I leave for England Saturday to teach two classes for the New English Workshop at Warwickshire College, but before that English experience, I have to tend to another.
Today I started roughing out the parts for two more Roorkee chairs in sapele that will incorporate some interesting details. One of the details will be this little piece of brass awesomeness.
If life doesn’t go off the rails I hope to get the legs turned tomorrow.
While in England, I’ll mostly be teaching and sleeping. I’m teaching two tool chest classes, which are about as grueling to teach as they are to take. But I am going to get to meet David Savage on Tuesday, which I am greatly looking forward to.
And I know some of the students in the class, so I’m packing extra ibuprofen for the inevitable hangover(s).
This is my first teaching assignment in England, and I hope it’s not my last. The Germans didn’t seem to mind my occasional nudity. I wonder if how the Brits will?
Better yet, perhaps I should pack one of my wife’s dresses….
During my early research into Roorkee chairs I received at least a dozen e-mails from chairmakers and fellow woodworkers with this simple message: Turn back; the Roorkee is a bad design.
Many of these woodworkers had sat in mid-20th century versions and reported that it was like falling into in gunny sack with an anaconda. There was no support for your lower back (or any other part). And after a few minutes you lost blood circulation to your legs.
The Roorkee chairs I had built to that point weren’t like that at all. So I persisted in refining my chairs based on what I’ve learned about building Windsor-style chairs during the last 10 years. The result is a chair that I can sit in for hours at a time. Others agree with my assessment. Last weekend I took one of my Roorkees to the Lie-Nielsen Open House where people lined up to sit in it all weekend.
So what’s the difference between the chair in “Campaign Furniture” and the killer gunny sacks? Take a look at the chair above.
This is a mid-20th century copy of a copy of a copy of a Kaare Klint chair that was made to maim you. Mark Firley of The Furniture Record blog bought a pair of these chairs on my behalf so I could study some of their details.
There are several things that make this chair somewhat uncomfortable. Here is a short list.
1. The material is a flimsy vinyl backed by jute. So it actually is a vinyl-covered gunny sack. You might be able to get away with a thin material in the seat, but not for the back. The back offers no support.
2. The back is too short. This short chir back presses your flesh back above your lumbar. A thick material (such as 8 oz. leather) that reaches to your lower back supports the lumbar region quite well.
3. The thigh straps are flimsy and narrow. Out of the four thigh straps that came with the chairs, three were broken. Without these straps, which run under the seat from left to right, your legs get pinched on the front rail and go numb. I’m going to make a wide, leather thigh strap for this chair and see if it helps.
4. The rails directly under the arms. These prevent the arm straps from stretching too much (a good thing), but they are uncomfortable after a short while. Imagine relaxing your arms on dowels; that’s what it feels like.
To be fair, this chair has its charms. The tapered tenons fit into their mortises with a slight compression fit. This makes the chair feel stable and still allow it to move to adjust to an uneven floor. I’m going to have to play with this idea in my own chairs.
The other charming thing about it is its overall look. I can only imagine how many wife-swapping parties this chair saw.
Speaking of that, I had better burn the vinyl upholstery.
Because I spend 18 weeks a year on the road, teaching and researching, I am always relieved when I return home and my key still works in the front door.
I’ve always thought I should have a Plan B in the works, something I could stow in the shop that we could also use when we have extra visitors. But despite all my research on folding beds for “Campaign Furniture,” I didn’t find a plan I liked enough to build.
That is, until I stumbled on this plans from the April 1954 issue of The Woodworker magazine. It is structured very much like a folding campaign bed and collapses into a thin cabinet-like structure.
One of the oddest criticisms I’ve received about the book “Campaign Furniture” is that I’m not British, and therefore have no legitimate connection to that historical style.
It’s true that I am an American citizen – I didn’t have much control about precisely where I emerged from the birth canal. And it’s true that I have a good deal of German blood. My mom could tell you exactly how mongrel (but not mongol) I am.
But I do have a long and personal connection to campaign furniture. As I mention in the book, my grandparents collected pieces in the style. Plus my grandfather and father built pieces in the campaign style. The West home was filled with all sorts of antiques, and many of them were in the campaign style – campaign chests, coaching tables and my grandfather West’s document box.
My mother brought this to me in May for my birthday. It is probably the nicest birthday gift I have ever received. The box is veneered in a tropical hardwood, likely some sort of mahogany, and joined with miters at the four corners.
The inlaid brass is set in beautifully in most places, except for at the back of the box. The veneer on the lid has buckled a bit, which has pushed some of the brasses around.
However, there are two other details that are far more satisfying than the workmanship.
1. The bottom of the box is covered in green felt, the tell-tale sign that my grandparents owned the piece. And the bottom still has the label noting that it belonged to my grandfather. He affixed this label on items that he took to work with him.
2. All the screws are clocked and filed flush to the hardware.
I cannot wait to fill the box with NASCAR stickers and Slim Jims. Cheerio!
