Fig. 95aFig 95a and 95b. Mortice and tenon joint. In a basic stool or table, two rails are joined into the top of each leg by means of a mortice and tenon joint. Either the legs or rails may be marked out first. In this construction, the rails are marked out.
In a table or stool construction either the legs or the rails may be marked out first. This example starts with the rails. Cramp together the long and short pairs, with true faces out and true edges down. Mark each end with a knife and square (Fig 96). Then uncramp the pairs, square round the lines (Fig 97), and carefully saw off the waste. It is important to saw this cleanly in order to be able to gauge nicely on the end later. First gauge the set-in, at about 3mm (1/8in.), and then the haunch (Fig 98). The set-in is purely cosmetic, to conceal any irregularity in the joint.
Fig. 96
Fig. 98
The haunch provides a bridge at the top of the leg, helping to prevent the mortice splitting and at the same time, by its added width to the tenon, reducing the possibility of the rail twisting in the leg. The haunch should be about a quarter of the tenon width. Some writers will say a third but this seems to reduce the tenon too much.
To mark out the legs, put them together with the faces and edges as shown (Fig 99) then turn them over and mark them on a blank face. Mark the total length, leaving some waste (which should be shaded) at each end. The waste must be about 20mm (3/4in.) at the top or jointed end.
Fig. 99Figs. 100-101
Offer up the rail, and from it mark the haunch, set-in and rail width (Fig 100), square these across and uncramp. Square these lines onto the other blank face. The total length lines are squared right round (Fig 101).
The thickness of a tenon is normally about one third of the rail thickness. It is not taken from measurement but is the size of the nearest available chisel to this size. The traditional hand mortice chisels vary considerably from the nominal size. Machine chisels are quite accurate and are now becoming metric. Hand mortice chisels are much thicker than the common firmer or bench chisel (Fig 102), which is very liable to break when levering. The extra thickness of the mortice chisel is also a help in preventing it from twisting.
Set the mortice gauge carefully to the chisel (Fig 103) then set to its position on the rail, commonly central. Without changing the setting, mark out the mortices on the legs (Fig 104), gauging from the true face and the true edge. Mark the tenons similarly, gauging from the true face.
Beginners will find it helpful later on, when sawing the tenons, if a thick, soft pencil is run in the gauge marks. This produces a double pencil mark (Fig 105). The waste should be very clearly marked with pencil, generally by diagonal shading. (The method adopted in the illustrations is to avoid confusion with the end grain, and is not typical.)
Note: It is a good idea to number the joints to avoid confusion. This should be done on parts not involved in the cleaning-up process.
Editor’s note: This weekend I had the privilege of working with Ernie Conover at the Northeastern Woodworkers Association’s “Showcase” in Saratoga Springs, N.Y. Ernie, shown in the photo at left, helped judge the furniture show and taught hand skills during the show. Ernie has many books and magazine articles to his credit and runs The Conover Workshops. During our weekend together, Ernie noticed I was selling copies of “The Essential Woodworker.” Ernie then opened his laptop and showed me a review he’d written of the book in 1991, which he kindly allowed me to reprint here.
Soon after embarking on the reading of “The Essential Woodworker” I was a young student again. Only this time I was not shrugging of “as unimportant” the basic skills and techniques that are “essential” to being a top quality woodworker. I would like to kid myself that “The Essential Woodworker” was a review, however, I learned much!
Top educator and craftsman, Robert Wearing, prefaces the book with an astounding premise, which becomes the basis of the book. That is, that there is a multitude of books and articles available to woodworkers, but that the vast majority of these are far too advanced. They all neglect basics. Therefore, “The Essential Woodworker” is totally dedicated to hand woodworking basics. It is a primer designed for struggling neophytes working alone-without the aid of a teacher.
“The Essential Woodworker” succeeds admirably in its purpose. Anyone (machine or hand tool woodworker alike) who works through the clearly written text, with myriad of photos and fine illustrations, will gain much! All of the illustrations are done by the author in a clear, perspective drafting style that is most elucidating.
Mr. Wearing also subscribes to a thought that I have long held. Namely, that high quality woodworking is impossible without the use of bench planes. In the first chapter, he goes into the sharpening, tuning and use of these essential tools, along with a host of other basic skills, in detail. In succeeding chapters he explains the basic skills involved in table, carcase, and drawer/box construction. Chapter 4 on drawer construction was really written some years ago by Mr. Wearing’ mentor, Cecil Gough. The author explains in the Introduction, “that he cannot improve upon his tutor on this subject.” Finally in Appendices A through I Mr. Wearing presents detailed plans for a host of jigs, fixtures and work aids.
American readers will have to do some translation of terminology. For example half blind dovetails are lap dovetails, wood is timber and rabbet is rebate. Even the author loses sight of basics, and occasionally refers to skills and practices not covered in the book. For example the art of using a plane in a shooting board is not covered, however, the reader is several times instructed to “shoot” the ends of timbers.
Robert Wearing has given me some startling ideas reference teaching. Mastery of woodworking is not a progressive line starting with basics and ending with Zen mastery, but rather a ring joined immutably. The task for instructor and student is to break into this ring at a juncture where basics are mastered but interest in not lost. “The Essential Woodworker” does this admirably. As for Robert Wearing, I can only think of the lines from Julius Caesar, “Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus, and we petty men walk under his huge legs and peep about to find ourselves dishonorable graves.”
Editor’s note: The following account was written by Robert Wearing, the author of “The Essential Woodworker,” which is one of the best modern books on handwork. Period. End of story. In this entry, Wearing recounts his woodworking training after World War II and his connection to Edward Barsnley. “The Essential Woodworker” is available in our store for $23 plus shipping.
— Christopher Schwarz
After World War II, the British government offered to ex service personnel a Further Education and Training grant for those whose training had been interrupted by the war. Mine had not been but an exception made in the case of teaching. There was an acute shortage, since many teachers had been killed and young men were conscripted before they could go to college.
Wondering what to do with my life after being demobbed from the forces I made a visit to my old school. My old headmaster, looking through my old reports said, “You excelled in woodwork. Why not consider craft teaching?”
He sent me to see one of his craft teachers who said, “Go to Loughborough, nowhere else. They will make a craftsman of you.” So I applied.
I was sent a drawing to make and bring. It was a teapot stand, a rather elaborately jointed mitred frame, holding a 6” x 6″ ceramic tile. I made this in a little garden shed workshop with what tools I had and little knowledge and went for interview. It was accepted and I was in.
Before arriving I was to make a dovetailed tool box to a standard design. Three boxes were fitted under each bench.
Loughborough College in those days was three-quarters engineers and one-quarter teachers, half of the teachers were craftsmen and half were physical education.
Almost the entire entry to the college at that time were soldiers, sailors or airmen. The college (now a university) had no experience of so many mature students, having only had schoolboy entrants before, but treated us very considerately, so we had no complaints.
Our first job, from a drawing supplied, was a small book rack in agba, an African hardwood. I still had that until my house and contents were sold.
Subjects studied in the first two years were Ancient and Medieval History, English Literature, Education (with teaching practice in schools) and teaching handicraft as it was then called, also Technical Drawing.
Nothing was very formally taught, we just got on, working to our approved drawings. A tutor wandered around and could be consulted. Each workshop also had a very competent cabinetmaker, who maintained the equipment. He was a mine of information and was always most helpful. That was Mr. Finch, who was always referred to as such. Nowadays he would be a technician of varying quality.
After the book rack I made a small side table with a drawer in mahogany. The principle on which the college ran was “Training on Production.” Contacts were made with industry and orders were taken and made.
The engineers, particularly the mechanical engineers, could do this; but the craftsman teachers on their own individual work, could not. So we made furniture for the library that was proposed when building and timber restrictions ended.
During the war and for several years after timber of all sorts was rationed and difficult to buy. We students often resorted to going to auction sales, hoping to buy a large dining table with extending leaves and massive rails. The large legs would be cut up for turning. Such a piece in Cuban mahogany was indeed a good buy. This made a paneled bookcase with sliding glass doors.
I found a source of of thick oak, being the bottom of railway wagons destroyed by bombing. For years they had carried coal, the dust from which was deeply embedded.
When I took some pieces to the college sawmill, I was rudely sent away to first plane off the top charred 1/4″ – by hand. The boss later relented and agreed to saw and thickness them as the last job before the saw and blades were sharpened. In fact it proved to be quite nice material, out of which I made several nice pieces in the garage of my hall of residence, including a small circular table, which I still have. Also a small wall hanging bureau. Having sold off the rest when I left college, I was not much out of pocket.
Handicraft students had to opt for woodwork or metalwork. After one year I and a fellow student were allowed to study both.
With regard to the tutors, they were all former Loughborough students with the exception of Cecil Gough who was a former foreman of Gordon Russell of Broadway, Gloucestershire, working similarly to the Cotswold School. He left when the firm went into manufacturing, no longer making single handmade items.
Russell designed the war-time Utility Furniture, which was well designed to make the best and most economical use of the timber in very short supply.
Ockenden, the head of the department, trained at Shoreditch College, who might be termed rivals of Loughborough for the top position.
Edward Barnsley, an outstanding designer craftsman with his own business in the New Forest, Hampshire, employing a few highly skilled men, gave a few lectures. He also discussed and advised on their designs with students. On his death a trust was set up to maintain his workshop as a high-quality training establishment.
There were very few machines in the workshops but there were machines of course in the sawmill. If you wanted 3/4″ material you planed it down with a jack plane, from 1″ boards. Strangely my workshops had a band saw. The cabinetmaker/technician seemed to spend a large part of his life sharpening this. There was a woodturning lathe, little used, but no circular saw. A small one would have eased our labours greatly, without lowering the quality.
My oak sideboard final project, planed from 1″ to 3/4″, was very heavy work which went on for a long time. There was a grindstone, which was pedal driven and very tedious and slow in operation, particularly when grinding the thick blades in wooden jack planes.
There were no “stock” projects. All the work was designed by students and advised by Edward Barnsley. The exception to this was the library furniture made as production work. This was designed by Barnsley.
Looking back to 1947-50 I do not see how the practical training could have been bettered. There is no training of this quality now in any college. Only in the Barnsley workshops.
