The original 19th-century Roorkee chair looks at home on safari. Whereas the mid-century Kaare Klint ‘Safari Chair’ looks right in the home.
As I have been gathering data on original pieces for the forthcoming book “Campaign Furniture,” a critical piece of the puzzle fell into place Saturday when Mark Firley sent me some measurements he took of some original Kaare Klint chairs. Until now, I’ve been relying on auction records, and those measurements were suspect when compared to dimensions I’d struck off of photographs.
Firley, a woodworker and fine American, took good measurements that will help guide the construction of one last chair before the end of the year.
What is surprising – no shocking – is how closely the Klint chairs mimic the original Roorkee of 50 years earlier. They are so similar that it’s almost not fair to call the Safari Chair anything more than a minor evolution from the original.
Here are some details:
The legs of the original were 1-1/2” square and 22-1/2” long. The Klint chair legs are 1-9/16” square and 22” long.
The stretchers of the original were 1” to 1-1/8” in diameter. The Klint chair has stretchers that are 1-1/4” in diameter that are clearly cigar-shaped. I’ve been making my stretchers this shape to add strength in the middle for some time now. So I was pleased to see the Klint chairs were made this way.
The seat height is also similar between the original and the Klint. On the original, the front of the seat was 12” from the floor and the back of the seat is 10-1/2” from the floor. On the Klint, the front stretcher is 12” from the floor and the rear is 9-1/2” from the floor.
The back is virtually identical.
There are some interesting differences. Klint moved the side stretchers down. This gives the chair a sleeker look in my opinion and – engineering-wise – reduces the leverage on the side stretchers.
Klint also removed the handles at the top of the legs, which is probably the most visible difference, but it has little to do with how the chair sits or works.
Firley also supplied some interesting photos of how the seat of the Klint chair works. The underside of the leather seat is lined with a white cloth to prevent the leather from stretching. Modern chairs use a synthetic fabric to stop stretching; I have no clue what Klint used without some analysis.
So if you have been thinking about making some Safari Chairs and thought to yourself: “I can just change the leg turnings a bit and I’ll be almost done,” then you are thinking correctly.
Since making my first Roorkee chair, which was based on the 19th-century original, I’ve been lucky enough to study some additional antique examples. This has led me to alter the chair’s design in about 20 different ways, from the turnings to the rivets.
While I don’t have room to discuss the evolutionary process and my reasoning (gotta save something for the book), I have promised several readers that I would post the leather patterns that I now use to build these chairs.
Below is a drawing I made of the three major leather components. (If you cannot figure out the armrests or belts, may I recommend golf as a hobby?) As to the sketch, I took enough drafting at Chaffin Junior High from Mr. Hogue to know that it’s not a proper mechanical drawing.
Click on the drawing to enlarge it to full size. Then print that.
Truth is, most early furniture was made using an sketch that was one step above NapkinCAD 1.0 (right Suzanne? I haven’t forgotten the research for a future book on Gillows). So if you can’t make the leather bits from this sketch, might I suggest vertical Jarts as a hobby?
The leather is 8 oz. latigo we buy from a wholesale supplier in Pennsylvania. The straps are regular 7/8 oz. veg tan leather. Solid brass 3/4” buckles from Tandy. All the rivets are No. 9 1/2” two-part solid copper rivets. The 13mm ball studs for the armrests are from McMaster-Carr.
If you are making patterns for your leather, I recommend thin tempered hardboard, which doesn’t take up much space and holds up better against your knife.
OK, gotta go. “Campaign Furniture” ain’t going to write itself.
“Sgt. J. Craig,” an oil on canvas by an unknown artist, circa 1870. (Courtesy of the Council of the National Army Museum, London)
The following is the preface of “Campaign Furniture,” by Christopher Schwarz.
For almost 200 years, simple and sturdy pieces of campaign furniture were used by people all over the globe, yet this remarkable furniture style is now almost unknown to most woodworkers and furniture designers.
“Campaign Furniture” seeks to restore this style to its proper place by introducing woodworkers to the simple lines, robust joinery and ingenious hardware that characterize campaign pieces. With more than 400 photos and drawings to explain the foundations of the style, the book provides plans for nine pieces of classic campaign furniture, from the classic stackable chests of drawers to folding Roorkee chairs and collapsible bookcases.
Like a dormant case of malaria, my fevered love for campaign furniture began many years ago without my knowledge – probably during some hot Connecticut summer.
My maternal grandparents’ home (and ours) was full of campaign furniture. When you drank tea with grandmother West, it was on a folding coaching table my grandfather had built. My grandfather, an enthusiastic woodworker, had brought back campaign brasses from his trips to Asia, some of which I still own. So his pieces definitely had an Anglo-Indian campaign feel to them. And when you visited the West’s house for the summer, you put your clothes in a campaign chest.
My father and mother were fond of the furniture as well. And when my dad built pieces for our home they were at times festooned with brass corner guards, brackets and flush-mount pulls.
As a child, I didn’t think much of the provenance of all this furniture. In fact, I assumed it was Chinese or Japanese furniture because my grandparent’s house was also awash in tansu, Chinese chests and ink paintings of landscapes and animals.
Eventually I wised up and sorted out the furniture record of all our households. The campaign style became a favorite of mine, and I wanted to build pieces of it for the magazine I worked for at the time, Popular Woodworking.
My fellow editors, however, were inoculated against the bug. There was almost nothing written about the style of furniture. And whenever we surveyed our readership, subscribers told us that there were three furniture styles they preferred: country (anything with a duck or pineapple on it), Shaker and Arts & Crafts. “Campaign furniture” was somewhere down the list near “narwhal nose guards” in popularity.
I persisted. I was rejected again. And after I stepped down as editor in 2011, I asked them one last time to publish two articles – one on campaign chests and a second on Roorkee chairs. After some wrangling and veiled threats, they said OK.
Early secretary – note the skeletonized pulls, the moulded top edge and the lack of brass strapping. This chest, circa 1800, was built by Ramsey & Co. Dimensions: 39-3/4″ H x 39-1/2″ W x 20-1/2″ D. (Courtesy of Christopher Clarke Antiques)
That was the start of my obsession with researching and building campaign furniture. Since 2010, I have been neck-deep in researching the style of furniture that I cannot remember living without. During the last 200 years, there has been surprisingly little written about campaign furniture, which also goes by the name of “barracks furniture,” “camp furniture” or sometimes “patent furniture.” There’s an excellent book by Nicholas A. Brawer that is the single reference work for collectors and dealers, but it is out of print. Plus there are some magazine articles.
Most of the knowledge out there on campaign furniture is in the hands of auctioneers, antique dealers and restorers. So my research began with their sales records, and that led me to the catalogs of the British furniture makers of the 19th and early 20th centuries. Plus I dug up several helpful 19th-century books that sought to prepare a British citizen for a long trip abroad.
The real surprise from my initial research was that these pieces of beautiful “military” furniture weren’t just for the military. With the incredible expansion of the British Empire in the 19th century, there was an urgent need for a bureaucracy to manage the Empire’s colonies. (Brawer writes in his book that by 1897 the British Empire comprised one-quarter of the world’s land surface.)
So these campaign chests, folding tables, collapsible chairs and writing desks were in use by bureaucrats, writers, doctors, merchants – plus their families – all over the globe.
Even more interesting: The knockdown aspect of the furniture made it popular with city dwellers who were crammed into tiny city flats – it allowed them to convert a parlor to a dining room to a bedroom. And if you left England on a ship to colonize an island, such as New Zealand, this type of furniture filled your stateroom during the journey and your home when you arrived.
Oh, and if you were a student who left home to go to school, you might tote along some of these items, such as a folding bookcase and a writing slope.
In fact, the romantic idea that all of these pieces of campaign furniture were portaged on the backs of elephants through the jungle is mostly off the mark. In truth, most of these pieces of furniture were the workaday backbone of furniture for people who needed stuff that that was rugged, simple and a bit stylish.
And that idea – rugged, simple and stylish furniture – is what kept me coming back to the belief that campaign furniture is a sorely underappreciated furniture form.
As a woodworker, I love the first-class joinery: dovetails plus mortise-andtenon joints. The simple and rectilinear lines are easy for beginners to make and are as familiar as Shaker or Arts & Crafts items. If you’re not a woodworker, I hope you can appreciate the simple forms and clean lines that look good in almost any room, whether you fill your rooms with 18th-century stuff or Bauhaus. Campaign furniture fits in everywhere, across the globe and in every time period.
I think that’s true in part because it was truly an international furniture style. The roots of the style might indeed be related to tansu, as some have suggested, or in Chinese traveling forms, as others contend. But what is certain is that when Asian craftsmen saw these British forms they reinterpreted them for their customers. When their customers took these pieces back to England, the cabinetmakers there were influenced by the changes made by their far-flung brothers. And so forth and so on.
When I finally made that last connection to that circle, I didn’t feel so stupid about assuming that my grandparents’ campaign furniture was from Asia.
Regency chest. Even later chests, such as this circa 1820 Regency example, weren’t immune to changes in furniture style. Note the reeding throughout and the inset brass pulls that closely resemble traditional swan’s neck pulls. (Courtesy of Christopher Clarke Antiques)
It is my hope that this book opens your eyes to a style of furniture that was around for about 200 years – 1740 to World War II by some reckonings – and remains sturdy and stylish (if somewhat underappreciated) today.
This book is not an academic investigation of this furniture style – I will leave that desperately needed task to more capable researchers. Instead, this book is a too-short look at the furniture style from a builder’s perspective. My interest is in the wood, the hardware, the joinery and the different forms themselves.
I think that if you put your hand to building these pieces to the high standards of the 18th and 19th centuries, you will become fascinated – might I say “infected” – by their cleverness and soundness of construction.
Campaign furniture was meant to endure a mobile existence and do it with a bit of grace. To be sure, we are a more mobile society now than we were 200 years ago and sorely need furniture that is easy to move. And if you have bought any furniture in the last 50 years, you also know that most factory furniture is doomed to self-destruct within a few years.
We need campaign furniture more than ever before. Fill your house with it, and the ideals it embodies – sturdiness, simplicity and beauty – might just seep into the unconscious minds of your children or grandchildren as it did for me.
A camp stool in teak with latigo bridle leather and copper rivets.
The following is excerpted from “Campaign Furniture,” by Christopher Schwarz.
For almost 200 years, simple and sturdy pieces of campaign furniture were used by people all over the globe, yet this remarkable furniture style is now almost unknown to most woodworkers and furniture designers.
“Campaign Furniture” seeks to restore this style to its proper place by introducing woodworkers to the simple lines, robust joinery and ingenious hardware that characterize campaign pieces. With more than 400 photos and drawings to explain the foundations of the style, the book provides plans for nine pieces of classic campaign furniture, from the classic stackable chests of drawers to folding Roorkee chairs and collapsible bookcases.
Three-legged folding stools appear in many Western cultures, including the French, English and American. They have been popular with soldiers, sportsmen, campers and artists for at least two centuries.
This stool is a great introductory project to campaign furniture, especially if you are new to turning or working with leather. There are only three pieces of wood, four pieces of leather and some metal hardware. You can easily build one in a day.
Choosing Materials I have seen some of these camp stools built using dowels, and they are strong enough to hold most people. However, I like to build them from mahogany, teak or ash that has dead-straight grain. I’ve had nightmares about getting a stick stuck in my backside from a stool disaster.
If you can build the stool with riven stock (oak or ash are good choices), it will be quite strong. Many original stools used 1″-diameter legs. However, my recommendation is to use stouter stock. I have built reproductions with 1″-diameter legs, and they felt too springy under my 185-pound frame.
You don’t need to make the legs baseball bats, but try for something between 1-1/8″ diameter to 1-1/4″ diameter. The leather can be almost anything 7 ounces (just shy of 1/8″ thick) or heavier. Vegetable-tanned leather that you dye yourself is a particularly strong choice.
You also will need rivets to join the leather pieces – unless you are skilled at hand-stitching. While hollow rivets (sometimes called rapid rivets) are inexpensive, easy to find and strong enough, I prefer the look and unerring permanence of solid copper rivets. I used No. 9 rivets with posts that are 1/2″ long.
To attach the leather to the wooden legs, you’ll need three No. 10 x 1-1/2″-long brass screws plus matching finishing washers.
Finally, you’ll need the hardware that allows the legs to open and shut. Traditionally, this was a three-headed bolt that once was easy to find. Now, that hardware is rare in North America. If you are a blacksmith or have access to a good welder, making a three-way bolt is straightforward. I have seen a couple of these bolts for sale in England, but the price with shipping to the United States was more than the cost of the bolt itself.
So I looked for a different way. Luckily, the Internet is good for something other than photos of cats playing keyboards. One maker of custom stools uses some off-the rack hardware to make an effective three-way bolt and shares that information freely on his web site.
Here’s what you need for legs that are up to 1-1/4″ in diameter:
A hex-headed bolt with a 5/16″ shank that is long enough to pass through two of the legs and protrude out the other side by 1/2″. A 3″-long hex-head bolt will work with 1-3/16″-diameter legs.
An eyebolt with a 1/4″ or 5/16″ shank that is long enough to pass through one of the legs and protrude out the other side by 1/4″. (Note: You can hacksaw any of this threaded hardware to length. An eyebolt that has a total length of 2-1/2″ should be sufficient.)
Two acorn-headed nuts.
Three washers.
15 No. 9 copper rivets.
Turn the Legs The three legs are easy to turn, even if your favorite turning tool is #80-grit sandpaper. Turn the legs to round using a roughing gouge or carbide-tipped roughing tool. Create a smooth, clean cylinder of about 1-1/4″ in diameter with a skew or other finishing tool.
Fig. 6.3 A bulbous foot. The foot can be almost any shape, from a bead similar to the foot of the Roorkee to this teardrop.
The feet shown are 1-3/16″ in diameter and 5/8″ tall. Make the feet by turning down the foot. Then turn the ankle to 7/8″ in diameter. Round the foot, then taper the rest of the leg down to the ankle. The taper should begin 6″ from the bottom of the leg.
I added four small grooves where the hardware holes will go – two above the hardware and two below. Little details such as these grooves and beads make the legs look like something fancier than three store-bought dowels.
Fig. 6.4 Not original. These little grooves add some visual interest to the joint. However, they’re not a detail I found on any original stool. So skip them if you are going for authenticity.
Sand the legs to remove any rough tool marks. I finished the legs on the lathe. First I burnished the surface with a “polissoir” (a French polishing tool made from tightly bound broom corn). Then I applied beeswax to the legs with the workpiece spinning. I used the polissoir to drive the beeswax into the pores of the wood (again, while the lathe was spinning). Then I used a rough cotton cloth (I’d like to be fancy and say it was muslin, but it was an old bag that held corn grits) to buff the wax. Then I applied another coat of wax and buffed that.
If you want to add a little age to the wood, apply a coat of black wax and push it into the grooves and pores. Let the wax set up then buff it.
Wax is not a permanent finish, but it is easily renewed or repaired if your stool is for the drawing room instead of the campsite.
Bore Three Holes All three holes are located in the same spot on each of the three legs and should be the same diameter – just big enough to allow the hardware to pass through. The holes are located 11-5/8″ down from the top of the legs.
Figs. 6.5 & 6.6 Dead center. The holes for the hardware need to be bored through the middle so the leg isn’t weak. A cradle helps hold the legs for drilling, no matter how you make the hole. Drill the hole so the brad point of the bit barely pokes through the leg (right). Rotate the leg so the tiny hole left from the brad point is facing up. Finish the hole.
The best way to bore these holes is with a drill press or hand-powered post drill. You want the hole to be dead straight and pass through the middle of the leg. If you are a whiz with a hand drill or cordless drill then go for it.
Install the Hardware Strip the hardware of its zinc if you like – I use a citric acid solution for this. Here’s how the hardware goes together:
Put a washer on the bolt. Push the bolt through one leg.
Place the eyebolt on the post of the bolt. Put the other leg on the bolt. Add a washer to the end of the bolt, then drive on the acorn nut.
Push the post of the eyebolt through the third leg. Add a washer and acorn nut.
Drill pilot holes that are deep enough to receive the No. 10 screws into the top ends of the legs.
Dead center. The holes for the hardware need to be bored through the middle so the leg isn’t weak. A cradle helps hold the legs for drilling, no matter how you make the hole. Drill the hole so the brad point of the bit barely pokes through the leg (right). Rotate the leg so the tiny hole left from the brad point is facing up. Finish the hole.
Leather Seat The seat is four pieces of material: a triangular seat and three pockets that look a bit like lips when you cut them out. When I cut out leather, I make patterns for my pieces from thin MDF or hardboard – usually 1/4″-thick material.
Knife work. You will probably make more than one stool, so make plywood patterns of the seat parts and cut them out using a sharp utility knife.
Put the patterns on the leather and cut out the seat and three lips using a sharp utility knife. You can hand-stitch the lips to the seat. If you aren’t up for stitching, rivets work well and give the project a military flair.
First punch. Using a leather punch, make a hole through the seat and pocket piece. I’m using a kitchen cutting board as a backer.
Secure each lip to the seat first with one rivet at one of the tips of the seat. Punch a snug hole for the rivet through both pieces of leather, drive on the washer or “burr,” snip off the excess and peen the post over the burr.
Now bend one end of the lip up and rivet the end to the seat about 1/4″ from the end of the lip. Repeat for the other end of the lip. Finally, add two more rivets between the three existing rivets. Repeat the whole process for the other two corners.
Insert the rivet. Put the rivet through the holes. The flat face of the rivet should be on the top surface of the seat.
One quick note on neatness: Be sure to put the burr so it faces the floor for all these joints. After the pockets are riveted, use a sharp utility knife to trim any little bits of the pocket that aren’t flush to the seat.
Like a washer. The “burr” part of a traditional rivet is what pinches the leather. Place it over the post. Then drive it on the post with a rivet setter.
If you purchased undyed leather, finish the leather with a dye, oil and wax. Burnish the edges with a piece of wood and a little spit (water will do nicely as well).
Snip it. The post of the rivet should extend about 1/16″ or so from the burr. I use nail pincers to snip the post to length.
Peened. Some people peen the rivet freehand with a hammer. I use a rivet setter, which makes a tidy dome. It’s personal preference.
Five rivets. Each pocket is secured with five rivets. One at the peak of the curve. Rivet the ends of the lips, then fill in with the rivets between.
Attach the seat to the legs. Punch a clearance hole through each lip that will allow a No. 10 screw to pass. Screw the leather to the legs with a finishing washer under the head of each screw.
Finishing washers. The brass washer gives the screw head some extra bite into the leather – and it looks nice, too.
That’s all there is to it. You can make the tool easy to transport by making a belt that will go around the girth of the closed stool and screwing that belt to one leg. Or you could make a canvas bag embroidered with your football team’s logo. After all, when going into battle, it’s always best to fly your colors.
Make a Three-way Bolt
As I was finishing work on this book, woodworker Mike Siemsen sent me a clever three-way bolt he had made from off-the-rack hardware. According to Siemsen, here’s how to make it. Hardware needed:
A 1/2″-13 heavy hex nut. (Regular nuts will not work well; get low carbon, not hardened.)
Three 5/16″-18 x 2-1/4″ bolts (machine screws, get low carbon, not hardened.)
One 5/16″-18 nut (for cutting off the bolts to length).
Three 5/16″ washers.
You will also need a 5/16″-18 tap, a drill for the pilot hole (F-size bit which is .257″; 1/4″ will probably work) and a drill press.
Center punch the center of every other face on the 1/2″ heavy hex nut, put it in a drill press vise and bore the pilot holes for the tap. You can then either run the tap by hand or put the tap in the drill press and turn it by hand, no power! Keep things square to the face being drilled.
Next take the three 5/16″ bolts, screw the nut on them all the way up to the unthreaded portion and saw off the excess end. Remove the nut and file or grind the burr off. It is important that the unthreaded portion be around 1-1/4″ long.
You can blacken the hardware, or remove the hardware’s zinc coating using a citric acid solution and let it patinate naturally. The hole in the 1/2″ nut is a nice place to add a wooden cap or a small turned finial.
The following is excerpted from “Campaign Furniture,” by Christopher Schwarz.
For almost 200 years, simple and sturdy pieces of campaign furniture were used by people all over the globe, yet this remarkable furniture style is now almost unknown to most woodworkers and furniture designers.
“Campaign Furniture” seeks to restore this style to its proper place by introducing woodworkers to the simple lines, robust joinery and ingenious hardware that characterize campaign pieces. With more than 400 photos and drawings to explain the foundations of the style, the book provides plans for nine pieces of classic campaign furniture, from the classic stackable chests of drawers to folding Roorkee chairs and collapsible bookcases.
Folding clamshell bookcases weren’t just for officers or bureaucrats of the British Empire. These tough pieces of cabinetwork were ideal for students or any bibliophile who had to be mobile.
Built like a chest or trunk, these bookcases were typically dovetailed at the corners for maximum strength. The interiors varied. They all had shelves – of course. Sometimes the shelves were adjustable; sometimes they were fixed. You might find cubbyholes or drawers near the base of the chest.
And sometimes each side of the bookcase was further protected by a hinged door that was solid wood, glass or a metal mesh. All of the examples I’ve encountered were secured with a chest lock or a hasp. The bookcases also wore brass or iron corner guards to protect the books if the piece took a serious hit.
The example I’ve built for this book is pretty simple. It’s made from quartersawn oak and is dovetailed at the corners with half-blind dovetails. Each half of the clamshell case features two adjustable shelves that are suited to hold smaller books. At the base of the carcase are four dovetailed drawers that are fronted by flush drawer pulls.
The backs of the carcase are panels that float in grooves in the carcase pieces. In this piece, I’ve covered the interior with an embossed wallpaper. Then I painted and shellacked the paper to make it look vintage. The exterior is finished with garnet shellac.
Build the Carcase The carcase of this bookcase is somewhat like a dovetailed drawer. All the corners are joined by half-blind dovetails. The backs float in grooves in the dovetailed shells. Begin construction by dovetailing the tops and bottoms to the sides of the carcase.
To match many bookcases of the period, I cut the tails on the tops and bottoms of the carcases. The pins are on the sides. Because these bookcases normally sit on top of another piece (such as a campaign chest), the orientation of the pins and tails isn’t much of an issue.
After cutting the tails and pins, plow the 1/4″ x 1/4″ grooves for the carcase backs. The grooves are 1/4″ from the outside edge of the carcase. Then lay out the locations of the 1/2″-wide x 1/4″-deep dados for the shelves. I gang the carcase parts together to make the layout (relatively) foolproof.
Fig. 11.2 Don’t measure. Strike one wall of each dado for the shelves. Then use the shelf material to strike the other line of the dado. This ensures a good fit.
Fig. 11.3 Saw the walls. Place your thumb in the groove to stop your saw as you saw each wall of the dado.
Saw out the walls of the dados, then chop up the waste with a 1/2″-wide chisel. Plow the waste out with the chisel. Try working both bevel-up and bevel-down. The bevel-up orientation will remove waste in a hurry – perhaps to the point where you will go below your desired depth. Chiseling bevel-down is slower, but you don’t take as big a bite. I usually remove most of the waste with the chisel bevel-up, then I finish up with it bevel-down.
Fig. 11.4 (left) Choppy. Break up the waste between the dado walls with a chisel that is the same width as the dado. Fig. 11.5 (right) Plow the waste. Remove most of the waste with a chisel. Work bevel-up to remove material quickly; work bevel-down to add some control.
After you have the bottom of your dado roughed out, clean it up to a consistent depth with a router plane. You also can use the side of the router plane’s iron to scrape the vertical walls of the dado, fairing and squaring them.
Fig. 11.6 Plunge forward. The router plane isn’t suited to take a big bite. The waste jams up against the post of the iron too easily. Use the router to remove the smallest amount of waste from the bottom of the dado.
With the dados cut, knock the carcases together and measure the final dimensions of the back pieces. Cut the back panels to size, then rabbet all four edges so the panel floats in the grooves. Be sure to leave some space for expansion of the back. I used quartersawn oak, which doesn’t move much, so I allowed for only 1/8″ of movement in each panel.
Fig. 11.7 About that much. I don’t cut my panels to size until I have the carcases dry-fit. This (usually) prevents me from making a stupid error.
Gluing up the carcases is an odd job. You want to glue each carcase so its joints are tight. But you also want to glue up each carcase so it is the same shape as its mate. Otherwise, you will end up (I promise) with two carcases that are different shapes.
So apply glue, then clamp up each carcase independently. Place the two assemblies on top of one another and clamp them together along the seam. Once those clamps are on, check the uber-assembly for squareness. After the glue is dry, plane up the carcases individually. Then clamp them together and fair the seam between the two shells.
Fig. 11.8 Rabbet that. Cut the rabbets on the back panels. Cut the rabbets across the grain first. Then follow that with the rabbets that run parallel to the grain.
Fig. 11.9 Glue the two. You want these carcases to mate. So glue them up in tandem. Clamp the tops, bottoms and sides. But also clamp the carcases together so their edges align.
Fig. 11.10 On a platform. A leg vise and a platform (made from scrap) is a powerful setup for planing the joints of your carcases.
Install the Lock This is an excellent time to install the hinges and lock. While most woodworkers have installed butt hinges, many have not installed a chest lock. They are actually simple to install if you take the process one step at a time and don’t measure too much.
Fig. 11.11 (left) One hole. A scant hole in the carcase guides the installation of the chest lock. Fig. 11.12 (right) The bulk of the waste. Sawcuts help break up the waste. Chop parallel to the grain lines with a chisel to remove most of the waste.
The key to installing a chest lock is to drill a hole where the pin will go. The pin is the most important part of the lock. The key is inserted onto the pin then rotates on it to unlock the bookcase. So all the layout is determined from the pin.
Fig. 11.13 (left) Use the hole. The hole you bored for the pin also guides the installation of the escutcheon. Trace around the escutcheon with a fine pencil. Fig. 11.14 (right) Saw out the waste. Saw the walls of the hole for the escutcheon, then chisel out any waste.
Measure (shudder) from the top of the lock to the center of the pin. Transfer that measurement to the carcase and make a dimple with an awl. You want to drill at this location a hole through the carcase that is slightly smaller than the diameter of the pin itself (1/64″ or 1/32″ undersized is about right).
Then, from the inside of the carcase, press the lock into the hole. It should stick there.
Fig. 11.15 The final recess. Press the lock back into place and trace around its exterior plate. Chop out the waste.
With the lock pressed into the hole you can trace around its inside case with a thick (or blunt) pencil. This pencil line represents the next recess you should saw and chop out. Then you can install the press-in escutcheon on the outside of the carcase.
Interior Structures These bookcases can be divided up in a variety of ways. This one has two drawers at the bottom of each case. When I started on this case, my plan was to have only one shelf on each side. After assembling the carcase, I decided to add a couple more shelves and make them adjustable. This was an easy matter of sawing some more dados in the carcase walls.
At this point I also had to saw the 1/2″ x 1/8″ dados for the dividers between the drawers in each carcase. This was a simple matter of sawing, chiseling and routing the waste. You can then glue these pieces into the carcase.
Fig. 11.16 Line up the dados. I cut the dados for the drawer dividers after assembly. Using a square, I lined up the walls of the dados and marked out what needed to be cut away.
Then I turned my attention to the drawers. Despite my best efforts, the holes for the drawers were all slightly different. So I fit individually the drawer parts for each drawer opening. When I do this sort of work, I fit the drawer front so it will just sneak into its opening all around. I cut the drawer back to that same length.
I fit the drawer sides so they slide in and out of the carcase like I want the finished drawer to slide. I wait to cut the drawer bottom until the drawer is assembled.
The drawers I make are typical for the 18th and 19th centuries. The sides join the drawer back with through-dovetails. The sides join the drawer front with half-blind (the British call them “lap”) dovetails. The bottom slides into the assembled drawer in a groove plowed into the sides and drawer front.
Fig. 11.17 Parts in place. Fit your drawer parts so they match the dimensions of the drawer opening. If the individual parts fit too tight, the drawer will surely stick.
Once the joints are cut, glue up the drawers. Make sure the drawers are dead square – you can pull them into square with a tight and well-fit drawer bottom if necessary.
Once your drawers are assembled, clean up the joints with a plane and fit each drawer into its opening. The tighter the fit, the less likely the drawer will bind when you pull it out.
Fig. 11.18 Drilled out. I usually remove most of the waste with a drill – in this case a Forstner bit. All this ugliness will be hidden behind the pull’s backplate.
Then add the pulls. I used some vintage pulls that were made in the mid-20th century, which are surprisingly similar to ones made today. Just as when you installed the lock, installing the pulls is a multi-stage process. First you waste away the deepest and smallest recess for the pull. Then you fit the pull into that hole and trace around the backplate. Then mortise out the area for the backplate and you can screw the pull in place.
Fig. 11.19 Traced & chopped. After fitting the pull into the first recess, press it down and trace around the backplate. Then you can chop out that waste.
Don’t be afraid to file parts of the pull to make it fit or function.
Finish the Interior Some of these bookcases were lined with felt, cloth or some sort of wallpaper. To give this bookcase a Victorian look, I lined the interior with an embossed wallpaper. Then I painted the wallpaper and coated it with shellac (like the rest of the carcase).
Adding wallpaper is easy. Cut the paper so it fits the opening (or is slightly bigger that the space required). Roll some wallpaper paste on the back of the wallpaper. Fold the pasted surfaces on themselves, closing them like a book. Wait 10 minutes.
Fig. 11.20 Easy wallpapering. If you’ve ever hung wallpaper, you’ll be amazed how easy it is to do on a horizontal surface. It doesn’t sag.
Then you can unfold the wallpaper and apply it to the wood. Use a wallpaper brush to press the paper to the wood. Don’t use a squeegee tool if you are using embossed wallpaper – it will destroy the pattern.
If your paper is oversized, trim it into the corner with a utility knife. Then turn your attention to the next piece of wallpaper. Let the paste dry for 24 hours before trimming the bits that cover the dados.
Fig. 11.21 Paste then trim. Use one piece of paper on the sides of the carcase. After the paste has dried 24 hours, use a knife to slice away the paper covering the dados.
Paint the wallpaper if you like; I used a green milk paint I had on hand. With embossed wallpaper you can create a nice two-tone effect with little effort. Brush on a coat of paint. Wait about five minutes for the paint to set up a bit. Then gently wipe the paper with a sponge. The sponge will remove the paint from the high spots.
You can use contrasting colors to paint the high spots and low spots. But remember: Books will cover the wallpaper most of the time. So don’t go too crazy.
Fig. 11.22 A little dab. After the paint flashes, gently wipe the high spots with a sponge to brush away part of the paint.
After the paint dries, finish the entire case. I wanted the outside to look a bit aged, though not distressed. So I finished the entire case, inside and out, with two coats of garnet shellac. Then I wiped a black wax on to the exterior surfaces of the carcase. After the wax flashed, I wiped off the excess, leaving the black in the pores.
Then I coated the entire piece, inside and out, with one coat of a dull lacquer to cut back some of the shine from the shellac.
The final step was to add some corner hardware. As an experiment, I used applied corner guards that are secured with escutcheon pins. They don’t look as nice as inset corner guards, but they are better than nothing.
