This is a short update on “The Stick Chair Book” and, if you stick with me, I’ll even throw in something useful at the end of the blog entry. No peeking, John Cashman.
When I started writing this book, my goal was a massive brain dump on everything I knew about stick chairs that was righteous and good. All the techniques that work. All the stuff about wood that would be helpful. All the little tricks, finishes, shapes, patterns, sharpening methods etc. etc.
I have concluded that instead there needs to be a “Chair-clopedia.” There should be one entire volume on processing wood. A second on legs. Separate volumes on steambending, arms, sticks, crests, saddling seats, tools, finishing, assembly, patterns and on and on. Written by a host of experts. All bound in hardbacks with the look and feel of hand-tooled leather.
I’m being serious. I’m also serious when I say a project like that could never happen.
As I began to drown in my own outline and circle around the toilet bowl of my own making, I found a bright string – something that could pull me out of the watery grave. It was a new outline for the book.
I’m now more than halfway finished with the book. Half the chapters are designed and are being edited by Megan Fitzpatrick, Narayan Nayar and the Chair Chat Twins (Klaus Skrudland and Rudy Everts). It’s going to be a monster of a book, likely more than 600 pages. But so far it’s a quick read thanks to my love of simple sentence structure and ample doodle space.
I am on track to get it to press by June. It should be released in August, just in time for chair season.
Two good brushes and two brushes that need a haircut.
And now for something completely useful. We use acid flux brushes to spread glue in mortises, which is pretty common. But we trim them to a certain size and shape that makes them far more effective.
When acid flux brushes are born, their bristles are 3/4” long and spread out about 1/2” to 5/8”. If you’ve ever used a stock acid flux brush, you know what happens. The bristles get sopping wet and flop around like a wet mop.
It’s almost impossible to get glue to go where you want it.
I like to trim the bristles so they are 3/8” long. Then trim the width of the bristles so they are 3/8” wide. If there are any errant bristles, snip them off.
A brush with this shape is ideal for grabbing a decent amount of glue and putting it exactly where you want it. The bristles will be stiff, but flexible enough so you can press glue into corners and crevices.
When the glue-up is over, clean the brush (I’ve had brushes last five years or more). When it’s time for another glue-up, first inspect the brush. If there are stray bristles, snip them off.
What’s your favorite useless trick from a woodworking magazine?
— Christopher Schwarz
Read other posts from the “Making Book” series here.
The below is excerpted from “The Intelligent Hand,” by David Savage (1948-2019), founder of Rowden Atelier School of Fine Woodworking in Devon, England.
The Bideford Workshop was a great time for me. Situated in Westcombe Lane opposite the refuse lorry park, I had 2,000 square feet of space that had been used as a metal refinishing factory. It was a horrible, stinky, dark, cheap mess. I spent weeks putting in roof lights and electrical wiring to make it as much like Alan Peter’s workshop as I could. I had little money and little paying work, but I could put my labour into making this place shine.
It’s easy for me to say now, but it’s important to work out what you will and will not do in the form of work. It’s less easy to do this with no work and little money. It’s that thing about knowing where you want to go. I said I would repair old furniture but would not do reproduction copies. I would not work in the antiques trade. I would not do fitted kitchens but I would do joinery work, doors and windows, though there seemed little chance of that. Next door were the professionals. Des and Ginger were proper joiners, not imposters like me. Ginger would strangle a 1/2″ router, cutting trenches in staircase stringers. You could hear it going from a scream to a low moan as Ginger dug it into the timber.
Des was, however, to remain a permanent reminder to us of the danger of woodworking machines. One Friday afternoon, rushing to get done, he took the top of two fingers off on the jointer. These machines are Very Patient Meat Eaters.
Two thousand square feet of space on two floors was way too big for me, I thought. I arranged to rent out the ground floor and put all my machines upstairs in what was becoming a nice, light-filled bench room with a lovely varnished solid-wood floor.
I found work soon enough making big Gothic solid-oak doors for a builder, and a regular task of assembling kitchen cabinets from flat-pack once a month. I made a small walnut bureau for a neighbour and a maple desk for a doctor in London. This was a good commission; the deal was I had made them a dining table for the cost of the timber whilst my pal was a medical student. When he qualified, I made him a desk for his office for real money. This was like being a real furniture maker.
There were disasters, as usual. (You are, I hope, beginning to expect that with me.) Des sent a local lady to me to who wanted a pair of beds. I did a lovely watercolour that sold the idea, but then couldn’t make the bed ends look like the watercolour. She wanted her money back. I learned that what you show the client in the watercolour should be pretty much what she gets. My “in laws” helped out by buying the unwanted beds from me, bless them.
Getting pieces photographed was harder than it is now. It involved a studio and a man with a huge wooden-plate camera to make 5″ x 4″ transparencies. “Dupe Trannies” (duplicated transparencies) were then sent to magazines with a 300-word “who, what, where, when” blurb. Images now are bouncing around the world in moments. Then it was different. If you had any new-looking piece, you could get it featured in a glossy magazine for nothing! And that brought more work. For several years this was my major form of marketing. Free PR was sent to magazines and published regularly. Almost no month went by without David Savage Furniture Makers being featured in one glossy magazine or another.
Do the job well enough and you will be working for a small group of clients for 40 years.
The most important arrivals at that time were Malcolm Vaughan and Jim Duthie. They came to me from a local maker who needed to take a break from teaching. The trouble was, this was right in the middle of the courses Jim and Malcolm were taking.
I hated the idea of students and said “no thank you” when first offered these two students. I then returned to my labours. I was assembling a pile of kitchen cabinets that a local builder wanted done by Friday. Well maybe it would be better than this….
This put me, only very recently part-baked, in the uncomfortable role of teacher. But I remembered an old saying: “In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king.” And I attempted manfully to stay one page ahead of my very clever students.
I had a precedent to follow. Edward Barnsley had apprentices and fee-paying students. Among them was Oliver Morel, who first paid Barnsley then took a job with him as a maker after a year’s training. Morel took the model and set up a teaching workshop, first in Wales then in Morton in the Marsh. It was this model of a commercial workshop with makers, apprentices and fee-paying students that I emulated. I didn’t plan it, but it seemed to work.
The future would see this as a part of non-existent business plan. I would have a half-dozen employed makers, one or two apprentices and maybe three or four fee-paying students. The aim was to never allow the students and apprentices to outnumber the skilled makers. The advantages were cash flow and potential skill. Like Barnsley with Morel, I could find good staff amongst my students. The thing I learnt about staff is that it’s not what they know that matters, it’s who they are. After a year, you have a pretty good handle on that.
On the other side were the apprentices. I trained a number of local guys in the Bideford workshop. Two of them, Neil Harris and Chris Hayward, have become exceptional makers. Neil was my first apprentice. He was straight out of school on a Youth Opportunities Programme. I was stunned by Neil’s abilities on one of the earliest jobs I gave him: Clean the greasy parts of a disassembled veneer press I had bought. Neil and I then set about assembling the beast. We had no instructions, just an A4 photocopy of what it looked like assembled. Whilst cleaning those parts, Neil had this thing assembled in his head.
“No, that goes over there, this fits in here.” Neil Harris has gone on to become one of the best furniture makers I know. Fast, clever, efficient, he also trains spaniels to do amazing things at Field Trial Championships.
Malcolm, who stayed on as staff after his course, was also brilliant but in a different way. After his time as an executive at a paper manufacturer, Malcolm wanted to leave behind his experience with a large corporation. He brought to the workshop a wonderful sense of humour and a keen eye for business. The pine assembly bench became the boardroom table, and we each acquired corporate parking places – rank and position beyond our years. Malcolm made doing this fun. But as Malcolm was putting the briefcase away, I was getting one out. Not yet totally liberated from stammering, I had furniture to sell. It was Malcolm’s experience in public relations and his marketing wisdom that helped the place to tick more than anything.
About this time, I learned a valuable lesson about wealthy people. It began with a walnut desk that had been commissioned by a London architect friend. This was a prestige job for a building conversion in London’s Covent Garden. It was right on the Piazza – a prime spot. My desk was to fit diagonally across the reception area. Malcolm and I worked and worked to get this spot on. Table delivered, everyone delighted, craftsmen paid.
A few weeks later I get a call: “The building has been sold. The new owners don’t want your table, so it has been taken by the managing director of the developing company for his Dorset house. We suggest you get in touch with Derek’s wife, Mary.”
Reception desk. The new owners don’t want your table, so it has been taken by the managing director of the developing company for his Dorset house. We suggest you get in touch with Derek’s wife, Mary.
WHAAAAT!!!!…. I hated this. Malcolm and I had made this table for a specific place in the centre of London. Now it was going into some rich dude’s country house – a disaster I sulked over for days. It turned into something unexpected.
Getting hold of Mary Parkes was not easy, and I didn’t really want to do it. Making the phone call took me ages. When I did talk to her it was, “Oh I love your table! We are restoring a house in Dorset and we have put it there. We need some special dining furniture. Can you help us?”
I remember feeling extremely scared before I met Mary. I went trembling to a very smart address just off the Kings Road in West London. I came with some draft ideas of chairs and tables. Derek arrived later; he was genial and friendly and very much the worse for a few drinks. We settled nothing but agreed to meet at their Dorset house sometime later.
When we met again, Derek was on great form. He spent a whole morning showing me around a wonderful old house. He proudly showed me some of the restoration work. It was incredibly expensive but almost invisible. Derek took great pride and pleasure in what he was able to do to restore that beautiful old house. He introduced me to the gardeners and household staff; he knew each by name and knew about their families and children. This man was operating socially on a completely different plane to the rest of us. To me, he was amazing; I was bowled over. He liked making things, and enabling things to be made.
Mary and I worked on her ideas. Derek wanted chairs in which he “could have a great dinner party, consume a bottle of claret and not damage himself falling out of the chair.” I remember Mary doing sketches of chair backs that I recognised from chairs in the Doge’s Palace in Venice. I picked that up and developed it.
A photo competition. The photo of a chair (based on one from the Doge Palace) that changed everything.
We made a table in solid English cherry and a set of chairs. It was the biggest job I had every done. I remember Malcolm and Neil sweating blood over it. Mary wanted holly and dyed blue veneer details to match her fabrics. “We can do that,” I said with complete conviction and total ignorance. We would find a way.
We delivered the pieces, the bill was paid and the client was happy. I brought over my photographer, John Gollop, to take a shot of the pieces in location. John did that, then did something that was to me extraordinary. He picked up a chair, carried it into the next room and put it in front of a full-length window. There was a huge potted plant behind it. The photo he took changed everything.
Derek and Mary were happy if I made versions of their chairs. I thought I might make two or three. John’s photo and versions of it were in every glossy magazine for what seemed like months – the 1980s equivalent of going viral. It was an early confirmation of what furniture maker Garry Knox Bennett much later told me: “Dave, we are all in a giant photographic competition.”
We were making these damn chairs in various timbers for clients all over the country for the next few years. But more important, it told me that I could do this: I could talk with people, nice people, such as Mary and Derek Parkes, and come back with ideas for furniture that would make their homes better places to live. I could listen to what they wanted and translate that into an image that fitted them like a good suit of clothes.
Thankfully, I was a good listener; the stammer had taught me that. The first quality of a designer is to be a good listener, to take the brief and hear what is not always said. Then take the idea back to the workshop and make it. The making would be done without compromise; we would make as well as we could. Mary and Derek hadn’t quibbled over price; they wanted something special – something like the house they were living in, something new but worthy of the place. IKEA wouldn’t quite work here. The idea of “designing for clients” came directly from this job.
When I met Derek again nearly 30 years later, he was still at Blackdown House. His life has become a tribute to a wonderful English country house. We made another piece for the same room. I love that – do the job well enough and you will be working for a small group of clients for 40 years. They will always want you to make another piece.
The third edition of “Make a Chair from a Tree” (MACFAT), which has been in the works for seven years, will be going to the printer later this month – and I’m not qualifying that statement with a “should,” “we hope” or “if.”
As Christopher Schwarz wrote in 2018 when he first announced this project, he and Jennie Alexander butted heads over getting this book done from 2014 (when she agreed to write it) until just weeks before her death in July of 2018. Jennie was working on it until right up until the end (with the indispensable help of chairmaker and friend Larry Barrett, and Jennie Boyd, who cared for Jennie Alexander in her final years).
“Don’t you want to see your book published and see it influence a whole new generation of woodworkers?” Chris asked Jennie? “You and Larry will do that after I’m gone,” she replied. With the help of Peter Follansbee and a host of others, they have.
While the chair in this book looks much the same as the one from the 1978 first edition (Taunton Press), Jennie’s methods were refined over 40 years, much like the chair itself. The book is the culmination of everything Jennie learned about “greenwoodworking” through her years of building chairs and teaching others to do the same, and her endless curiosity and experimentation.
But we wanted to share a bit more of Jennie than just her chair. So each chapter begins with a short story from a friend or from Jennie herself, either through a remembered conversation or her journals (which are now in a collection at Winterthur Library). Here are just a few of those to whet your appetite.
— Fitz
Sometimes when you’re in the thick of things, you can’t even see them. I made chairs from the original 1978 edition, then met JA and Drew [Langsner] and plodded along over the years. By the time I worked with Alexander on the afterword to the 1994 MACFAT edition for Astragal Press, some techniques were so embedded that I forgot they were “new.” Steambending the posts, for instance. But after JA’s death, Geli Courpas, Nathaniel Krause and I were among the group sorting the contents of the house. We represented the beginning, the middle and the end of some of JA’s closest assistants. As we walked a line of 15-20 chairs, we took turns talking about what was happening at each different stage. And Geli drove home a point I should have known, but clearly forgot. “We had no steambox,” he told me, “we bent the posts green.” In the original edition, JA says to bend the posts green, or boil them, but doesn’t say how – because they didn’t do it. It was Dave Sawyer who introduced the best post-bending jigs and the steam box to Drew Langsner at Country Workshops in 1981; they were adopted by JA from there. And we never looked back. — Peter Follansbee
November 1978. Woodcraft Supply invites me to do a country woodcraft slide presentation in Massachusetts. Perhaps I can make a stop going north in Baltimore to meet JA in person. JA enthusiastically agrees to meet a kindred soul. An over-nighter seems appropriate, except that the Alexanders will also have two other house guests for the weekend. (Somehow, Joyce Alexander agrees!) The other guests are Richard Starr, a junior-high woodworking teacher, and John Kelsey, the first editor of Fine Woodworking magazine and also editor of “Make a Chair From a Tree.” Alexander meets me at the airport, a little guy with lots of big guy energy. JA talks full time during the drive home, and I then meet JA’s wife, Joyce, a slight woman who is gracious and very friendly. Starr and Kelsey are also there, busy talking about MC (moisture content) of chair joints. There’s also a teenage neighbor, Geli Courpas, who is introduced as JA’s apprentice.
For the first time, I actually see several Alexander chairs. And of course sit on them. In real life these chairs look even better than the photos. And they are satisfyingly comfortable. Meanwhile the other guys are talking away about chairmaking technicalities. It’s new territory for me, so I’m mostly listening during the dinner conversation. In the morning after breakfast, Starr and Kelsey leave for the Winter Market. Conversation with JA turns to the possibility, and soon planning, for a chairmaking class at our place next summer. It’s a complicated undertaking. JA pretty much knows how to make the chair, but not how to teach making one to a class in five days. I’ll do my best to help. And he’ll bring Geli. We’ll need tools and shaving horses for up to 10 students. JA can supply some tools from his ever-growing collection. My biggest task is procuring a veneer-grade red oak log, pre-splitting some of it, and leaving some round for the students to split and work green wood.
That morning JA also wants to get me started with my first chair. He phones Geli to come over to help. The Alexanders have a tiny backyard that is crowded with chairmaking paraphernalia and a haphazard looking collection of hardwood logs. Some are still round; other logs have been split into halves, quarters, whatever. JA also has a small boat filled with water, to keep split logs wet. Geli shows up and we begin to split a perfect-looking straight hickory section into the required posts, rungs and slats for my first chair. We also do some rough drawknifing (and maybe axe hewing) to get the parts closer to their eventual size. The plan is that JA will keep the parts wet (in the boat) and bring them to the class next summer. After lunch I catch the plane to Boston. My chair-making career has begun. — Drew Langsner
It fell off the truck, honest.
Years and years ago, a rough-sawn plank, 2″ x 6″ x 14′ long, fell off the back of a truck. Honest. I was driving the van to my shop with my apprentice, Geli Courpas. The truck in front of us hit the big bump right across from the Mount Royal Tavern, and the plank skittered across the street directly in front of us. I swerved, braked and honked. The anonymous (thank Heavens) truck sped off. The plank blocked the street. Good citizens, we cleared the hazard. Red oak! Goody, goody gumdrop! Give it a home.
“Geli, open the back door… jam it up under the front seat … get back there … sit on it!” The plank hung out. We hit each and every bump. Geli rode it to the shop. I now had a long and heavy board for a better shaving horse, but not wide enough to sit on. What to do?
There I was with the narrow board that tried to run me down. Not wide enough to sit on. I thought of the lathe’s parallel ways. There’s nothing new under the sun. — Jennie Alexander
Since we started making tools at Lost Art Press under the Crucible name, I have avoided writing anything that could be considered a tool review, save for my annual Anarchist’s Gift Guide. It doesn’t seem fair for a toolmaker to pass judgment on other toolmakers.
However, during my research for “The Stick Chair Book,” I have been purchasing and using all manner of new-to-me chairmaking tools in order to understand different approaches to the craft. Some of them have been duds, of course. But some of them have opened my eyes.
Because a book is a terrible place to review a tool, I am going to publish my thoughts on many of these tools here on the blog. As always, I pay full price for all my tools. I don’t exchange reviews for anything. And I hope that this is one of the reasons you are still reading this ancient blog.
The first tool I’d like to talk about is the inshave made by blacksmith Lucian Avery.
Lucian Avery Inshave
For almost 20 years, I’ve used the same inshave/scorp from Barr Tools to saddle all my chairs. Barr Quarton doesn’t make this exact scorp anymore, though he makes a similar one called the Mike Dunbar-Style Scorp.
It’s a hell of a tool. Of all the hand tools I’ve owned in my life, I haven’t owned a tool that takes a better edge or keeps it longer. (Yes, even premium Japanese tools.)
Its handles are dark grey from my sweat and grime. If you own one of my chairs, this tool saddled its seat.
For “The Stick Chair Book,” I wanted to try a different style of inshave, which has a flat curve along most of the blade with tight-radius corners. I did a lot of homework and settled on an inshave from Lucian Avery that was designed with the help of George Sawyer (Dave Sawyer’s son).
I don’t make Windsor chairs, but I thought the flat curve of Avery’s inshave would help me achieve the shallow saddle found on stick chairs – with a lot less fussing.
As I mentioned, I’ve been using the Barr scorp for a long time, which has a tight-radius curve – 2-1/4”. It can hollow out a seat with incredible speed. The downside to this shape is that it’s easy to overdo it. An errant stroke or two adds a lot of work with the travisher later.
The Avery inshave is different in every respect. The tool is half the weight of the Barr (9 oz. vs. 18 oz). The handles are in a much lower working position (2-3/4” off the bevel as compared to 4-3/4” off the bevel). But the biggest difference is the shape of the blade. The shallow curve is not as aggressive, but it leaves a much flatter and smoother curve behind. Yet, the tight-radius curves at its edges allow you to carve along the spindle deck with confidence.
In short, the shape of the Avery tool is much more suited for the type of saddle I carve. The saddle is much flatter, which cuts down on the time I spend with the travisher considerably.
As a bonus, the lower handles and reduced weight of the Avery make the tool less tiring to use.
I’m in love. It’s an extraordinary tool. Light, nimble and responsive. I look forward to using it as much as my travisher.
The current price is $263, which is a beyond-fair price for a blacksmith-made tool of this caliber. It also comes with a clever rawhide sheath that adds no bulk or real weight to the tool.
If you make stick chairs and need an inshave, this one is perfect.
These drawer slips are a step beyond; they’re let into rabbets in the drawer sides, then sanded smooth to blend in perfectly. This approach is shown in “The Intelligent Hand,” by David Savage.
Q: In making a drawer with half-blind dovetails for the front and through-dovetails for the back, what is your favorite way to incorporate and assemble a bottom? Through-grooves on the side pieces or slips added to sides? Stopped grooves on front/back pieces or through-grooves positioned to fall within the lowest tail?
— Nick
A: As almost always, the answer is: it depends. Some projects call for a particular approach, for example, a reproduction of a high-end 18th-century English piece is likely going to call for drawer slips. As might any drawer that has delicate (read: thin) sides – slips can add enough extra thickness and thus strength only where it’s needed. Particularly nice slips (see above) are also an excellent way to showcase mad skills.
Chris’ slipped drawer from underneath. Here, you can see that the slips are simply strips of wood grooved to accept a rabbeted drawer bottom. Traditionally, the drawer front is also grooved to accept the drawer bottom, though here Chris chose to add a mitered slip up front instead. Note that the grain of this solid-wood bottom runs from side to side, thereby pushing any wood movement to the back, where it’s secured with a single nail. (Nails bend to accommodate wood movement).
But around here, we’re not usually that fancy (or British) – both Chris and I typically make drawers with bottoms rabbetted to fit into grooves on the drawer sides and front; they are then nailed from underneath at the center of the (narrower) drawer back, or supported with a nail or screw through a slot. The grooves land in half tails at the bottom of the drawer sides. And I can’t speak for Chris, but I’ve never cut a stopped groove for a drawer bottom…that I can recall.
Here, you can see a screw through a slot (to allow for wood movement) that supports the rabbeted solid-wood drawer bottom, which is captured in grooves. The drawer sides have a half-tail at the bottom, into which the groove gets cut.
This is one of the 120-year-old drawers from the original bar in the Lost Art Press shop. You can again see a rabbeted bottom (rough on the underside!) captured in grooves. You can also see that the bottom of this drawer side is starting to split, where the groove weakened the side (combined with a century of abuse).
Same grooved approach, but for the nail profligacy.
This drawer has through-grooves in the tails of the sides and pins of the fronts that capture the rabbeted drawer bottom. But I hid the grooves on the two fronts by applying the drawer faces after the joinery was done (aka fake half-blinds). Because this solid-wood bottom is fully captured, I left it loose from side to side so it can float. (This drawer goes all the way through my coffee table and can be pulled out from both sides.)
This overly large drawer also has grooves in half tails – as well as in a central support that’s tenoned into the drawer front and screwed to the underside of the back (no one wants saggy drawers). The rabbeted plywood bottom pieces ought to be pinned at the back, but now, because I could easily pull one out, I’m glad I forgot to do that!(Note: every time I pull out one of the large drawers from my hallway built-in, I castigate myself for not using pine as the secondary wood. These suckers are far too heavy.)
Fig. 1. Points to be considered in a drawer when the drawer is extra long it is necessary to fit a strengthening muntin at the centre from front to back
Perhaps there is nothing which so quickly reveals the quality of piece of woodwork as the fitting of its drawers. Properly made, a drawer will move in or out without jamming when held by one corner only, even when it is 3 ft. or more long. A poor one will drop badly when opened, it may be stiff in some positions even, although it may appear slack all round, it will most likely racket sideways and jam, and it may have unsightly gaps around its edges at the front. We deal with some of the problems and describe the procedure in making which experience has shown to be sound.
At the outset it should be realised that drawer making begins before the actual drawer itself is put in hand. It starts in the carcase or cupboard to which it is to be fitted. If this is out of square or is at fault in some other way the drawer will make a poor fit, even though it be faultlessly made — in fact its squareness and truth will be a source of trouble.
Carcase and Runners. Perhaps the most obvious point is that the carcase must be square in plan as otherwise a square drawer will not fit. (Squareness in elevation is not so important from the drawer-making angle because the front and back are fitted to the actual carcase, and if it is at all out the drawer itself will be out correspondingly.) If anything the carcase back should be a trifle wider than the front, and when guides are to be fitted some workers fix these so that they are about 1∕16 in. wider apart at the back than at the front. When there are no guides, the drawers running directly against the carcase ends, the top and bottom can be made a trifle full at the back to allow clearance.
Winding Runners. Quite clearly each runner must be parallel with that above it or be slightly wider apart at the back (this is easily managed by planing them a little thinner towards the rear), but, what is equally important, they must be free of winding. Unless this is the case the drawer will bind even though there appears to be sufficient depth when measured at each side. Take A, Fig. 2, for instance. Even though the distance X equals the drawer depth, the drawer is bound to bind because the runners wind.
As a rule it is impossible to look across the runners to test for winding, but the method at B can be followed. A strip of wood with parallel edges is placed across the runners at the back. Winding strips placed on this and the drawer rail then at once disclose any inaccuracy. When the runners fit in grooves this trouble is not likely to arise, assuming the workmanship to be accurate, but even so a test is desirable. Be sure, however, that the carcase is standing square. Otherwise if one corner is resting upon an irregularity the whole thing may be distorted.
Other causes of trouble are shown at C, Fig. 2. At the top the rail is not square. Consequently the whole weight and movement of the drawer is borne by the extreme front edge, causing rapid wear. In the middle example the rail is twisted the other way. Consequently there is an unsightly gap at the front edge which is difficult to avoid. The same result occurs at the bottom diagram and is due to the runner not being flush with the rail. In cheap, machine-made furniture the drawers are intentionally made a very slack fit so that all individual fitting is avoided. Each drawer goes straight into its carcase direct from the assembling shop, and, to mask what would otherwise be an unsightly gap around the edges, the drawer front is rebated all round, the projecting lap standing out from the surface as at D, Fig. 2. This means that all the drawers can be entered easily, but they are all a bad fit. It is largely because of this that in better quality machine-made furniture the drawers are still dovetailed and fitted by hand.
Fig. 2. Construction details and stages in making and fitting a drawer. A. Shows how winding runners cause bad fitting. B. Testing runners for winding. C. Faults in drawer rails. D. Commercial, machine-made drawer. E. Stages in fitting drawer front. F. Drawer sides being fitted. G. Supporting drawer when planing. H. Drawer stop. I. How plane is held askew when planing sides
Normal Type Drawer. As a straightforward example of drawer-making take an ordinary chest of drawers such as that in Fig. 1. The fronts might be in 1 in. stuff, and the sides and back 3∕8 in. For the bottom 3∕16 in. stuff is about right for average sizes. It is common practice to use oak for sides and back even when the front is in another hardwood such as mahogany, and it should be realised that it is of little value to have a drawer in hardwood and then make the runners of softwood. The last named would wear very rapidly.
Prepare the front first, planing it to thickness and marking the outer surface as the face side and the bottom as the face edge. Plane the bottom edge straight and square, if anything making the inside slightly smaller than the outside. There should not be more than the thickness of a piece of newspaper difference. Try it in position on the rail. Theoretically it should fit, but if the rail should not be perfectly straight the edge should be planed to fit it. Now trim the right hand end to make a close fit with the cabinet as at E, Fig. 2, again making a very slightly tapered fit.
Mark the length at the bottom as shown inset, square across, and cut with the saw on the waste side. Plane the end grain until the inner edge just enters the space with a tight fit. There will probably be enough width to enable the upper corner to be chiselled off when planing the end grain, but be careful not to chisel away too much so that the corner of the actual drawer is taken off. Finally the width is marked and the top edge planed so that the complete front just enters the space as shown at the bottom at E, Fig. 2.
It is most important that the angle at which the edges are planed is not excessive. As already stated there should not be more than the thickness of a piece of newspaper difference between the two. One way is to plane the edge square, then pass the plane over to one side and take another shaving.
In this way the shaving is thicker at one side than at the other and this gives about the right angle. All fronts should be planed to fit, and, in the event of there being more than one drawer of the same size, each should be fitted individually and its position marked to give quick identification.
Back. Preparation of the backs is similar so far as the bottom and ends are concerned except that they are planed square. The width, however, is less because the back stands above the drawer bottom and is well down at the top to give clearance (see Fig. 3). It is therefore necessary to decide the position of the drawer bottom and the top clearance straightway. The former is generally fixed by the size of drawer bottom slip moulding being used. Top clearance can be 1∕4 to 3∕8 in.
Sides. To fix the length of the sides the lap on the front dovetails has to be allowed for. On 7∕8 in. wood the lap is about 3∕16 in. and the sides have to be short by this amount. At the rear the drawer should be short so that it does not quite reach the carcase back. Allowance has also to be made when the drawer bottom is of solid wood as distinct from plywood because it has to project anything up to 1∕2 in. in a large drawer to allow of its being pushed forward to take up shrinkage (see Fig. 3).
Plane the bottom edge straight and trim the front edge square with it. Mark the length and plane the back as well. Set a gauge to slightly more than the width, mark the wood and plane down to the line. It is then a matter of trying the side in position and removing fine shavings until it fits. There should be a hand-tight fit. Shavings are best removed on the shooting board. Mark the front bottom corner R or L for identification as at F Fig. 2.
Fig. 3. Setting-out of drawer dovetails.
Dovetailing. Dovetailing now follows, and this follows the normal procedure except for the special form of dovetail which is shown in Fig. 3. At the front the pins are very small and run almost to a point, and the bottom dovetail must be close enough to the bottom to include in it the groove which holds the bottom. Otherwise the groove will show at the ends. The bottom edge of the back rests upon the bottom and it passes through the sides and thus forms the bottom pin. The bottom cut is therefore square, not at the usual dovetail angle (Fig. 3). A gauge can be set to mark the position (it is fixed by the groove in the drawer bottom slip moulding) and the bottom cut made in line with it. Before assembling all inner surfaces must be cleaned up, and the groove to hold the bottom worked in the front.
Fitting. All fitting is done before the bottom is added, and precautions are necessary to avoid racking the drawer when planing. The simplest way is to screw a couple of stout battens to the bench and place the drawer over these as at G, Fig. 2. As a rule it is necessary to work inwards from each end to avoid splitting out the end grain. Do not remove more than is essential to give a clean finish, and try the drawer in position frequently. Note carefully where it appears to run tightly. This is often revealed by the shiny appearance of the surface, but it is generally possible to tell by the movement where the tightness is. So far as the edges are concerned use the panel or trying plane so as to keep them straight, and rest the rear part of the plane across the front as at I, Fig. 2. It is a great help in keeping it square.
An excellent lubricant for drawers is candle grease, but it should not be used until all fitting has been completed—in fact it is better to leave it until after polishing, especially if the drawer sides are to be stained. Grease may prevent the stain from taking.
The bottom slips are glued to the sides and must be cut away at the back as shown in Fig. 4. The more usual form is that to the left in the small diagram, though the other has an advantage in giving a flush top surface. The reason why slips are used is that the sides (which are thin) are not weakened by grooving, and the bearing surface is increased in width.
Fig. 4. Drawer separated showing construction
When plywood is used for the bottom it can finish flush at the back. In solid wood allowance must be made for shrinkage. It stands out at the rear (Fig. 3) and is screwed up to the back. After a few months the wood shrinks and pulls out from the groove at the front and the screws are then slackened, the bottom pushed forward, and the screws tightened afresh. Slots for the screws are often cut as in Fig. 4 to avoid making fresh holes. The bottom is never glued in because it would be liable to split in the event of shrinkage.
Drawer stops are fitted as at H, Fig. 2. A gauge is set to the front thickness and the rail marked to show the position. The grain runs from front to back as it resists wear better.
And here’s a bonus drawer picture – simple stops screwed to the inside back. Chris includes these in some of his work.
