco as The Procession of the Carpenters. In the 19-century museum handbook the fresco is identified as the Death of Perdix (should be Talus) and is described: “This picture represents the murder in the workshop, with apprentices sawing and planing. It is painted on the plane of a catafalque carried by four bearers.” At the forefront of the catafalque we see the scene of the crime. To the left of the apprentice busy planing you will notice what appears to be a surfboard. It is Athena’s shield, however most of Athena herself, at least in this fresco, has disintegrated. Daedalus is one of her favorites and she knows what deed he has done.
Daedalus wrapped the body of Talus in cloth and rushed to bury him. A passerby was suspicious and asked Daedalus what he was burying. Daedalus said it was a snake and his murderous act was discovered. Diodorus provides this pithy conclusion: “Here a man may well wonder at the strange happening, that the same animal that led to the thought of devising the saw should also have been the means through which the murder came to be discovered.”
Next, Book VIII of Ovid’s Metamorphosis gives us a different ending: “Your sister, Perdix, oblivious to the fates, sent you her son, Talus, to be taught: twelve years old, his mind ready for knowledge. Indeed, the child, studying the spine of a fish, took it as a model and cut continuous teeth out of sharp metal, inventing the use of the saw. He was also the first to pivot two iron arms on a pin, so that, with the arms set at a distance, one part could be fixed, and the other sweep out a circle. Daedalus was jealous, and hurled the boy headlong from Minerva’s sacred citadel, claiming that he had fallen. But Pallas Minerva, who favors those with quick minds, caught him, and turned him into a partridge, masking him with feathers in mid-air.”
Neither of these two illustrations capture the drama of Talus transforming from human to partridge. We need a better example of, as Ovid put it, “His inborn energy was transferred to swift wings and feet, and he kept his mother’s name, Perdix, from before.”
This is much better. We see Daedalus and the force of the push. Athena (Minerva) is well-positioned on her cloud to save Talus by transforming his fall into the flight of the partridge, Perdix.
Perdix perdix, the gray partridge.
One last line from Ovid: “But the bird does not perch above the ground, and does not make its nest on branches or on high points, but flies low on whirring wings over the soil, and lays its eggs in a sheltered place.” Poor Talus/Perdix! Such a gifted inventor. Whether it was the jaw of a snake or the spine of a fish that served as his inspiration for the saw we will never know for sure (myth).
As for Daedalus, he escaped a more severe punishment and was banished from Athens. He eventually makes his way to Crete. His story comes full circle when his invention leads to the loss of his son Icarus as they try to escape Crete.
The Pear Tree
The following article by the late David Savage, founder of the Rowden Atelier & Woodworking School, first appeared in the July 2008 issue of British Woodworking Magazine. David posted it on his Fine Furniture Maker blog in August 2008. On his blog it is titled “An Article on Pearwood.” He grabs you with the first line and doesn’t let go.
“Pear wood is one of the most sensual and satisfying of hardwoods that a furniture maker can encounter. The structure of the wood is hard, so hard that the sharpest of tools are required to work it. This allows you to cut the finest of details and form the most delicate of shapes. pear wood is also, unlike almost any other hardwood, without figure. I say without figure meaning without the usual graphics of timber. Pear wood is a timber that hasn’t lines running through it, but instead has a colour shift. The general colour of pear wood is almost dark fleshy colour, pinky brown is a favorite description. That colour can shift orangey or purpley brown on either side of the main colour. On rare occasions you can get dark purple, blacky contrasting heartwood colour but that is rare. Generally the colour of pear wood is fleshy pink.
Unlike our other exotic timbers, pear wood is a wood that is sensitive to work. Hand tools will take silky shavings from pear wood. There’s no need to scrape and scratch around to take out interlocking grain for there almost never is interlocking grain on pear wood. It’s what I call a well mannered wood. Pleasant to be with. It doesn’t stink or make you feel itchy or scratchy, it doesn’t get up your nose, it’s a nice wood to be around. In fact one of the most pleasant things about it is the way it works. The way fine silky shavings will come off with a well sharpened bench plane. The way new hues and colours are exposed with each shaving. Working with pear wood is a genuine sensuous experience, and one that should be cherished.
I first came in touch with pear wood over 30 years ago when I read about it in books by James Kenov. I then found myself a dealer near Bristol who had recently felled a small log of English pear. If I was prepared to buy the whole lot he would mill it up for me to the sizes I wanted. At the time I’d never dried any timber before and my London workshop hadn’t much space for me, let alone stacks of half dry timber. But I did have a flat roof that I thought would be a suitable place to stack this wood out. I read up about how to do it, got the pear wood home, dragged it up three flights of stairs, stickered it out with 1” square sticks at 12” intervals between each of the boards so that air could get round and covered it with a corrugated iron sheet to keep the direct sun off the boards. I sat back and looked with satisfaction at my precious stack of soon to be exquisite furniture. About that time an old craftsman said something to me that has stayed with me. He said “In timber lad there’s as much joy as heartache” and I didn’t know that this was going to be one of those heartache moments. In the Handbook of English Hardwoods which was the reference book I used at the time it said “pear wood is timber that is inclined to twist on drying,” which is why I put concrete blocks on top of the drying stack. What I should have done was put two or three tons of timber on the top of the stack as well. As my precious pear wood boards dried during that summer they turned into unusual wooden propellers. Each board twisted approximately 1” to 2” in each direction. I think I got a few small pieces of furniture from that stack but nothing larger than a jewellery box. Needless to say that was the last time I’ve attempted to dry English pear wood. Most of my pear wood these days comes from Switzerland. The Swiss are wonderful people and they grow pear wood as a shade tree in many of their cities. The pear wood they grow is steamed as part of the drying process. The steaming slightly changes the colour of the timber from being fleshy pink to a slightly darker, redder fleshy pink. The steaming is done to remove and kill the huge borers that can munch their way through the entire tree. I found a few of those borers in my stack of pear wood propellers. They made gigantic holes, not just down the sweet sapwood but right in the middle of the heartwood, and you found them only by putting the board over the jointer, suddenly your immaculate board now had a great long hole in it and you’d shaved the top off this living creature, yeuch! Steamed pear wood suddenly had great attractions.
It’s not an enormous tree the pear tree, but I’ve found in my time boards coming from Switzerland can be 10’ long and 2’6” wide. The bark on the tree is coarse but the sapwood, like cherry wood, is almost indistinguishable from the heartwood, meaning you can use the timber almost edge to edge.
You have to be careful what you use pear wood for. This is a timber that is in scarce supply and it is a relatively expensive timber. Also it’s not available in really big boards so it would be unusual to find a dining table being made in pear wood, certainly in solid form, though I have seen veneered pear wood boardroom tables occasionally. Over the years I have made small cabinets and small occasional tables and card tables in solid pear wood and wall hung cabinets and very occasionally chairs, and I can safely say it has been one of the most enjoyable timbers I’ve ever used. Now just ‘cos I say so don’t go out and cause a world shortage by buying it all.
“Swiss Pearwood Bench” by Ted Blachly.
Ted Blachly note for this bench says, “This bench was made from luscious Swiss pearwood from the Jere Osgood wood collection…A rare treat.”
The next time you hear the first verse of The Twelve Days of Christmas perhaps you will remember the story of the young inventor of the saw and compass and a bird that prefers to stay close to ground. And also pear wood that can become unusual wooden propellers or be well-mannered, produce silky shavings and exquisite furniture.
I had to include this Baltimore blacksmith because he just goes whole hog with his inventory and, best of all, he was at the Sign of the Bellows and Anvil. Imagine that sign.
