The Great Australian Sailing Mystery: The Tale of the “Mahogany Ship”

 

It is January, 1836. On the banks of a soggy, muddy river, inland from a sheltered bay, a collection of tents and simple, wooden buildings are gathered around what one man declared would be “the place for a village“. In time, it would become the gold-rich capital city of Melbourne, in the Australian state of Victoria.

In 1836, however, the city is barely six months old. It is a tiny community of freed convicts, free settlers from England and the other colonies around Australia, and the various squatters who have staked claims in the area and moved in on the land. There is almost no other Western civilisation around for hundreds of miles. The nearest major towns are Sydney, and Hobart, several miles to the north, and south, respectively. Melbourne, as it was in the 1830s, was completely on its own.

Collins Street in central Melbourne as it appeared in 1839.

One reason for this is because it’s so hard to get there by sea – the coastline is smashed constantly by powerful waves driven against the rocks by the currents and waves thrown up by the wild storms of the Southern Ocean off of Antarctica. Whoever sails beyond the heads of Port Phillip Bay, sails into a patch of ocean which, even on a nice day, is dangerous territory.

It was through these notorious waters that three sailors maneuvered their boat parallel to the shore, sailing along the coast, west of Port Phillip Bay, and past shorelines unexplored, and unsettled by white man. As far as they know – nobody has ever lived here, settled here, or even passed this way before. Suddenly, their boat capsizes in the rough waves. The three men on board are swept inland and scramble through the surf onto the beaches nearby. Nobody lives here. The nearest civilisation – Melbourne – is hours away by foot.

Trying to get their bearings, the three men head inland, climbing a high, shrub-covered sand-dune a few yards in from the beach. Once they reach the top, they are greeted by a surreal sight…

An artist’s impression of the Mahogany Ship – no images of the actual vessel were ever produced.

Splayed out before them in the sand is the worn out, rotting, wooden carcass of a once grand sailing vessel. It has been broken into at least two or three massive pieces, and has clearly been sitting there for years…decades…possibly even centuries!…in a land which supposedly – had been colonised by white man barely fifty years before.

How was this possible? Where had this ship come from? Who did it belong to? What happened to the crew? How long had it been here?

They had absolutely no idea.

Thus began the mystery of Australia’s most famous shipwreck – The Mahogany Ship.

What Is the Mahogany Ship?

The ‘Mahogany Ship’ is Australia’s most enduring maritime mystery. It refers to the wreck of a large, wooden sailing ship which was driven up onto the Victorian coastline roughly halfway between the towns of Port Fairy to the west, and Warrnambool, to the east. For nearly two hundred years, generations of Victorians have been scratching their collective heads over what this ship was doing there, how it got there, what it was transporting, and what happened to the people on board?

To this day, those questions have not yet been answered.

The first account of the ship came from these three sailors. Over the succeeding seventy years, more and more reports were made. As early as the 1840s, and as late as the 1870s, 80s and 90s, a wide variety of eyewitnesses from day-trippers, sailors, and nearby residents all claimed to have seen the wreck of an ancient wooden sailing ship beached on the coast, and many had speculated as to what it was doing there, how it had gotten there, and what the ship might’ve been carrying.

Why is it called the ‘Mahogany Ship’?

First, the Mahogany Ship is not actually made of mahogany. Newspaper reports, letters and witness testimonies merely speak of a ship made of dark, dense wood which they described as LOOKING like mahogany. What the ship was actually made of has never been determined.

What is the Significance of the Mahogany Wreck?

The most accepted theory is that the Mahogany Ship is the wreckage of a Portuguese or Spanish ship, part of an exploratory fleet which is believed to have sailed past Australia during its explorations of the continent…in 1522. This is significant because, if it’s true, it would mean that Western contact with the Australian continent could be traced all the way back to the early 16th century…a time when Henry VIII still sat on the throne of England! It would also blow out of the water the known historical timeline, that Dutchman Willem Janszoon discovered Australia eighty years after this date, in 1606!

If the ship was part of this exploratory fleet, then it was most likely a caravel – an early type of sailing vessel, commonly used in the 15th and 16th centuries. That being the case, it probably looked similar to this model of a caravel, in a museum on the island of Malta…

Even by the standards of the early 1500s, caravels were not considered large ships. At best, they were perhaps 40-65ft long, maybe 70ft at best (approx 12-32m). Imagine sailing something that tiny from somewhere like Portugal or Spain, halfway around the world into waters which were completely unknown, uncharted and unseen by Western eyes, with absolutely no certainty of getting home!…and then wrecking your ship on the coast of some far-off, uncharted island! Now there’s the business-trip from Hell…!!

What Do We Know about the Mahogany Ship?

Honestly? Not much. To date, the ship, if it exists, has never been found. We don’t know what it looks like, or where it is.

Wait…what?

Yep, you heard me. We know almost nothing about it. See, the Mahogany Ship was discovered in the mid-1830s. From the 1830s to the 1880s, the ship was subject to intense local speculation. Locals, day-trippers to the nearby beaches, and sailors from nearby whaling ports all testified that wedged in the high sand-dunes inland from the coast was the wreck of an ancient sailing vessel, complete with hull and masts.

Well, you might ask – if the bloody ship’s there, we can photograph it, right?

No we can’t.

We can’t, because we can’t see it.

We can’t see it, because by the late 1870s, and by the 1880s certainly – the entire ship had been buried by the shifting coastal sands, blown inland by the offshore winds (which created the very dunes which have entrapped the ship). Testimonies from two women stated that the last time any part of the Mahogany Ship was seen above the ground was in 1878. By 1880, the ship had completely disappeared.

That was 130 years ago.

In the century and nearly four decades since that time, the ship has been entirely buried by shifting sands, and the Mahogany Ship went from local curiosity to local legend and myth.

Can’t we just go and…I dunno…dig it up!?

Probably! IF you know where to look! And that, has been one of the chief reasons why the ship has not been discovered yet – few eyewitness testimonies give accurate directions to where they found the wreck!

The most accurate one came from a man named Alexander Rollo, who wrote a letter in 1890 to The Warrnambool Standard. This letter gives the most accurate description of where the wreck is believed to have been buried, and his description runs thusly:

“I remember a wreck that was lying high above high-water mark. Her stern was pointing towards Port Fairy [to the West], and…her timbers were standing 3-4ft above the sand, surrounded with vegetation. From the position and appearance of the wreck, I am perfectly sure she came ashore before the district was inhabited by white people.

She could not be seen from the water’s edge, being high up in the hummocks [dunes]. The wreck was 1/4mi (quarter mile) east of Gorman’s Lane, and four chains north of the sea”Alexander Rollo, 1890. 

Great! We have two reference points – a laneway, and a beach, and definite measurements!

Gorman’s Lane (today called Gorman’s Road) still exists. A quarter mile from there should be easy enough to measure.

…But…what’s a chain?

A chain is an old-fashioned unit of measurement, commonly used by land-surveyors back in the 1700s and 1800s. It possibly derives from the surveyor’s measuring chains used to calculate distances. One chain is 22 yards. There are 1,760yd in a mile, so a quarter of that is 440yd.

Great!

440 yards from the east of Gorman’s lane, and 4 chains (4 x 22yd = 88yd) in from the coast! X marks the spot! Start digging!

Right?

Ehm…not quite.

There’s a number of reasons why the Mahogany Ship, if it still exists, hasn’t been discovered yet.

Why not!?

Well, simply put, it’s a large area of land to cover and caravels, as we’ve shown, are not very large boats. Big enough to cross an ocean, but they’re no gigantic, steam-powered ocean liners; they’re small, wooden sailing ships. On top of that, the ship by now, nearly 200 years later, would be well buried under several meters of shifting sand, blown in from the coast.

This is a Google Maps image of the site in question. Port Fairy lies to the west, Warrnambool to the east. The road once known as Gorman’s Lane, is on the western edge of the photograph, marked in blue.

The yellow-bordered area represents the largest possible search-area for the Mahogany Ship, and the blue area represents its most likely burial-spot, based on the measurements and directions given by Alexander Rollo in 1890. As you can see, it’s still a pretty big space to cover – several hundreds of square meters. Where would you start!? And keep in mind that you’d have to dig down at least three or four meters (approx 9-12ft) before you would even reach the level of the top of the ship!

For any serious excavations to begin, you’d first need to be pretty damn sure that there was something down there, worth digging up. Secondly, you’d need the money, manpower and machinery to clear several tons of sand and shrubbery. Thirdly, you’d need government permission to hack up such a massive chunk of land and, if you did find the Mahogany Ship, that’s not the end of it!

Wood buried in sand for hundreds of years will remain safe and fine for millenia, because it’s relatively dry and shielded from the elements. But the moment it’s exposed to oxygen, it can start to rot and crumble. This is what happened in Europe when the 16th and 17th century shipwrecks The Mary Rose, and the Vassa were raised from the sea-floor and taken out of their own protective cocoons (in their case, seawater).

The flagship of Henry VIII, the Mary Rose would likely be the same age as the Mahogany Ship. This is the Mary Rose today.

Although both ships are now safely on display in museums, before this time, extensive conservation efforts had to be made to stop the wood from deteriorating into nothing.

These reasons are why the Mahogany Ship, if it remains to be discovered, as yet hasn’t been discovered. The hurdles to overcome in finding it, digging it up, and preserving it are significant, and until they can be, the ship will likely remain buried for several more years to come.

Does the Mahogany Ship Really Exist?

How do we know this isn’t some sort of fraud or hoax? Does the Mahogany Ship really exist?

I personally think that it does. Trawling newspaper accounts from the 1800s seems to give plenty of evidence from separate witnesses, and Australian history is so patchy and jumbled that a ship from centuries ago really could conceivably have been wrecked along its southern coast, at a time when the shorelines would’ve been vastly different to how they are today.

Only time, careful surveying, a proper archeological dig, and proper preservation of any finds will ever yield any serious answers, though. But if that ship does exist, and if it is found – it could change the entire timeline of recorded Western contact with Australia, and Australian history on a whole.

10 Historical Myths – #02

 

Historical myths are all around us. In films, in books, in TV series, they’re repeated by our teachers in school. They breed all kinds of misinformation and misunderstandings through their propagation, and this in turn can lead to mistakes and errors.

Here are ten more common historical myths which have, for one reason or another, stood the test of time.

1). Santa has a red suit because of Coca Cola

I’ve heard this repeated on so many TV shows, I’ve lost count.

The popular image of Santa Claus as a jolly old man with white hair, a beard, a prominent weight-problem, and a red, white-fur-trimmed suit has been part of many peoples’ childhoods for generations, but despite what you might think – he’s not red because of Coca Cola!

Santa’s red suit came about because of Thomas Nast, an American cartoonist from the second half of the 1800s. Nast was responsible for creating, or popularising many cultural icons which we take for granted today – one of them is Santa Claus. He was the first illustrator to read the poem ‘A Visit from St Nicholas’ and to draw  Santa Claus as he was described in the poem. While the poem gives a description of Santa, it doesn’t say what colour his clothes are – it was Nast who put in the finishing touches and painted the suit red.

It was this image which Coca Cola used during its advertising campaigns, spreading Nast’s vision of a red-suited gift-giver around the world.

2). During the First World War, soldiers spent weeks in the trenches!

Actually, no. Although it’s true that the trenches were often unsanitary, flooded, crowded, cold and uncomfortable, most soldiers did not spend a great deal of time in them. Even back in the 1910s, the top brass knew that soldier morale had to be kept high, and that the best way to do this was to keep them clean, fed and dry. As a result, it was actually very common to rotate soldiers in and out of the trenches on a regular basis. In the space of a month, a soldier wouldn’t spend more than a week or two in the trenches, if that. And if they did, then most of that time was spent in reserve or support-trenches, further back from the front line.

3). During the Second World War, the Royal Navy considered making ships out of sawdust…and ice!

This one is actually true. A mixture of sawdust (or more precisely, wood-pulp) and ice called pycrete was proven to be substantially stronger than good old-fashioned solidified water. It didn’t melt as fast, it was virtually bulletproof, and it floated. Because of these characteristics, the Royal Navy considered making ships out of it, or perhaps aircraft-carriers, in order to save on precious steel during the war. Unfortunately, the logistics involved in actually producing industrial quantities of pycrete just didn’t make it practical, and the idea was scrapped as a result.

4). The Sandwich was invented by the Earl of Sandwich

Ehm…possibly.

A popular myth since the mid-1700s is that John Montagu, the Fourth Earl of Sandwich invented the sandwich which we have today. Right?

Yes, and no.

Whether or not Montagu ever really invented the concept of the sandwich itself is up for debate. What isn’t disputed, however, is that he certainly gave his name to the meal. Mongatu, the First Lord of the Admiralty, was in charge of running the British Royal Navy, which basically meant that he was chained to his desk sorting through papers, forms, documents and letters from dawn until dusk. And whenever he could get away from his desk, he indulged in his one main vice: gambling!

The fourth earl himself…and not a crumb in sight! What a disappointment…

In order to save time during his work-day, and to keep his hands relatively clean while playing cards, it is said that he ordered his valet to bring him meat encased within two slices of bread, and this became the basis for the sandwich which we have today. Although he may or may not have actually invented the concept of the ‘sandwich’, it’s certainly true that he gave his name to the idea of a filling between two slices of bread. By the second half of the 1700s, and increasingly by the early Victorian era, sandwiches had entered the English language as a simple snack made with two slices of bread.

5). Punishment in the Royal Navy was Exceptionally Harsh

Men of iron, ships of wood! That’s what they used to say, right? And what made these men so tough was the brutal discipline practiced on board the ships of his majesty’s navy. Right!?

Yes, and no.

While discipline on board ships of the Royal Navy might seem excessive by modern standards, in the 1700s and early 1800s, it was actually seen as being significantly less-so.

England in the 1600s and 1700s operated a legal system which became known as the ‘Bloody Code’. Between the late 1600s to the 1790s, over TWO HUNDRED laws were punishable by death by hanging. This included everything from murder, to stealing a handkerchief, and absolutely everything in between.

Even at the time, laws such as this were seen as being wildly excessive – juries would often deliberately convict defendants of lesser crimes, in order to spare them the noose, while government officials tried to find more ‘humane’ alternatives, such as penal transportation, or indentured servitude.

The same applied to the Royal Navy. At a time when you could be hanged in England for stealing goods of a value over 1/- (one shilling, or twelve pence), punishment in the Royal Navy generally consisted of flogging or whipping. This was because at sea, to kill a man over what was really a petty crime, was seen as wasteful and excessive.

The Articles of War, which governed the rules and regulations of the Royal Navy from the 17th century, up until the early 21st, were updated several times, most frequently during the 1700s, when outcries were made by the public over the severity of punishments which could be meted out by the navy.

While to modern eyes, the punishments meted out in the Royal Navy were harsh, given the climate of the era, they were not as severe as they might have been, and even back in the 1700s, people were campaigning for change.

6). It’s Possible to Overwind a Watch or Clock

This is a really common myth for anybody who collects, owns, or repairs antique clocks and watches. I don’t know where it comes from, but apparently, it’s a thing.

The myth is that it’s possible to wind up a watch or a clock so much that you break the mechanism and the watch or clock stops working, as a result. Usually, what happens is that someone winds up a clock and once they’ve done winding it, the mechanism stops working. This clock has now been ‘overwound’.

Right?

Not really. All that’s happened is that you wound up the clock, and the clock refuses to run. This isn’t because you broke it, it’s because the clock is so filthy and dirty inside that the gunk, dust and grime wedged between the gears is preventing the mainspring from unwinding and driving the gear-train. In a clean clock or watch, this wouldn’t be a problem, but on timepieces which haven’t been cleaned properly for a very long time, the accumulated dust jams the gears, and causes the watch to stop. Sometimes shaking the watch or clock will get it going again, but the only serious long-term repair is to have the mechanism entirely overhauled.

7). The word ‘FUCK’ comes from ‘Fornication under Consent of King’.

Sorry folks. There is 100% absolutely NO evidence to back this up, or indeed, any other acronym of the word, and there never has been. The word ‘Fuck’ dates back as far as the 13th century, first appearing in text in the 1270s, and increasingly throughout the 13-and-1400s, by which time it had already acquired the sexual connotations with which we’re familiar today.

8). Thomas Crapper invented the Toilet…and the word Crap!

…no, he didn’t.

Crapper was a plumber, that is true, but he didn’t invent the modern toilet. He did invent a variety of toiletry improvements, such as improved cisterns, flushing-mechanisms and so-forth, but he was not the originator of the toilet itself. That honour goes to Sir John Harrington, a 16th century Englishman, and godson of Queen Elizabeth. In fact, it’s because of Sir John Harrington that Americans still call a toilet ‘the John’…today!

But what about the word ‘crap’?

Crap comes from the Dutch word ‘Krappe’, meaning anything unwanted, cast off, and considered a waste product. It evolved into the two English words ‘Crap’, and ‘Chaff’, as in “to separate the wheat (useful stuff), from the chaff (the leftovers)”.

9). You Couldn’t own Alcohol during Prohibition

1920! National prohibition sweeps across the United States, leading to bathtub gin, bootlegging, and a surge in organised crime! But of course it would! Where else are people going to get booze!? After all, it’s illegal to drink now and you can’t own booze! Right?

Ehm…

…wrong.

It was illegal to practice the MANUFACTURING, TRANSPORT or SALE of alcohol. During Prohibition, at NO TIME was it actually ILLEGAL to DRINK, or even OWN alcohol! You could own as much booze as you could hold, so long as you bought it before 1920. And you could drink as much of it as you wanted! What the law prevented you from doing was BUYING MORE booze, once you’d depleted your stockpile. That is where the bootleggers made their money.

10 The Great Wall of China is called the Great Wall of China!

By you, probably, yeah.

But not by the Chinese.

At no point in Chinese history, except for the modern day (and even this wouldn’t be true), did the Chinese ever call the Great Wall of China…the…Great Wall of China! It absolutely never happened!

The term ‘Great Wall of China’ was actually invented by the first Europeans who visited China in the 1600s and 1700s, and first sighted the wall during their trips around what was then the imperial capital of Peking.

In Chinese, the wall is named ‘Wan Li Chang Cheng’, which literally translates as: “The Wall of 10,000 Li“.

Well, what’s a ‘Li’?

Before you ask, it does not mean that the wall was made by, for, or out of, 10,000 guys named Li.

A ‘Li’ was a Chinese unit of measurement (sometimes still used today), which was equivalent to 500 meters, or half a kilometer.

So there you have it!

Having A Ball: My Swiss Railroad Pocketwatch from 1950

 

In looking back over my blog, it kind of shocks me that in eight years almost, of writing this crazy thing, I have not once, ever made a blog-posting about one of my favourite and most prized possessions – which I think is pretty ridiculous, considering it’s one that I carry almost every single day, and have done for the past seven years.

I have mentioned it in passing in one or two of my other blog posts, probably, but I never went into detail about it, so that’s what I’m going to do now.

My Swiss-made Ball Railroad Pocketwatch

One of my most prized possessions for nearly 10 years is this pocketwatch, manufactured in Switzerland by the Record Watch Company, for the famous Ball Watch Company of Cleveland, Ohio, in the United States. In this posting, I’ll be going into detail about what this watch is, and what makes it unique, or different. So, let’s get started.

It’s Swiss but it’s American but it’s…wah…??

Yeah it can get pretty confusing, I know! The lettering on the dial quite clearly says “BALL OFFICIAL RR STANDARD / CLEVELAND”. This was the decal used by the Ball Watch Company of Cleveland, Ohio, a company which distributed watches to various American and Canadian railroad companies from the 1890s up to the end of about the 1950s. While the Ball name became famous for accuracy, ruggedness and high quality, one thing that Ball was not famous for was…making watches!

I know, crazy isn’t it? One of the most important watch companies in the world made no watches! Nope! In fact, the vast majority of Ball-branded watches were actually made by other companies, sold to Ball, and were then re-branded as Ball watches and then sold to the public (or to people working on the railroads). Companies included Elgin, Illinois, and Waltham, to name just a few.

…So why was this made in Switzerland?

Well after the Second World War, the American watchmaking industry really started to fall apart. It wasn’t able to effectively compete against European watchmakers and bad management and marketing decisions made by various company executives meant that the output and quality of watches made in the United States in the 50s and 60s started to falter. By the 1970s, almost none of the traditional American watchmaking firms was still in operation. More and more work, and eventually, whole companies, were sent out to Europe to fulfill orders and keep up with manufacturing, rather than do it in America.

That is why an American watch ended up being made in Switzerland.

Blued-steel hands on the dial were a common feature of antique pocketwatches. The heat-treatment applied to the hands to prevent rusting tinted the steel a dark, navy-blue/purple colour.

What is this Watch?

This watch is a Swiss-made Ball-Record Model 435c. In terms of the railroad pocketwatch – a specially designed pocketwatch used by people who worked on railroads between about 1890-1960, this watch represented not only the pinnacle of the style, but also the end of it. It was one of the last major-production railroad pocketwatches still produced in the 1940s and 50s after the Second World War.

Who Used This Watch?

The Ball-Record 435-series of Swiss-made pocketwatches were manufactured as railroad-standard, meaning that they could be used, theoretically, on any railroad operating on the North American continent. This particular watch, however, was likely used in Canada, and specifically, on the Canadian Pacific Railroad.  I think this for two reasons:

1). The watch has a 24-hour dial. This was a feature which was only mandatory on Canadian-use railroad pocketwatches. America, for whatever reason, never had this as part of their railroad watch regulations.

2). The Ball-Record 435-series is actually listed in Canadian Pacific Railroad documentation as being an officially-approved timepiece. In the 1957 listings of approved CPR timepieces, it’s entered as: “BALL – 16s [16-size], 435C, 21j [21 jewels]”. And that’s how I know!

What is a Railroad Pocketwatch?

Alright, so that’s the watch. What is a railroad pocketwatch, and what makes such a watch what it is?

I covered this in much greater detail in the blog posting I did years and years ago, which is also the first, last and until now, only time I’d ever mentioned the watch which is the focus of this article. If you want to read that posting, it’s here. 

But to sum up really fast:

The railroad chronometer, or railroad-standard pocketwatch was a specialised timepiece developed in the late 1800s to combat the very serious issue at the time, of railroad punctuality, and by extension – safety. Remember that this was a time before radio, before telephones, before GPS tracking and electronic sensors. The only way to know where a train was, at least in theory, supposed to be, was to know what time it was. And the only way you could do that was if everyone had the same time. And the only way you could do THAT was to ensure that everybody working on the railroads had the most accurate watches available.

After a series of disastrous train-wrecks in the United States in the second half of the 1800s, safety was ramped up, and in 1891, Webster C. Ball was made the Time Inspector for railroads in the United States. A jeweler and watchmaker of renown, Ball established the watch company which now bears his name, and was the first person to try and set nationally-recognised standards for railroad watches. Every watch had to have these features in it. They were updated and changed throughout time, but by the early 1900s, they were pretty much standardised. These criteria were numerous, but they were:

  • A large watch. 16 or 18 size. (18 size was later considered too large, and railroaders could trade them in for a smaller, more comfortable 16, if they wanted to. 18s were jokingly called ‘woodburners’ since only the old-timer railroad men, who operated wood-burning locomotives held onto them!)
  • Open-faced. No hunter-case lid to cover the dial.
  • Crown-wind, lever set. For ease of maintenance and safety in time-setting.
  • At least 17 jewels. This was raised to 19, 21 and 23 jewels as time went by. But basically, 17-23 was considered RR-grade.
  • Bimetallic balance-wheel for coping with temperature-extremes.
  • Six position adjustments so that the watch kept time in all possible orientations.
  • Temperature-variance adjustments, so that the watch kept time no matter how hot or cold it was (34-100’F, in case you’re wondering).
  • Isochronism (mainspring-tension variance and the ability of the watch to keep time regardless thereof).
  • Bold, easily read numbers, and easily-read minute-markers.
  • Bold, easily read hands.
  • Micro-regulator for precise calibration.
  • American-made watches ONLY (some leeway was given for European-made watches, so long as parts were commonly available).

That is the list of basic regulations. As time went by, more were added, but those were the starter-points. Along with all the regulations about the watches, there were loads of regulations about how they were to be used, and how they were to be serviced! Among other things…

  • The owner, a railroad employee, could not set the time himself. He was responsible for winding his watch and nothing else. Time-setting in the event of letting the watch run down, or from inaccuracy, was only done by the time-inspector for that railroad.
  • The watch had to keep time to +/-30sec a week, or about +/-4sec a day.
  • The owner was not allowed to tinker, repair, adjust or regulate the watch in any way whatsoever.

As you can imagine, with all these regulations, railroads, and the men who operated them, became famous for their punctuality and accuracy of timekeeping. From the late 1800s up to the 1950s, if you needed to know THE time, you asked an engineer, a station-master, or a railroad conductor. Almost certainly, he’d have the right time in his pocket, down to the minute, perhaps even the second!

Railroad watches died out after the Second World War. Improved wristwatches and improved signaling systems meant that railroad pocketwatches were no longer needed as much as before. By the 1960s, they had almost all gone.

Do you use this watch every day?

Um…Yeah, most days, yes! When I’m not using it, it hangs on a little brass stand on my desk. When I do use it, it’s on the end of a chain in my waistcoat pocket or inside the watch-pocket on my jeans or trousers. It’s big, it’s easy to read, and it’s also a great conversation-piece! I don’t think I’d ever trade it for anything else in the world…except for a nicer railroad watch! But I don’t think that’d be happening anytime soon.

10 Historical Myths – #01

 

One of the biggest things which I love…and perhaps sometimes hate…about studying history is that you get to clarify, learn and debunk all the rubbish about history that you thought you knew as a child. Once you’ve done that, everything else that you’ve learned either makes a whole heap more sense, or makes you start questioning everything else. Not everything that we’d like to imagine about history is actually true.

Here are ten really common historical myths, and why, or why they aren’t, rubbish!

1). People wrote with big fluffy feathers!

This is a really common one, thanks to Hollywood, and big-time historical dramas. I’m thinking stuff like The TudorsThe BorgiasMaster and Commander, and so-on. But did people really write with big white (or other-coloured) feathers, back in the old days?

Yes…with a ‘but’. 

YES. People did write with feathers – they’re called ‘quills’, by the way – but NO, people did not write with feathers which still had all the frilly, fluffy bits (‘barbs’) still on them. During the Middle Ages, right up to the early 1800s, writing with a quill was the most common way of writing anything that had to be done with ink. The feathers used were typically large flight-feathers from big birds like geese or swans. They were large, long and thick enough to be worthwhile turning into quills.

The first step was to remove all the barbs. Barbs got in the way of writing – they were big, frilly and unnecessary. They also added a lot of weight to the pen, which isn’t exactly comfortable when you could be writing for hours at a time!

Once the barbs – the frilly pretty bits – had been cut off, the naked feather-shaft was buried and filled with hot sand. This dries out any moisture in the shaft and hardens the material (which is the same stuff which your fingernails are made of, by the way), so that it’s ready for the next step: Carving.

The point of the quill was then cut with sharp, short-bladed knife – a pen-knife. At least four cuts were required to turn the shaft from a quill into a pen. Shaping the pen-point would determine how the pen would write.

Of course, as you wrote, the pen-point would soften. Eventually, the point would be come so soft, it’d be like writing with cooked spaghetti, and it’d be pretty useless. So you cut off the point you made, and then you started cutting another one. And then you went back to writing…and then eventually that point would wear out, and you’d cut another one…after some time, the quill would get shorter, and shorter, and shorter, with your hand slowly creeping up the shaft, until it finally became too short to be practically used.

This is why the barbs on quills were often removed – to make them easier to use, and last longer as writing instruments. The notion in the Middle Ages, that you’d write with a feather that still had the barbs growing out of the sides would’ve been as ridiculous then as trying to write today with the cap still on the pen!

2). Loads of things about Knights!

Forget the U.S. Marines or the SAS, SWAT teams or the Royal Navy – knights will always be the ultimate battlefield heroes! And like any other hero, there are loads of ridiculous rumors that have come to surround knights in the centuries after their dominance. What are they?

Knights in Shining Armour!

Sorry to upset you, but knights in shining armour were not always a thing. In fact, for much of the Middle Ages, most knights did not wear the classic depiction of ‘shining armour’ – what is properly called ‘plate armour’ today. Most knights would’ve worn a tunic, hose, a thick, padded, quilted overjacket called a gambeson, and over the top of that – a shirt or jacket of mail (NOT ‘chainmail’, just ‘mail’), which was composed of thousands of steel rings linked through each other and riveted together with tiny steel rivets. This was basically the medieval equivalent of your bulletproof vest.

Last but not least, there’s no evidence that the military salute comes from a knight raising his helmet-visor, or removing his helmet altogether. A knight only removed (or even opened) his helmet when it was absolutely necessary – since it’s kinda important to protecting his head and all – so the likelihood that this is the origin of the salute is flimsy. It’s much more likely that the salute came from the time after knights, when it was common practice to sweep off one’s hat as a gesture of greeting and respect. The modern military salute is simply a much-simplified version of this.

Knights are Chivalrous!

As Mr. Gibbs says in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, ‘they’re more like guidelines, than actual rules’!

And that is the truth. The idea of knights being all romantic and noble, chivalrous and dashing is…honestly not as true as you’d like it to be. Sorry folks. Knights are humans just like the rest of us, and just like the rest of us, they followed these guidelines when it was convenient to them, and not because they had to.

Chivalry actually came into play after knights had been around for a while. Without wars to fight, knights became restless and would often just go off raiding to find something to do. To keep knights in line, the Catholic Church decreed that from then on, knights were religious warriors, bound to a certain ‘code of conduct’, although there is no proof that all knights followed this code. The chivalrous knight might sound extremely noble and romantic, but it has little to do with the actuality of knighthood.

An Armoured Knight Could Not Move!

On the surface, you can kind of see how this thing plays out – a knight typically wore three to four different layers, at least two of them made from heavy steel mesh or plate, and at least one from heavy fabric. How on earth did they move around!?

Actually, armour was not as heavy as you might think. The modern soldier on the battlefield carries more crap with him than the knights of old! Although they’re typically thought of as being horse-mounted warriors, knights did have to be able to fight effectively on foot, so mobility and flexibility were extremely important. A knight which couldn’t move was of no use to anybody!

Knights were Older Men

Not really!

Training for knights started very, very young, and typically had two or three stages. A boy becoming a knight started at the age of seven. He would be sent away to the home of a nobleman-knight, who would oversee his education. This included things like swordsmanship, horse-riding, reading, writing, serving, and other important skills.

At the age of fourteen, the boy (then called a ‘page’) would step up to the rank of ‘Squire’. A squire was an apprentice-knight. He had to learn to wear, clean, and repair armour, he had to know how to fight, he had to know how to attack someone while riding on horseback, and had to physically assist the knight who was training him, in any number of ways, so as to fully understand what he was getting himself into.

Finally, at the age of anywhere from 18-24, usually at 21, a squire became a fully-fledged knight.

As a result, the average knight was probably no older when he started, than your typical raw military recruit these days, something which really hasn’t changed much throughout history.

Despite the Armour, Knights could be Killed on the Battlefield.

Well, yeah. Sure, they could. But in actuality, it was more common for a knight to be captured on a battlefield, rather than killed. Knights were the military elite of their day, and as such, typically earned great sums of money, land, titles and courtly positions. This made them far more useful to the enemy, alive, rather than dead.

It was common practice for knights to be captured and then ransomed back to their family, or whichever person was their immediate superior (such as a king or higher noble). Because of this, it was far more important to keep a knight not only alive, but also comfortable during his imprisonment.

3). Spices were used to disguise the taste of rotten meat

Food during Medieval times could be scarce. Effective farming and knowledge of cattle-rearing and breeding had not yet become a thing, and because of this, the availability of food could vary significantly from season to season, and year to year.

Because of this inability to reliably produce or store food year-round, absolutely nothing would’ve been wasted. Every part of an animal would be eaten, and every part of a plant or vegetable which was not otherwise dangerous or inedible, would be consumed.

This possibly led to the myth that medieval cooks would even go so far as to mask the taste of rotten meat by lacing it liberally with spices in an effort to waste absolutely nothing at all.

Now, I’m not sure exactly why this myth is so common, but…I can tell you that it isn’t true.

Spit-roasting meat was a long, slow, laborious process requiring nonstop attention. Wasting spices on rotten, roasted meat would’ve been unthinkable in the Middle Ages.

The fact is that spices were hideously expensive in the medieval world. They came from places like China, India, Madagascar, and Indonesia in long, long voyages and treks which could take months to complete. The price-hikes that were paid on spices at each exchange from merchant to merchant were huge, so much so that by the time they reached Europe, spices were so expensive that only the wealthy could afford them – and they certainly weren’t going to waste something which came halfway around the world, and which cost so much – on meat which wasn’t worth flavouring!

4). Chinese Emperors ate with silver chopsticks, to detect poison!

On the surface, this sounds really sensible. You eat your food with a metal which changes colour when it comes in contact with poison – that way, you prevent assassination! Real smart, yeah?

Well, it would be – if it worked.

Chopsticks have been made out of all kinds of things over the years, bone, ivory, rare woods, porcelain, and yes, even silver, so silver chopsticks certainly did exist – but there’s no proof that they were ever used to detect poison. And that’s for one very good reason: loads of things turn silver black!

The myth goes that when the silver chopsticks come into contact with the poisoned food, the silver tarnishes and turns black, and this warns the diner that he’s about to be poisoned. But actually – loads of foods, poisoned or not – turn silver black. Especially things with sulphur in them. That means anything flavoured with, or cooked with – eggs, garlic, onions, and various types of meats and vegetables, would all sooner, or later, turn a set of gleaming silver chopsticks – black. For this reason – poison-detecting silver chopsticks just simply wouldn’t work; they’d be too unreliable.

5). Columbus Found America, and Proved the World Was Round

Actually, neither of those things is true. Through geometry and sheer looking-aroundedness, mankind has known that the earth was round for centuries before Columbus. Knowing that Earth was round goes back to the Ancient Babylonians and Ancient Greeks. By the time Columbus showed up in the 15th century, it was a widely-accepted fact.

Along with this, neither was Columbus the first to discover America. In fact, he never did discover it! Vikings got there first, via Greenland, and Columbus only ever landed in the Caribbean, although he did eventually end up in what is today, Florida, on future voyages.

6). Loads of things about the Titanic

The most famous ocean-liner in the world. And with fame comes rumor and scandal, and the Titanic has loads of that! Here are some of the more persistent Titanic rumors, and why they are, or aren’t, garbage!

The Titanic and its Lifeboats

The Titanic has constantly been criticised for its chronic lack of lifeboats. But how many was the ship actually supposed to hold?

On the fatal night in question, it had twenty lifeboats of varying capacities, eighteen of which were successfully loaded and launched, with the last two being floated off the sides as the ship went down.

The Titanic was designed with Welin Double-Acting davits. These davits (winches or cranes, basically), had the ability to swivel both out (over the side of the ship) or in (over the deck). They were designed to lower multiple lifeboats. Had the Titanic been stocked the way that some in the White Star Line had desired, she would’ve carried approximately thirty-six lifeboats, which, if they’d been fully-loaded, would’ve been enough for everyone on board.

The Titanic was going too fast!

Actually the Titanic was not going ‘too fast’, the Titanic was going at its cruising speed. Which was absolutely normal. It was nothing which any other ship of the time would’ve been doing – it’s still standard practice today! The only reason for a ship to slow down was if it was departing, arriving, or if there was any imminent danger.

If the lookouts had had binoculars, the Titanic would’ve been saved!

Um…no. And for one very simple reason – the whole point of binoculars (or telescopes or any other such distance-viewing equipment), is to sight a specific item, object or location in the distance. This is tricky enough to do during the daytime, never mind at night. And on top of that, the lookouts on the Titanic were not sighting a known object.

Victorian-era brass binoculars. Glasses of this style would’ve been commonly used by officers and deckhands on ships such as the RMS Titanic

You can’t look for something which you’re not even sure exists. Binoculars would only have been of use to them if they know that something is definitely out there and they have some sort of reference-point with their eyes, with which to find it. Since they didn’t know there was an iceberg out there, they didn’t know where to look to find it with a pair of binoculars, which means even if they had them, they would’ve been useless, up until the time they’d spotted the iceberg with their eyes, which as we know, was already too late.

The Titanic was trying to win the Blue Riband

Another common (and completely pointless) myth is that the Titanic was trying to win the Blue Riband, which at the time, was the unofficial speed-record for ships steaming between the United States and Europe across the Atlantic Ocean.

While the Blue Riband certainly did exist, and was competed for, the Titanic did not, and could not, have won it. For one very simple reason: It simply didn’t have the speed to do so. The Titanic was built first and foremost for luxury and comfort, and to have the latest, and greatest technology available at sea during the early 20th century: Electric lights, elevators, telephones, radio, electric heaters, a photography darkroom, and the latest in safety innovations, but the one thing the Titanic did not have, was record-breaking speed, and this was part of her design. Even if she had wanted to, the Titanic would never have won the Blue Riband.

7). Loads of things about the Wild West!

Aaah, the Wild West. Where men were men, and where gun-toting outlaws shot it out in the streets and stuck up steam trains, stagecoaches and riders, relieving them of their gold, silver, watches and jewels. But how much of all this is actually real?

Everybody and their momma was packin’ heat!

Actually, despite the depictions shown by Hollywood and big-name Western films…everybody and their momma was more than likely, NOT packing heat. Believe it or not, but a lot of Western cities and frontier towns during the days of the ‘Old West’ (ca. 1865-1920), actually had extremely strict gun-control laws.

It was not illegal to own a gun. It was not illegal to own ammunition. It was not even illegal to fire a gun! But it was, in many towns, illegal to carry a gun openly in town. It was seen as threatening, hostile, and inviting danger. Because of this, town sheriffs actually enforced strict no-carry laws, regardless of open, or concealed.

The murder rates were super-high!

Actually…no. While murders certainly did happen, since people were not allowed to carry loaded guns in public, they were not nearly as common as Hollywood would have us believe. Most towns had less than five deaths a year!

Cowboys and outlaws were hot-blooded, white Americans.

Sure. Some were. But actually, there were also a lot of other ethnicities. Mexican, African-American and other, lesser ethnicities and nationalities were all represented in the Wild West – even gay cowboys were apparently a thing!

…Why?

Remember that a lot of these people lived very rugged lifestyles. Towns were days apart by horse and cart, and trains were not always as frequent as you’d like them to be – sometimes they didn’t run at all! Because of this, long cattle-drives and long journeys between towns relied on competent, reliable, sober men, if the stock (and the men driving it) were going to reach their destination alive.

This meant that they didn’t have time to piss around with things like racism or homophobia. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen – sure it did – but in such a harsh environment, most people didn’t have the luxury of complaining about it. What was far more important was whether this guy on your team could do his job, more than anything else!

8). Loads of things about Pirates!

Just like with knights, pirates are also drenched in myth. But which ones are actually true?

Pirates buried treasure, and drew maps to it!

Nope. Instances of pirates burying treasure are phenomenally rare – there’s maybe one or two recorded instances of buried treasure in all of classical pirating history (ca. 1600-1800), and even those are contested. It’s certainly true that pirate ships sank, loaded with treasure, and that some of this treasure has been located, recovered, and put in museums, but that’s not the same thing.

Pirates walked the plank!

Nope. Pure fiction, and an invention of Hollywood.

There was a Pirates’ Code!

Actually…yes, there was! Well, yes, and no. At no time in history was there ever ONE specific pirates’ code. Such a thing never existed. But individual pirate captains did have codes of conduct on their ships which they expected to be obeyed. Articles listed in these codes mentioned everything from health insurance, bedtime, dividing the spoils of victory, a strict no-rape policy, and that every pirate was responsible for keeping their weapons in working order.

Pirates were marooned on desert islands.

Yes, this really did happen, and there are recorded instances of this happening throughout history. Admittedly not often, but it was a recognised pirate punishment. As is the bottle of water (or rum) and the pistol with one charge of powder and one shot.

Pirates spoke like they do in the movies! Yarrr!!

Sure they did!…Buuuut…only in the movies. A lot of that comes down to early Hollywood ‘talkies’ from the 1930s, 40s and 50s.

Pirates were obsessed with ‘Pieces of Eight’.

Probably, yeah. The ‘Piece of Eight’ is the slang term for the Spanish 8 Reales coin, millions of which were minted in South America, and  shipped back to Spain by the galleon-load. They certainly did exist, and you can certainly go and buy one, if you look hard enough. Spanish treasure-galleons loaded to bursting with gold and silver coins like these were often targeted by Dutch, English and French pirates and privateers.

Pirates wore eyepatches, had peg-legs and hook-hands.

Again, probably yes. While some of this has certainly been dressed up by Hollywood, it’s also true that pirates (and seasoned seafarers in general) did have eyepatches, peg-legs and hook-hands. Losing a limb during naval battles was extremely common, and crude prosthetic limbs would’ve been made out of whatever materials would’ve been available on the ship at the time.

Pirates wore eyepatches so that they could retain night-vision in one eye, and day-vision in the other. This was to make sight clearer when going above, or below decks, and switching between the darkness of the ship’s interior, and the brightness of the open decks.

9). Stuff about the Model T Ford

The most legendary car in history, there have been quite a few myths and misconceptions about the old ‘Tin Lizzie’. What are they?

‘The customer may have any colour he desires so long as it’s black!’

Actually, the Model T was available in a wide array of colours. While black was certainly one of them, it was also available in blue, red, green, grey and maroon. Ironically, black was NOT the first colour which Ts came in!

Model Ts were rickety, unreliable, fiddly machines.

While they were certainly fiddly to operate (the controls are NOTHING like those of a modern car), Model Ts were actually manufactured to be amazingly robust and long-lasting! Their engines were simple, their controls were…not exactly straightforward, but at least not dangerous to operate…and they were designed to cross open country! Remember that in the 1910s when most Ts were made, roads were often little more than dirt tracks. As a result, cars had to be built extremely tough to drive over them safely.

Model Ts could run you over when you started them.

Yes they could, if you didn’t follow the correct starting procedure. The handbrake had to be engaged (pulled all the way back) before the engine started (if you cranked it), or else the car could very well run you over!

10). The British Government once had a Window Tax!

Actually…yes! During the 1700s, with the British fighting an increasingly large number of very expensive wars, all kinds of taxes were introduced. One of them was a window tax, whereby every house which had more than a specific number of windows had to pay a tax for the privilege of having them. Some people got around this ridiculous law by simply employing the services of a competent bricklayer, and blocking up the extra windows!

The idea of taxing light is nothing new!!

Other taxes from the 1700s included ones on candles, watches and clocks, soap, newspapers, wigs and wig-powder, personal income, and the employment of male servants!…this final one lasted until the 1850s! During this time, candles, soap and newspapers became so expensive that they were virtually luxury items until the mid-Victorian era.

Georgian-Era Brass Telescope with ‘guillotine-style’ Shutters. Ca. 1825-1835 (?)

 

As far as functional telescopes go, this is probably the oldest one that I’m ever likely to get my grubby little mitts on! I have no idea how old this thing is – it was sold as being early Victorian (1840s). However, research suggests anywhere from 1800-1850, with the style becoming increasingly uncommon from the 1850s onwards. What I do know is that this telescope is definitely of a much, much older style than I’m used to, and which hasn’t been seen in at least a hundred and forty years.

The way it’s constructed, the way it operates, and its various component pieces, and features, screams just how different it is from any other telescope which I’ve ever had the privilege of handling.

So, what do I know about it?

This particular type of telescope is pretty freakin’ old. That much I do know. In some respects it’s not too different from the others I have, in other respects, it is very different!

It’s a two-draw wooden-barreled naval telescope with brass fittings, with an eyepiece cartridge, erector cartridge, and two-piece objective lens, which were all common features of antique telescopes of the 1800s. Where it differs is in how these pieces are assembled and fitted.

For a start, let’s look at the eyepiece mount. It’s much larger and more elaborate than most such mounts, and the eyepiece lens which it protects is also fitted differently into the cartridge which holds it.

The eyepiece cartridge has two lenses which magnify the image seen by the big objective lens at the front of the telescope. On later telescopes, both these eyepiece lenses are fitted into rims of roughly the same shape and size, and are screwed into either side of the cartridge which holds them.

On this telescope, the eyepiece lenses are not only of dramatically different sizes, but how they’re mounted into the cartridge is also markedly different. This style of fixture is something you just don’t see in telescopes which come from the second half of the 1800s.

The second major difference between this telescope and others which I’ve handled, and which points it out as being an older style, is how the lens-caps are mounted and operate on the telescope.

Most telescopes have one big round objective lens-cap, which just covers the front of the telescope, to stop the big, light-catching lens from getting dirty, gritty, scratched or damaged, and a smaller cap at the other end, for the same purpose. To use the telescope, it’s necessary to remove the lens-cap at the front, and to slide the lens-cap built into the eyepiece mount, to one side. The cap or shutter pivots on a screw-post into the side of the telescope’s eyepiece and is hidden neatly away.

Here, you can see the two ‘guillotine’ shutters raised into their open positions.

By comparison, this telescope has rectangular, sliding lens-shutters on both the front, and back end. They slide open and shut and they stick out the sides of the telescope instead of tucking neatly away. I’ve seen some people call these ‘guillotine-style’ shutters, on account of how their operation resembles that of everyone’s favourite full-sized vegetable-chopper – so, I’ll call them guillotine-style shutters too!

The lens-cap removed, with its shutter raised.

They really are a very whimsical piece of telescopic history. They’re a feature that you simply do not see on modern telescopes – and not on many antique ones, unless they’re really old, like this one! I’m pretty sure I’ll never find another one like this – at least not at any price which I could comfortably afford!

Another feature which I like about this telescope is the fact that the lens-cap that protects the objective lens at the front of the wooden barrel has two purposes. First, it acts as a lens-cap, to keep the lens free from dust, scratches and breakage – second, it acts as a rain and glare-shield! It’s not actually necessary to remove the lens-cap from the front of the telescope, in order to use it. You simply slide up the shutter on the front of it!

This feature would’ve been common on telescopes designed for naval use at sea, where sea-spray or rain could easily have obscured the view of the telescope’s user. Protecting the telescope’s lens from the full force of the rain or sea would’ve allowed for clear vision even during inclement weather.

Given all these factors, how old is it?

I honestly don’t know. My guess is the 1820s or 1830s. I have no evidence to back this up beyond what I’ve seen from similar telescopes which were dated to this era, and which match the design elements which I’ve seen here. But that said, that would make this about 180 years old…which is impressive, any way that you slice it!

This has certainly been a fascinating piece to tinker with and pull apart, fix and clean. Hopefully I’ll have a video about this coming soon on my YouTube channel, so watch out for that! 🙂

New Video: The Kyneton Lost Trades Fair – SewWhat Maryborough

 

This weekend just gone, I went to the Kyneton Lost Trades Fair in Kyneton, country Victoria, where I got the chance to see all kinds of ‘lost trades’. Blacksmiths, cobblers, bell-makers, potters, glass-blowers, knife-makers, carvers, carpenters, chandlers, weavers, spinners…the list goes on and on and on.

Anyway, while I was there I ran into some friends and got the chance to film them. This is the result!

Looking Into the Past: Antique Telescopes

 

I love antique telescopes, I just think they’re so cool. Their construction, their beauty, their intricacy, and the levels of embellishment put into their design. I’ve always had an interest in all antique optical equipment because of my poor eyesight, but there’s a romance about telescopes that you just don’t get with binoculars. They make you think of ships at sea, people on clifftops looking out over the coast, of trekking across the countryside, and the mysterious, far-off places which they’ve seen.

In this posting, I’m looking in detail at antique telescopes. A bit about their history, their construction, repair, refurbishment, etc. So polish your eyepieces and hold onto your lens-caps…

Antique Telescopes: The Basics

There are two basic types of telescopes which most people will be familiar with: The refracting telescope, and the reflecting telescope. The refracting telescope uses lenses of glass, whereas the reflecting telescope uses finely-polished mirrors. In this issue of TAT Antiques, I’ll be covering the more common refracting telescope, as this is the kind that you’re most likely to come across in antiques shops and flea-markets.

So, what do you need to know about antique telescopes?

Antique Telescopes – Context and History.

In an age before aircraft of any kind beyond a hot-air balloon, all travel beyond shore, and all delivery of cargo beyond shore relied on sailing ships and steamships. Before GPS, RADAR, satellites and transponders, mariners relied on maps, compasses, chronometers and sextants to find their way around the world. However accurate these aids might’ve been, arguably the most important maritime aid was the refracting telescope. Knowing where you were supposed to be, or where you had to go, or simply identifying where you were at all, was almost impossible without a telescope. Mariners needed powerful, long-distance vision-aids to help them scan everything from far-off flags, cliffs, hills, buildings, and other ships as they sailed around the world.

A Georgian-era telescope from the 1730s.

For all these reasons, from the 1600s up to the mid-20th century, telescopes were actually pretty important, and they were made by a wide range of manufacturers. Telescopes could see things great distances away, and with impressive clarity, important when you’ve sailed halfway around the world, and you’re trying to identify the harbour that you’re meant to dock at, which might be several dozen meters away. Mariners prized the telescopes, and on any given ship, they would’ve been among the most important and treasured possessions owned by the common sailor.

Telescopes were seen as the badge of office for sea-captains, admirals and naval officers, and such officers and captains might even receive telescopes from their colleagues as rewards for heroic deeds, tokens of good esteem, or presents to mark important events. In such instances, details of the deed or event which warranted the presentation of a telescope (which would’ve been an expensive item in its day!) would’ve been handsomely engraved on the barrel or draw-tubes of the telescope, as a form of commemoration.

The invention of the refracting telescope is generally attributed to famous Italian astronomer and engineer, Galileo Galilei, in the early 1600s. Whether or not this is true is up for some debate – chances are he probably invented the first one which was any good – as is often the case with great inventions – like the telephone, automobile and telegraph – great inventions can rarely be attributed to just one person.

At any rate, throughout the 1600s, from the time of Galileo, other inventors took his basic design and improved on it. Early telescopes were far from perfect – the images were often blurry, or even flipped upside down by the lenses! Knowing what type of lenses to use, and in what sequence they had to be placed would be worked out over the next century or so, until quality telescopes capable of clear views were developed.

Really early telescopes, such as those from the later 17th and early 18th century differed greatly from those of later decades in that they were much, much, much larger! The manufacturing limitations of the time meant that they could be several feet long, and quite heavy! It wasn’t until the later 1700s that collapsible telescopes which were more compact and also more powerful, were possible.

Although they were primarily used at sea for navigation, spotting landmarks, reading signals and sighting far-off, potential dangers to the ship, telescopes were also used on land, both in warfare, and for recreation. Field commanders used them in battle to watch the progress and direction of combat and to direct troops, and people used them for sightseeing, birdwatching and other leisure activities. How these telescopes all differ will be covered later on.

Antique Telescopes – Materials and Construction

From their earliest days, right into the second half of the 20th century, the vast majority of telescopes – almost all of them – were made of brass. Brass tubing, brass coupling-rings, brass rims for the lenses, brass screws and fixtures and brass lens-shutters and caps. The decision to use brass was twofold – for one thing, brass was relatively cheap. For another, brass did not corrode or rust like other metals might. This made it ideal as the metal from which to make telescopes, which might spend years and decades at sea, surrounded by moisture, humidity and saltwater.

The barrels, rims, coupling-rings, draw-tubes and other components of a telescope were all made of brass and the lenses were made of glass. But antique telescopes often had another component in their construction, and that was the barrel-cladding.

The barrel is the main body of the telescope. To make it easier and more comfortable to hold for long periods of time, the brass tubing was often clad in another material. This would stop the hand from slipping on smooth metal and provide better grip, and would also stop your fingers freezing to the brass if the weather was particularly cold. Popular coverings included thin sheets of Morocco leather, and various types of wood. Wooden blocks were spun on a lathe and rounded off, then bored out into a tube and slipped onto the brass barrel before being either screwed, riveted or glued into place. Mahogany and rosewood were popular.

One reason why telescopes were more popular than more compact binoculars was because telescopes were much more powerful. Most telescopes had up to half a dozen different lenses inside them, which magnified and clarified the image, as well as kept it steady, with minimal distortion from light. These series of lenses were screwed into double-ended cartridges or rims which could then be slotted and screwed into the telescope.

To clean the lenses, one simply unscrewed the telescope, unscrewed or slid out the cartridges, unscrewed the lenses, cleaned them, and then screwed and slotted everything back together. Since everything could only go back together in one very specific way, the chances of accidentally mixing up the lenses was minimal. Telescopes were expensive and were expected to last for many years. For this reason, they were really designed to be user-friendly, and easily maintained.

Some of my antique telescopes. The largest is also the oldest – from about 1850.

Many antique telescopes came with friction-fitted lens-caps over the large objective lenses, and usually – sliding lens-shields over the eyepiece. Older telescopes had sliding lens-shutters over both the front and back lenses, similar to guillotine blades, whereas more modern ones had detachable lens-caps on the fronts, and sliding lens-shutters on the back. This is one way to guess roughly how old a telescope is, as sliding shutters front-and-back became less common as time went on.

From the late 1700s right up to the middle part of the 1900s, how refracting telescopes were made (and indeed, how they’re still made today) hardly changed at all. The materials and finishes might have come and gone and changed with the times, but in essence, a telescope was made of drawn out brass tubes with threaded coupling rings, a barrel, glass lenses and brass lens-caps and shutters to protect the glass.

Because of this, it can actually be surprisingly difficult (and in many cases, impossible) to tell how old an antique telescope is. One made in 1770 would in all likelihood, be indistinguishable from one made in 1880, which would look very similar to one made in 1920 or 1930. There are subtle ways of guessing how old a telescope is, and I’ll cover that later on.

Different Types of Antique Telescopes

Antique refracting telescopes came with a surprising array of features and design-variations. The most basic ones simply slid out and back and had lens-shutters or caps at each end. However, there were differences and nuances.

Pocket Telescopes

Smaller telescopes (approx. 6-8in closed lengths) were typically sold as pocket telescopes. They were designed to fit into a jacket or trouser pocket for someone who might ride on horseback, who went hiking, or for someone who simply wanted a smaller, more compact spyglass.

Shielded Telescopes

Some telescopes were sold with sliding shields that extended beyond the end of the barrel, over and around the large objective lens at the front of the telescope. Such shields were typically three or four inches long, and were meant as sun-shields or rain-shields. Their purpose was to keep sun-glare off the lens, and to keep rainwater off the glass in instances where the telescope might be used in inclement weather.

Maritime Telescopes

Maritime or naval telescopes were much larger than pocket telescopes. A pocket telescope was typically 6-8 inches closed, stretching out to about 15-20 inches at its fullest extension. By comparison, a larger naval telescopes, which had to see much further distances, had larger, more powerful lenses installed in them. They would measure up to 10 or 12 inches closed, and might extend to over a meter when fully opened!

Library Telescopes

Occasionally, you’ll see a telescope on a tripod or stand. These can range from small tabletop ones, to much larger floor-models. What are they?

These are called library telescopes. Their design dates back to the days when gentlemen astronomers in country houses pursued stargazing as a hobby. They were designed to stand on a table, or on the floor near a large window in your library or study (hence the name). The tripod held the telescope absolutely steady so that the viewer could scan and track the heavens, looking for stars, constellations, the phases of the moon, or distant planets in the far distance.

They’re impressive, but beyond these applications (or scanning the bounds of one’s vast country estate, or looking out to sea from your lighthouse or seaside home), they’re not especially practical these days.

Sextant Telescopes

One device which most people probably don’t think about when they think of telescopes is the sextant – and yes, I do mean that curved navigational instrument – but yes, even that has a telescope built into it. Granted, sextant telescopes were not especially strong (they’re only meant for looking for the sun, after all), but they are telescopes nonetheless.

The sextant was invented in the 1700s as an instrument for determining latitude (north-south position), and in this, they work pretty effectively. To operate a sextant at sea, you waited for the noonday sun to be high in the sky. You sighted the sun through the telescope, and then pulled a lever on the side of the sextant. The lever adjusted the position of a mirror built into the frame of the sextant.

You pulled on the lever until the reflected sun was level with the horizon. When this was achieved, it meant that the angle between the sun and the horizon had been calculated. Then, you simply checked the lever to see what angle it had stopped at, and this gave you the angle of the sun above the horizon. From this, you could calculate where you were.

Sextants became extremely popular in the 1800s and 1900s. Provided that the sea was calm and the sky clear, they were relatively easy to use. Their use lasted for so long because they were basically failsafe. Even today, they’re still one of the most reliable navigation devices to use at sea, two hundred years after they were invented.

Day/Night Telescopes

Last but not least, we have day/night telescopes, and their name directly reflects their function – they’re designed to be used both day, and night! Now all telescopes can be used during the day, but what makes a night telescope?

As I said earlier – everything we see is a result of rays of light reflecting off of an object. The more light we see, the more reflection, the more object. To this end, a night-time telescope (for example, those used in stargazing) differs from a daytime telescope in that it is usually much larger, both in length and lens-size. The larger the lens, the more light you can capture, the more stuff you can see. This is why those astronomical telescopes at observatories are so massive!

The Anatomy of a Telescope

Your basic antique refracting telescope, of the kind that you’re likely to find at most flea-markets and antiques shops has a surprising number of parts! Knowing what they are and how they operate is important to knowing how to clean, fix and use your telescope. So, what are they?

The Barrel

The barrel is the main body of the telescope. Depending on age, it will be clad in either leather, or wood. Most antique telescopes will have a ridge at the front of the barrel. This ridge or lip is there to catch the lens-cap when you slide it on to protect the objective lens from dust, chips, cracks, and scratches.

Draw Tubes

Extending out from the barrel are the draw tubes. Most antique telescopes will have three draw tubes, some will have two, some will have four, some will have half a dozen or more! The number of tubes is how you describe what the telescope is. So if your telescope has four draw tubes, you’d describe it as a four-draw refracting telescope.

Coupling Rings

Between each draw tube, and between the main draw tube and the barrel, you will have couplers or coupling rings. These couplings are what hold the draw tubes together. They screw in and out and stop the tubes from sliding apart. You unscrew these to pull the telescope apart for cleaning.

Eyepiece Cover

At the back of the telescope is the eyepiece cover. This is usually just a threaded lens-cap screwed over the eyepiece lens, usually with a small, sliding shutter built into it. This is to keep dust and grit out of the eyepiece lens.

Eyepiece Cartridge

Immediately in front of the eyepiece cover is the eyepiece cartridge. This is a tight-fitting tube inside the smallest draw tube of the telescope. You should be able to just pull it right out (some telescopes might have you unscrew this to get it out). The tube will have two lenses in it that will magnify the image coming down the tubes.

Erector Cartridge

At the other end of the smallest draw tube, opposite to the eyepiece cartridge is the erector cartridge. Now this one DOES screw into the tube (because the lens-rim also doubles as an end-stop for the first coupler) so be careful when you try and pull it out for cleaning! Again, it’s a brass tube with two lenses in it. These two lenses are the erector lenses, meaning that they flip the image seen through the objective lens, the right way up.

Objective Lens

Right at the front of the telescope, you have the objective lens. This is the one that captures all the sunlight. On all but the earliest telescopes, the objective lens will almost always be what’s called an achromatic lens – that is, one lens made out of two parts. The reason for this is to sharpen clarity and improve focusing, and also to prevent what’s called ‘chromatic aberration’. Basically, two lenses help to sharpen the focus, and bring all the rays of light to a single point. If you only had one lens, the rays of light would all focus at different points inside the telescope, and you’d end up with a blurry image.

Finder Scope

The finder scope is something that you occasionally get on larger, tripod-mounted library telescopes. It’s the little baby telescope that’s sitting on the top of the main telescope. These little fellows are low-powered telescopes with wide fields of view. They’re used to search for an object in the far distance (to find them, as the name suggests), and the object, once being found, could then be viewed more easily through the main telescope (which is mounted directly underneath).

Telescopes: Care and Cleaning

You just bought your first antique telescope! Oh boy! You can finally live out your pirate fantasies, or go to sea on your rich friend’s yacht, or go birdwatching or stargazing after sundown. But, being a newbie at this, you perhaps bought your telescope without really thinking about how to look after it…woops! Now what?

Don’t worry, this chapter is all about how to clean and maintain your beautiful new antique telescope.

The good thing about antique telescopes from the 1700s and 1800s is that they were really designed to be user-friendly. For the most part, lenses, barrels, couplings and other parts can all be unscrewed, cleaned, polished and reassembled relatively easy. But there are some things which aren’t covered in the care-and-feeding manuals!

To service and clean your antique telescope, you will need:

  • One bottle of sewing machine oil, or a can of WD-40
  • Cotton-buds.
  • Tissue-paper, toilet-paper or paper-towels
  • Brasso metal polish.
  • Rubber gloves (optional).
  • Small, flathead screwdriver (optional).
  • Masking tape (optional).

These things should be all you need to get your telescope working great again, provided of course, that there is no damage to the body, the barrel, tubes or lenses. So, how does this work?

Step One: Cleaning the Lenses

To begin at the beginning – you should first clean all the lenses. On the vast majority of telescopes, these will simply unscrew from their housings, and you can simply pop them out and clean them with a damp tissue to remove any grit and dust. Make sure you clean the lenses inside and out, and be really thorough – all it takes is one tiny speck of dust to interfere with the optics of your telescope, so you want to blow out or wipe off any grit and grime that you see. Once this is done, carefully screw the lenses and their housings back into the telescope.

Step Two: Cleaning the Draw Tubes

This is one of the most important cleaning jobs that you can do on your antique telescope – cleaning the draw tubes. I will warn you now that it will take a lot of time, a lot of effort, and that if you don’t do this thoroughly, you can seriously damage your telescope.

Antique telescopes are made of brass. Brass rims, brass bodies, brass tubes, brass coupling-rings. Brass is everywhere. Brass was used because brass did not rust or corrode easily and it was easy to clean. But the problem was, brass is shiny, and manufacturers didn’t want light bouncing around inside shiny brass tubes in their telescopes. The reflections would drive you nuts! To stop this, they painted the insides of the draw tubes with a cheap paint made from lamp-black – basically, the soot that builds up inside the glass chimneys of old-fashioned oil-lamps.

Now over time, this sooty coating crumbles away. It’s caused by constantly opening and closing the telescope, as well as just by time and wear. Combine this with the fact that telescopes are not air-tight, and the tubes of your telescope will pretty quickly fill up with gunk and dust. This acts as an abrasive and creates friction. If you do not clean out all this gunk, then the dust will cause your telescope to jam when you try and focus it. And if you try and force the telescope to move, you stand a very good chance of breaking the coupling ring and ripping the telescope in half – and this would be nigh impossible to repair.

 

To prevent this, and to make the telescope easier to use, you need to clean out all this gunk. The easiest way to do this is to simply open the telescope to its fullest extent, and then drip or spray oil up and down the draw tubes. Then close the telescope, twisting and turning as you go, to distribute the oil all around the tubes. Then pull the telescope open, twisting and turning as you go. Repeat this several times and then using a tissue or paper towel, wipe off the oil. And then stare in shock and disgust and the black, oily grime that comes away in your hands. This is the gunk that is jamming your telescope. You must repeat this process until all the grime is gone, and the paper comes out clean.

In some cases, this may involve completely disassembling the telescope right down to its component parts to clean out the grime. This is not a process that you can rush, and it is not one that you can skip – because if the telescope jams and you try and unjam it with an overenthusiastic tug, you could very well damage it irreparably.

Once the tubes have been thoroughly cleaned and wiped down, the telescope should open and close fast and smooth – You should hear a sharp, smooth clicking sound as the tubes extend and collapse. This is the sound of the coupling rings snapping into place against the end-stops of each draw tube.

Step Three: Fixing Worn-Out Couplers

Some telescopes – not all, but some – suffer from worn out coupling rings. Every draw tube comes with a coupling-ring and an end-stop. The coupling ring slides over the tube and down to the end-stop. The ring has corrugations on it to help unscrew it, and it has threads on it, which connect it to the next draw tube in the sequence. On some telescopes, these threads can get worn out from years of screwing and unscrewing for cleaning and maintenance.

One way of repairing this is to unscrew the worn out coupling ring and wrap masking tape around the threads. This builds up a very thin layer of paper over the threads, which will provide the friction and grip necessary for the thread to bite, and hold, and stop coming apart! Now masking tape is the cheap solution – if it doesn’t work, you can go to your local hardware shop and buy threading tape which is specifically designed for sealing loose threads (they use it in plumbing to stop leaks). Whether you use painter’s masking tape, or plumber’s threading tape, the important thing to remember is to apply the tape smoothly over the threads. Any folds, kinks or twists in the tape will cause the threading to jam, and then you’ll be in real trouble!

Step Four: Fixing Jammed Couplers

Just as how coupling rings can get worn out, they can also get stuck! It isn’t uncommon on antique telescopes for coupling rings, lens-housings and other threaded components to get stuck and jammed on. This is usually because nobody cleaned it for decades, and the dust and grime got into the threads and the friction is so bad that you simply can’t unscrew it!

To get over this, simply drip in a couple of drops of sewing machine oil. Let the oil seep into the threads – put in a couple of drops all the way around and let it dribble inside. Then, with a firm grip, simply twist the threads open. If you’re still having trouble, use rubber gloves to provide extra grip.

Having opened the threads, make sure that you add more oil, to the threads and then wipe it clean with tissue-paper! Again, you’ll get the same, black, oily gunk that came out with the draw tubes. Once you’ve unjammed all the threads, you should clean out all the grime before screwing them back in, to prevent them jamming in the future.

Step Five: Polishing the Brass

The last step is optional, but it’s the process of polishing the brass on your telescope – which is basically everything that isn’t glass, or leather! Despite what you might think, polishing antique brass is perfectly acceptable, and in some cases, even necessary, although for the most part, it’s largely to do with aesthetics and visual appeal. It is up to you, but most collectors and sellers of antique telescopes that I’ve come across would prefer their telescopes polished, rather than dulled. It just looks that much more awesome.

Antique Telescopes: Storage and Usage

So, you’ve bought yourself a beautiful antique telescope. You’ve pulled it apart, cleaned it and wiped down the lenses. Now how do you use it? And once it’s been used, how do you store it?

To use your telescope, slide off the lens-covers on both ends and then pull it out to its fullest extension. Hold it up to your eye and look through it. Does everything look all blurry in the distance?

Of course it does, that’s because you haven’t focused it! Provided you’ve cleaned out all the gunk inside the telescope, and the tubes are sliding smoothly, focusing your telescope will be really easy. Simply slide the smallest draw tube into the one ahead of it. Eventually, the distance between the lenses will sync up, and the image will come into focus. The other tubes will remain stationary. In most cases, focusing the telescope to view things further and further afield will simply be a matter of sliding the first draw tube back and forth to find the ‘sweet spot’ for each different distance.

Storing Your Telescope

Once you’re done using your telescopes, to protect the lenses, make sure you slide the shutters and caps back on (if the telescope came with them, that is – most will not have their original objective-lens caps). Ideally, you should stand them upright when you’re not using them. This will stop dust getting on the objective lens, and will also stop the telescope from rolling off of any shelves or tables that you decide to display them on.

Researching Your Telescope

So, you just picked up an antique telescope. Maybe it was at auction, maybe at the flea-market, maybe from an antiques shop or from some place on the world wide web! However you got it, you have it now, and you suddenly realise you don’t know the first thing about it…woops! How do you research how old your telescope is, where it was made, and what it was used for?

Well, I’m sorry to say this, but in many cases, this will be next to impossible to find out. The problem is that a lot of companies manufactured telescopes for all manner of customers and markets. Sailors, soldiers, sportsmen, hunters, sightseers, the leisured country gentleman on his estate, ranchers, birdwatchers, stargazers…the list goes on, and on, and on. Because of this, many telescopes were made and sold anonymously. It’s not uncommon at all to buy an antique telescope with absolutely no markings on it whatsoever.

That said, some manufacturers did put their names on their products, and did it loud and proud, too! Names like ‘Dollond’, ‘Broadhurst, Clarkson & Co’, and dozens of other smaller manufacturers would’ve engraved their details proudly onto the barrels or more commonly, the draw tubes of their telescopes.

But even without a name or address to research, is it possible to date a telescope? That really depends. The challenge is that telescopes made from the 1700s to the 1900s really didn’t change that much. Draw tube numbers rose and fell and it wasn’t uncommon for the same basic designs to be used for years, and years, and years! However, there are some small details which can guide you on rough dating of your telescope.

The Size of your Telescope

The earlier a telescope is, the larger it tended to be. Those from the early 1800s and earlier tended to be exceptionally long, and with only one or two draw tubes. The quality of manufacturing available at the time limited the size and complexity of telescopes and how compact they could be made. As manufacturing techniques became more advanced and refined, smaller and more intricate telescopes with improved optics became possible.

Engravings and Inscriptions

One of the most reliable ways to research the history of a telescope is if it has an engraving or inscription on the draw-tubes. As mentioned earlier, telescopes were popular as gifts in maritime circles, to commemorate promotions, milestones, long service, or were given as rewards for great deeds done at sea. Such inscriptions often included the date, the recipient’s name, the name of the party presenting the telescope, and the reasons for the presentation. Depending on the amount of detail given, there might be enough information provided to research the backstory of the telescope, as well as give us a rough date as to the telescope’s era of manufacture.

The position of a manufacturer’s engraving is also one way to determine a telescope’s age. Up to the end of the 18th century, manufacturer’s engravings tended to be on the ‘right’ side of the telescope, and after the start of the 19th century, manufacturer’s engravings tended to be on the ‘left’ side of the telescope.

“Uh, Brainiac – telescopes are ROUND. They don’t have sides”, I hear you say. And you’re correct – they don’t – but nevertheless, the positioning of an engraving on a manufacturer-marked telescope is one way of telling how old it is. From the 1790s and back, maker’s names and their details (addresses, etc) were engraved on the ‘right’ side, meaning that the first letter of the first word in each line of the engraving was closest to the eyepiece.

After the 1790s, for reasons unknown, telescopes tended to have their maker’s details engraved on the ‘left’ side, meaning that the last letter of the last word on each line of the engraving was closest to the eyepiece.

It’s a crude dating mechanism at best, but seems to hold up, in all the examples I’ve seen, both online and in antiques shops.

This excerpt was originally published in the February, 2017 edition of the TAT Antiques Magazine, and was reproduced here by the permission of its author…me! 🙂 

My First Vintage Pocketknife

 

When I was attending university a few years ago, for the first time in my life, I found myself doing a lot of travelling and walking around every day. Going to the campus, going to lecture halls, going to classes, the library, the store, the cafeteria for lunch, all kinds of places. And it was during this time in my life that I started to realise just how many things I needed to cut open. Lunch packets, sauce packets, that super-annoying skin-tight plastic wrap that adorns almost every single type of manufactured product these days, from POST-IT notes to writing supplies, and I began to wish more and more that I had some sort of pocketknife on me.

I never had a pocketknife as a child. I never saw the point, I never saw the need, and for almost every cutting job around, I used a pair of scissors. But as I got older, and started moving around more, I began to realise just how handy it would be to have a portable blade on me with which I could do things. And so I started hunting.

At first I really didn’t know much about knives, but with my historical bent, I knew that I’d like a pretty, antique one. The good news was that antique pocketknives are really common. The bad news is that finding a decent pocketknife that you like enough to buy, refurbish, maintain and use can be a bit tricky. There are loads of different styles, models or patterns out there, each one suited for different purposes. After a lot of hunting around, I bought a knife at the local flea-market. As I said, vintage pocketknives are really easy to find, the trick is finding one you like. The good thing is that most of them really don’t cost much at all.

What Did I Buy?

I ended up with a neat, medium-sized ‘Barlow’-pattern knife. It’s rounded off at one end of the knife (designed this way so that it’s easy to slip into the pocket), and has a pair of bolsters at the other end. The scales (decorative panels) on the sides of the knife are covered in panels of polished bone. Would be nice if it was ivory, but we can’t all be that lucky!

The Barlow knife is one of the oldest knife-patterns still manufactured today. And I mean really old! The first Barlow knives were invented back in the 1600s and were owned by such people as George Washington, and mentioned in the works of Mark Twain. Although it was actually invented in England, the Barlow became an icon of Americana by the middle-1800s, and was liable to be owned by thousands of people.

The classic Barlow has a handle with a rounded end, and two folding blades which both pop out of the same end. The style of the blades changes from manufacturer to manufacturer, but in the end, they comprise of one larger main blade, for general use, and one smaller blade, about half the size. This smaller blade was originally intended as a pen-knife, used for sharpening, cutting and shaping pens and pencils, in the days when writing was done with either quills, steel dip-pens or pencils (before the widespread availability of pencil-sharpeners).

The reason the Barlow was so popular was because it was effective, simple and cheap. The two blades did just about everything that most people in the 1600s, 1700s and 1800s needed of their knives, and it was also small enough, and cheap enough for most men, boys and probably women too, to own one. It’s qualities like this which have seen it last into the 21st century.

Cleaning the Knife

Any antique pocketknife that you pick up at an antiques shop or at a flea-market is bound to need cleaning. In most cases, the knife won’t have been properly maintained in decades. Cleaning the knife is important for a number of reasons.

First, it makes it easier, and therefore, safer to operate – an essential importance when anything with sharp blades is concerned.

Second, it improves the look of the knife and keeps your clothes clean. Nobody wants to carry a pocketknife in their pocket when it’s full of grime, and liable to transfer that to your jeans or slacks. And for something so small, a pocketknife can come with a whole heap of crap packed into it, and I’m not talking about the blades!

The first thing you’ll want to do, if you can, is to open all the knife-blades and toss it into an ultrasonic bath, ideally with warm water and liquid soap to blast out all the gunk inside the knife. Turn the machine on and watch all the dust and grime and crud come shaking out. You may need to do this two or three times, and change the water in between washes. This should clean out most of the grit inside the knife. Anything extra you can pick or scrape or wipe out with tissues, cotton-buds, or pins (useful for getting into the tiny cracks).

Once you’re removed all the grime, it’s time to remove all the tarnish and rust. This can be done using either hard abrasives like extra-fine sandpaper or steel-wool, or liquid polishes like Brasso, depending on how bad the the tarnishing is. Like the cleaning, polishing and rust-removal may take a few applications to get the look that you’re most comfortable with.

Sharpening Your Pocketknife

Once you’re done cleaning your pocketknife, the last thing to do is to sharpen it. There’s a million ways of sharpening a knife and half a billion ways of testing how sharp it is, so I won’t be going into this in great detail. YouTube is always a great place to find more, if you need it.

But to cover the basics – I sharpen my knives using stones of three different grits – coarse, then fine, then extra-fine, staring with the roughest, and progressing to the finest, with about 20-30 strokes of the blade across each surface on both sides. It’s important to keep the stones lubricated while you sharpen them. If you’re the sort of person who sharpens blades regularly, it might be useful to keep your stones soaking in a bucket of water somewhere, so that they’re always ready for use. If not, you’ll need to soak them for a few hours before you start using them.

Once you’ve given each blade of your pocketknife a thorough sharpening on both sides, now is the time to test it. The classic way is to see how cleanly it slices through a sheet of paper. A well-sharpened knife will produce a clean, straight cut and the paper will have sharp, clean lines either side of it. A knife which hasn’t been sharpened properly will simply tear the paper, or fail to cut it at all. As you cut, make sure that you pull the blade along so that you can test that its entire length has been properly sharpened. If it cuts cleanly, then congratulations, you’ve sharpened your first vintage pocketknife!