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07 31st, 2009| 
CHINA AND GLASS
China restoration is always delicate work, requiring care, accuracy and knowledge of technique. How much knowledge depends entirely on how ambitious you arc. Most people, if they Fail in simple efforts to stick china together, take it to a professional restorer if the piece is of any value. It also depends on what is going to happen to a piece after it is mended. If it is to stand peacefully on a shelf, then the repair need not be so strong as it would have to be for domestic use. Some people try to restore a piece to the state where only a very close scrutiny will reveal the mend. It is technically possible to fool even ultra violet light. Others feel that there is no shame in a few cracks in old china. Like so many skills connected with making and mending things, china restoring can develop from the ability simply to stick broken pieces together, to the most complex dowelling and pinning and moulding and modelling and casting and painting. It can start by being a chore and end by being an art, which like any art develops into pride in craftsmanship, and pleasure in achievement. Maybe the kind of painstaking repair I am thinking of comes outside die scope of a book on restoring junk, but I shall include an outline of some of the methods and materials and tools needed just in case you do decide to venture further than a little bit of glucing.
Some technical colleges run classes on china restoration, but they arc few and far between, although this is one of the best ways to gain expert knowledge and experience. The study of books on die subject and plenty of practice should make you reasonably efficient if you are not totally ham-fisted !
There arc so many objects in so many shapes and sizes made of so in-uiy materials; so many ‘pots’ that it is difficult to detail all the techniques, and each job must be treated on its merits. The first and easiest method is to mend by sticking. Sticking things together used to be more difficult than it is now, because die old adhesives were nothing like so easy to use or so heat-and-water-resistant, so free from shrinkage, or attacks by fungus, so clean, so invisible, or so strong. The invention of cellulose glues and epoxy resin adhesives has completely revolutionised sticking, and made it possible to mend things with adhesive alone where riveting, dowelling, or pinning would once have been essential.
As a general rule, a piece of china, be it a plate, a pot, a Statuette, or a vase, can be mended by sticking alone if the two faces come together properly and neatly and if they can be made to stay in position while the adhesive is setting.
If a part such as a curved handle, or the limb of a figurine, is broken, perhaps in more than one place, and there are pieces missing; or if the surfaces to be joined are chipped and do not fit, or there arc whole sections missing; then more ambitious methods will have to be used. Whole sections can be remade by modelling with epoxy resins just as the sculptor models, or by making plaster moulds and taking castings. Large missing parts can be moulded or modelled incorporating wire supporting frameworks fixed to die whole piece.
Broken parts are refixed together and to the whole, provided they are thick enough to carry drilled holes, either by pinning—which means inserting a metal pin into a hole drilled after the pieces have been stuck—or by dowelling, which is the joining of pieces by drilling matching holes in each and cementing in a single dowel. Any or all of these methods might be necessary at the same time in one single object (see Fig. io).
Lastly, broken pieces can be riveted together. The ugliness of this technique, strong though it is, means that it has largely been superseded by other methods since the discovery of die better adhesives, and is really only used for extreme strength and utility rather than for restoration and beauty.
Cleaning. Before any porcelain or pottery may be mended it must be cleaned. Normally all that is needed is a wash in warm soapy water. If die piece is already clean, then wipe it with a piece of silk dipped in methylated spirits. Keep any old pieces of real silk for china restoration work, as silk does not leave little bits of lint or fluff caught on jagged edges.
Remove stains from china with very dilute hydrochloric acid, but test first in case the acid etches the glaze. A cloth dipped in either bicarbonate of soda or common salt will remove coffee stains.
To remove dirt along cracks which are not going to be repaired—cracks which are, and look dirty—make a pad of cotton wool and saturate it in a mild bleaching solution such as hydrogen peroxide and lay it along the crack for some days, renewing the solution as die pads dry out. When the treatment is completed, scrub the piece gently with a soft brush, and even more dirt may conic away. This method is useless on earthenware, but for this and for English porcelain, which is usually so porous that the dirt is well ingrained, soak the piece for up to a week in a solution of domestic bleach. This will remove most stubborn stains and won’t etch the glaze.
If china has been previously mended, the edges of the breaks may be very dirty, and sometimes glue remains which is invisible except under a magnifying glass. All edges must be cleaned, and you must be sure they fit together before going ahead with the next stages of the job. First of all soak the pieces in boiling water with pure detergent added. Remember, if there is another part of the object which has been mended and which you do not wish to do again, to keep it out of the water or it may melt apart. Glue, Seccotine, shellac and Durofix will come off in boiling water, and joins made with these adhesives will soften sufficiently to be parted. If this treatment does not tackle the old glue then you will have to get to work with the appropriate solvents (see Solvents). Methylated spirits will shift shellac that has resisted boiling water. Swabbing with cotton wool dipped in amyl acetate removes cellulose adhesives such as Durofix. Acetone removes cements, but may take some time about it. Dissolver is a new solvent which will shift many kinds of glues including Araldite, especially some of those used for glass repairs.
Literally to boil a piece in detergent and water is a last resort to remove stubborn adhesive without abrasion. Finally it may be necessary to pick away at the old adhesive with a scraper or even a needle. Obviously this has to be done with care.
If old rivets have to be removed, cut them in half with a needle file and pick out the bits using acetone to remove the cement if necessary.
The first two methods are done with just a few tools, but the moment you have to drill, more complex tools will be necessary, and this means more expense, and also more time spent on learning to handle the tools. China drilling is not difficult, but it takes a light hand and a steady one, and infinite care and patience.
A power drill, which is normal workshop equipment nowadays, can be used with the rightbits for a lot of drilling work provided it has both vertical and horizontal bench stands and operates at the right r.p.m. The ideal tool for most drilling is a dentist’s drill—in fact an electric motor with a. flexible drive and a hand-held drill at the end. But this is an expensive piece of equipment not justified unless a lot of work is to be done, so its use is not described here. A hand drill and appropriate bits will needed for starting holes, and for the awkward holes. A special twist drill with high gearing can be bought for work on china, and some people prefer this to the other types. It is good for dowelling and for work in substantial pieces, but is a little difficult to control on really delicate work.
Brass wire is used for pins and dowels, and unless you arc doing very complex work only one or two sizes will be needed. Other standard tools such as the hacksaw, and calipers you may already have. Small cramps and a pin vice are useful, and all shapes and sizes of small files and rasps, scalpels, and probes. Various materials will be needed for making moulds, supporting pieces while they dry, binding to aid adhesion etc. These I shall mention as they conic into use.
Sticking. There is some general information on adhesives wider that specific heading. Here I shall discuss the various methods used for mending china with adhesives.
Ordinary domestic two-tube Araldite (AV and HV roo) is suitable for all practical purposes for almost any work. It is best used in a well-warmed room, and pieces should always be warm when joined. Keep the tubes of Araldite warm before mixing. All this helps the adhesive to flow readily, and to grip. A cold unheated workshop is not a suitable place. Work in a heated room with a radiator with a flat top or heat conductive shelf above it so that pieces can be kept warm.
The second important point, already stressed several times, is that pieces must be clean and dry. Pieces that have been washed or boiled to clean them may take quite a long time to dry out, especially the unglazed edges of breaks. Damp, dirty surfaces just will not adhere.
Thirdly it is vital to grasp the basic principle of adhesion, whicl, is to bring the original faces as close together as is physically possible, with the thinnest practicable layer of adhesive between. The edges and surfaces of the break then lock together naturally. It is a misapprehension to suppose that thick layers of adhesive will make more successful joints. All the adhesive that is needed is enough to fill all the tiny gaps and crevises between the faces so that the two present smooth surfaces to each other with no air pockets, and they will adhere.
Lastly, stuck joints need to have some pressure exerted upon then, while the adhesive is setting, either by clamping the pieces together, or by putting a weight on top of a flat piece, or more usually by binding the pieces together with gum strip (not Sellotape) in such a way that pressure is exerted on the join.
The methods of applying this binding
g differ slightly
with every mend. Always use gummed strip, and buy a big roll at least il” wide. Cut this down if necessary. Strips are stuck as nearly as possible at right angles across joins such as simple breaks in a plate or vase. When thc join is rather more difficult, such as a broken vase handle or lid, the strip is stuck on so that it will exert pressure at right angles to the join. The wet gummed strip is easy to put into position, and as it dries it shrinks, holds fast to the china and so exerts pressure on the join. When you reach the stage of placing the prepared pieces together, wet the cut strips of paper thoroughly but remove any surplus drips of water with a swab. They should be damp right through but not dripping wet, as moisture will prevent pieces from adhering if any gets on to the broken edges. Sometimes it is best to pre-stick the strip on to one piece of the work (after you have warmed the piece for glucing, or the gunimed strip will dry out completely) and then put the two edges together. Draw tile loose piece of strip down smoothly and tightly across the join. A little bit of practice at binding diffi llcult shapes will teach you how best these paper bandages can be applied. Remember always that as the strip dries and tightens it must pull across at right angles to the join, so bringing the pieces together and holding them there. Use very long strips if necessary. Make a cross of strips, stand a pot in the middle and bring the ends right up over the top to hold it together. Small
small
pieces of strip may be needed across very joins to exert pressure (see Fig. 7). A binding applied like a puttee round and round an object is almost useless except to keep things in place. The same binding techniques will be used when mending by dowelling and pinning, as described later, and a little thought and study will help you to work out the details for each job. Very occasionally it is not possible to bind, to clamp, or to weight pieces together because of a peculiar shape or a break in an odd place. Make supports out of plasticise or wire to push pieces together, or at any rate to hold them in position while the adhesive sets. No tension is applied to the joint so this way isn’t that satisfactory, but it is better than nothing. Don’t let plasticise come into direct contact with Araldite or any epoxy resin, as the two will react together.
Having cleaned your porcelain or china ready for mending, next check whether or not all the pieces arc there, whether or not they fit together perfectly, and then decide upon your method of restoration. Pieces made of thin China ai-c almost impossible to dowel or pill as there is no thickness to take drilled holes. Hollow figures may need to be dowelled in the hollow sections, or by pinning. But if there are sufficient clean, close fitting edges which will contact nicely, sticking alone may be all that is needed. Details of dowelling and pinning follow, but here I deal with sticking on its own. A piece which has been broken into several pieces should be very carefully checked for fit before applying adhesive. If necessary make tip a kind of jig-saw puzzle, using Sellotape and fit the whole thing together. Be careful not to work yourself into an impossible corner by putting the pieces together iii such a way that i lie last piece cannot be got into place. This can happen, for instance, in a bowl where the break consists of two or more pieces which arc wider at the lower end than they are at the rim end. If a piece is in several fragments it is sometimes easier to stick two or three pieces together to make one large piece, and then join this to the main piece. So do take a bit of thought, and be sure that you have solved the puzzle before taking any irrevocable steps (see Fig. io).
If, as well as being in several pieces, the pot has a Chunk missing, it will be necessary to mould a new piece, but first of all any sticking must be done mid finished, and the Moulding is later carried out as a separate operation.
Having cleaned the pieces, dried them and checked for fit, warm them thoroughly. Prepare a small amount of adhesive, no more than you need, and apply it with a knife to one edge of the two pieces to be joined. Usually it is best and easiest to apply the adhesive to the piece rather than to the whole. Put adhesive on both edges only if the fit is not perfect, or if the material of which the pot is made is very heavy thick porous earthenware, which will absorb a lot of adhesive.
Then bring the two edges together as firmly as you possibly can. Obviously you don’t want to break the china again, but exert as much pressure as you dare on the join so that the adhesive comes squeezing out. If you want to remove adhesive in order to get a clear look at the join through a magnifying glass to make sure it is properly aligned, moisten a water colour brush in a little methylated spirit and take off a little adhesive with that. Do not take it right down to the join as this will weaken it. Surplus adhesive should not be removed along the join until after it has all set. Any adhesive which has escaped on to other as yet unmende8 broken edges, or on to gilt or lustre glaze on the pot, must be removed at once with the paint brush. On the broken edges it will prevent proper matching if it dries into a little lump, and it will lift gilt or lustre when it is finally removed.
H.M.G. adhesive can be used in conjunction with Araldite to make a fairly quick setting join, by putting H.M.G. on one surface of the join and Araldite on the other. The quicker drying H.M.G. binds with the Araldite and helps to hold the two pieces together while setting takes place.
Then the joins are bound with gummed strip as described above. The piece is put down and left to set. Epoxy resins, especially when the join has been properly strapped, will hold almost immediately, and the pieces will not move in relation to each other unless the joins are imperfect or unless the balance and weight of die pieces are such that gravity pulls them out of place. Plasticine supports, bowls of fine clean sand, bits of wood and wire, will all make supports and cradles. If the piece to be joined is some kind of figurine and not a plate or a bowl with flat or curved surfaces, parts sometimes have to be stuck on entirely by balance. The heads of small figures frequently get broken off, and ifyou intend to stick a head back without dowelling, the fit along the break will have to be perfect, and the figure itself must be held in a firm grip so that the head will balance in place while the adhesive sets. Bury the figure in a bowl of sand, with the broken edge set horizontally just above the level of the sand, and then balance the part on it. Move the buried section about until the broken-off piece balances perfectly upon it. Make sure all loose sand is brushed away from both edges, and then, using very fluid adhesive, anoint the broken edges. Carefully put the piece back into place, and allow it a few moments to adhere before delicately, and without moving the buried base, setting it perfectly into position.
It really is a matter of trial and error, and with a bit of ingenuity you can find a solution to every problem of sticking and binding and balancing.
The final process of sticking when using epoxy resin glues, is to harden the joins by baking. If an entire piece has to be moulded in, after some sticking has been done, it is still best to bake the first work for a short while before doing the moulding, just to make certain that the work which has been done is really firm. Baking can be omitted entirely if the piece can be left alone for a good long time to set.
Up to a point the heating of Araldite softens it, and if you leave a job for some hours before baking and a piece has slipped a little out of place, warm the join with boiling water swabs to soften the Araldite enough to move the piece back into position. Leave joins made with Araldite for a few hours before baking and then place the piece in the oven of an electric cooker or of a solid fuel cooker. Put an asbestos mat on the middle shelf and place the china carefully on that, and keep the oven at a temperature of Zoo deg. for about an hour. Over 3oo deg. the Araldite will darken and in any case the china may not stand it. If your oven has no thermometer, buy a small one. If it is impossible to keep the temperature of the oven steady,heat the oven, put in the piece, and switch the oven right off, leaving the piece there until the oven is cold.
Mending Cracks ivith Adhesive. So often articles crack without breaking. The cracks get dirty, and the piece when touched vibrates a little and does not ring true. It may, one feels, collapse into pieces at any moment. Cracks can be repaired quite effectively without completely breaking the pieces apart. Most forms of pottery and porcelain are to a small extent flexible, so carefully insert the edge of a razor blade and part the crack a little. Clean the crack as described above and make sure that the whole piece is thoroughly dry by standing it on a radiator until it is pretty warm. Heat the separate tubes of Aralditc to get them runny and make up a mix, with a little white colouring in it if there are any chips along the crack which need to be filled. Mix the Araldite on a warm surface and keep it warm while working. My own nightstore type electric radiators which have flat tops, are absolutely ideal for this work and I work directly on top of one. This is not recommended by the makers of nightstore radiators but who cares about that !
Prise the crack apart with the razor blade as far as is possible without breaking the piece completely. If the crack runs right to the rim or edge of the piece, slide the edges of the crack apart a little, one up and one down to expose some of the broken edge. Run the adhesive right into the crack, work it in with a finger if necessary, then move away from the radiator and press the edges tightly together. Wipe off any surplus adhesive with methylated spirits, but not that exactly along the crack. Put several pieces of gummed strip across the crack at right-angles on both sides of the piece, and leave the whole thing to dry (bake after an hour if you wish to) for half a day on the top of the radiator. This should set the adhesive perfectly.
Anyone who has spent much time looking in junk shops will know that sooner or later a particular decision will have to be made. Is one to insist on buying only the perfect piece, the flawless jewel, which has come down to our time unscathed by time—that enemy of both man and his handiwork? Or is one to be content with something less than perfection, that which is flawed—though not irreparably?
If you take the first course and happen to have a taste for the best in furniture, pictures, pottery, glass, silver, or whatever, you will nowadays need a very long purse indeed. The fine things of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries have soared in price to levels which would not have been thought possible even only five years ago. In the meantime collectors have turned their attention to the once despised nineteenth century; and Victorians is now as eagerly accepted for sale by great auctioneers like Sotheby’s and Christie’s as anything of earlier date.
Personally I have never felt especially impressed by ‘condition’ for its own sake. If a piece is what the trade calls ‘right’—that is to say genuine of its own kind, if whatever imperfections it may have do not seriously detract from enjoyment of it, I do not see why it should not take its place in a collection. After all, for a piece of china or furniture to have survived for two hundred, a hundred, or even fifty years without acquiring some sort of blemish, or show some signs of age, is a quite remarkable thing: it has certainly not happened to me. One suspects too, that those who seek perfection of this kind may be interested not so much in the appreciation of a particular objet d’art, as in appreciation of their investment—and I have always thought that there were many pitfalls in that kind of collecting.
A few years ago there came up for sale a famous collection of teapots, representative of the finest work of all the famous English factories. The reverend gentleman who put it together, however, could not possibly have afforded to do so had he not been content to accept the odd chip, crack or restored part. But these imperfections in no way spoilt the beauty and interest of the collection, which, though unique of its kind, had much instructive value for the general collector.
For me, therefore, if a piece has been skilfully and sympathetically repaired, with awareness of period and of the peculiar nuances of the original work, there would always be a place for it on my shelves or walls. And if you tell me that a repair or a repainting can be detected by ultraviolet radiation, I reply that one does not normally look at works of art through apparatus of that kind.
Before they buy, however, I think that collectors should inform themselves as to what can or cannot be done with anything which has been damaged or broken. Some things are really beyond all hope: they could never be restored in such a way as to give one the same kind of xsthetic appeal as the original, and the place for it—if there is a place for it—may well be in a museum. But there are many things which can be rescued, and ought to be before they deteriorate any further.
This, I think, is the value of a book like this. In showing how repairs can be done it tells one what repairs can be done, whether we do them ourselves with loving care or whether we leave them to the expert. There are not so many fine works of art about that we can afford to let them disappear without an effort of some sort.
What is junk? Something which its last owner discarded as worthless? Any old piece of furniture, china, metalwork, any old picture, print or scrap which has no intrinsic value? These definitions have no meaning today when the trade in ‘junk’ has reached international proportions and when some of the prices paid for hideous bits of bric-a-brac put them far beyond the reach of most amateur collectors. Once, a poke around a second-hand shop produced all kinds of unusual and interesting things for shillings and even for pennies. Pounds didn’t enter into it. Once you could go to auction sales and come away with car loads of discarded ‘rubbish’ which no one else at the sale wanted and for which the dealers, least of all the dealers, never bothered to bid.
Not any more. At every sale, in every junkshop, there lurks the man or woman with that indefinable look, that odd searching expression which proclaims that he or she is
‘in the trade’ and wi buy akinds of unlikely things just to turn them into other unlikely things or to restore them
and sell them as totally genuine survivals from the past, and as always, when the dealers get interested the amateurs have to get up very early in the morning!
The reasons why we have come to value these things are strange, but fairly simple. As we invent new designs for furniture, pots and pans, clothes etc. and enjoy new styles and fashions, yesterday’s style and the day before yesterday’s become hideous to us. How ugly now seems the clothes and furniture, the carpets and curtains, the chairs and the pictures of the thirties. And how ugly, in the thirties, seemed the things we designed in the twenties. Yet now, in the sixties, the things of the twenties become attractive again, some of them, and the Victorian excesses which we hated in the thirties, positively delight us now. Why does this happen? Is it because our modem designs get more and more simple and functional, with fewer curves and fussy bits, more and more straight lines and flat surfaces, more and more synthetic finishes, and less and less craftsmanship or hand work of any kind is done. The horrors of photographic wood veneers, which only need a wipe with a damp cloth, the plastic ‘working surfaces which every knife marks, are preferred to beautiful natural veneers which need a bit of polishing to keep them beautiful, and to scrubbed wood which needs a bit of elbow grease to keep it clean. So I believe some of us are coming to value the things which man has made with his hands out of natural materials as an antidote to our machine-turned, moulded, plastic world. And I don’t believe that the plastic rubbish of today will ever become the treasured junk of tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. We have gone right over the top, and many people are determined to salve what is left of the artifacts of our grandfathers. The very ugliness of some of the things has the appeal of individuality at the least. It may be claimed that a lot of Victorian and Edwardian and even Georgian junk was mass produced in the sense that numbers of copies of the same objects were made, and that any casting or turning or moulding techniques that were available were fully used. Nevertheless the materials themselves ensured that hand finishing was almost always necessary, and the machines were worked by men and not by other macliiiies. Designs were made by the minds of men and not by computers.
Ingenious people go to great lengths to make modem objects out of old junk, sometimes by taking things back to an even more original condition than they ever were before, when they were first made. I’m thinking of the vogue for stripping down wooden objects and oiling or waxing so that the grain alone decorates them; objects that were always stained or painted when they were first produced. It is only quite recently that we have realised that natural pine wood call be just as beautiful as natural walnut, or oak or mahogany. Our immediate forefathers thought that pine in its natural state was very ugly and only fit to be covered up. Anyone who had ever visited all alpine country knew differently, but nevertheless we remained very traditional. Taking the subject a stage further, there was a time when natural oak furniture was looked upon as being purely rural and only used by the yokels in the kitchen, and nothing could be elegant but inlaid mahogany or veneer or ormolu. All kinds of objects get turned into lamps nowadays, and old picture frames make fine mirrors and trays. Pianos turn into cocktail cabinets—there is a use for everything and anything. Is this because the hand craftsmanship, or even the time, that it takes to make these things cannot be found these days except at great expense? Labour was cheap when the junk was being made, and now we are taking advantage, years after the makers are dead and gone, of their sweated labour, their underpaid craftsmanship, which are just not available any more.
Lastly, as I discovered when I became involved in the art of restoring old cottages for modern living, you and I, amateurs in the sense that our jobs probably have nothing whatsoever to do with restoring things, get a great kick, an artistic satisfaction, out of mending something that seemed broken beyond repair, out of recreating something useful or decorative or interesting from something old, ugly and dull. The artist, the creator in all of us, can thus find expression even when we lack original talent. It may be in something as elemental as getting a good polish on a piece of filthy old brass.
Most of us are magpies at heart, and the collecting instinct which stimulates toddlers to collect little piles of stones, shells and sticks and string, the child to collect stamps or dolls and the teenager to collect gramophone records, stimulates the adult to collect whatever he or she can afford and finds pleasing. I know a man whose large Edwardian house (and lie needs one) is full of musical boxes, everything from tiny little singing birds to huge great mahogany things which come to coniplicated life and give out fantastic sounds in response to the necessary stimuli. Another man will collect powder flasks, buttons or little boxes, or flatirons, or porcelain. Most collectors begin by acquiring a piece of junk almost accidentally, perhaps by inheritance, or bought in with an odd lot, or just because it caught the eye, and that is the nucleus of a collection.
People can be divided into two groups; those who will take everything to the ‘expert’ to be restored or cleaned, and those who will go to great lengths to do the work themselves. I think that the true junk collector comes into the second category. The greater part of the fun for him is in the restoring—in being able to say, modestly: ‘yes, I mended that chair—it had three broken legs and six coats of paint, but the waxed natural wood does look rather nice, doesn’t it?’
There are limitations, of course, oil what can be done; limitations imposed by the necessity for expensive tools or materials, or processes which need equipment not usually found in even a well-equipped workshop (electro-plating tanks for instance). The one limitation that never seems to apply is that of knowledge, either of techniques or of materials.
Here another distinction has to be made. Properly speaking, restoration implies the recreating of an object so that it is exactly as it was when it was made. In the wider sense great arguments go on between the people and societies interested in the preservation of ancient things, and those who wish to restore them for actual use. To the purist, for instance, it is wrong when restoring a cottage to make structural alterations which are necessary to make it habitable in modern terms. To the purist it is wrong to restore an old piece of furniture by altering its original purpose, terrible to cut a whatnot in half and make two tables from it, even though it was useless as a whatnot. If a thing has intrinsic beauty then surely it is wrong to alter it out of recognition. There is a safeguard here in the sense that if you pay a lot of money for an antique you are unlikely to chop it about. Oil die other hand you might undervalue some inherited piece and destroy it by altering it.
How far is one justified in building up missing pieces of objectswith modern epoxy resins instead of restoring the missing part as nearly as possible with its original material? Museums do it all the time and are prepared to rebuild and remake shamelessly with modern materials to restore objects, although they make no secret of this. It is of course inipossible to lay down rules for these things. In any case the antique and jtuik trades are so full of fakes, composite objects, and reproductions with never any guarantee of authenticity, that it doesn’t matter a great deal, I suppose, how authentic your restoration work on junk is. The only thing that matters, it seems to me, is that the reproduction or reconstruction or restoration produces something which as nearly resembles the original as one’s capacities and the materials available allow. Never try to pass off any kind of restoration as original.
While in this book I have tried to include as many hints and ideas as possible, I have slued away from `tricks of the trade’. There are too many tricksters about
already.
Of course, with many perishable objects such as prints, preservation and protection against the ravages of the future is as important as restoration, and there seems to me to be no harm in using the most modem methods and materials available.
One or two general points must be made. First, that there is no substitute, really, for elbow grease, and this is in many cases the restorer’s most useful material, substance or technique! It may be easy to slosh acids and solvents around, but the damage they do may well outweigh the time they save. Second, many chemicals used are poisonous or corrosive, and the greatest care must be taken when using them to wear protective clothing, gloves etc. Such materials should be confined to the workshop and never used in the kitchen. All bottles and jars must be carefully labelled, and poisons should be kept under lock and key. A fire extinguisher must be part of every workshop’s equipment and a bucket of sand for extra fire protection isn’t out of place. Plenty of fresh water should be available, and a sink is almost essential. Electrical equipment must be used properly and wall plugs etc. should be professionally installed and maintained. Never use electric tools with two-pin plugs. Use three-pin plugs which include an earth. Never unplug electrical equipment without first switching off the main. Never use electrical equipment with wet or even damp hands.
Lastly, I must point out that although all the recipes and suggestions in this book are tried and tested, the success of each and every one depends to some extent upon the user. It is like cooking. Give two people the same recipe book and materials and ask them to cook the same dish and the results will invariably differ.
Because of the enormous variety of materials involved, and because it is not possible for the writer to know exactly what it is that the reader is intending to treat, there can be no absolute certainty that methods and treatments will work exactly as planned. The contents of this book are meant as a guide, to be intelligently used. I have left out some techniques that call for the use of highly toxic chemicals (with the exception of the bleaching box), and I have left out or only briefly described techniques which do require practical instruction, althoughi the borderline between skills which can be self-taught and developed by practice and those which have to be imparted on the spot by an expert, is impossible to define. It depends so much on the capacity and talent of the individual.
But it is junk you will be handling; it won’t be world-shattering if you do make mistakes. ‘There is so much pleasure in doing a good job that it is always worth a try. If you fail, well, that is too bad. If you succeed, that is wonderful, and oh, so satisfying.
Thanks. To write a book of this kind without picking other people’s brains is impossible, for one cannot bc.ui expert on everything; in fact the junk restorer must be a jack of all trades. Thanks are due, therefore, to all those who let me ask them questions about their working methods, and who gave me so much useful information. Thanks also to Ginette Leach whose help with the making and checking of the book was invaluable.
Using the book. The text is not divided into chapters, but set out with subjects in alphabetical order. I suggest that you look first in the indices for references to any specific subject, or material. There are two indices: the first refers specifically to materials and tools, and includes page references and names of suppliers and sources of the materials, so that in effect it replaces appendices; the second refers to the subject headings and methods, and is intended to lead you directly to the subject itself where you can find full details on cleaning and restoration.
Where various things come into the same general category they have been grouped together in that category rather than scattered through the book in alphabetical order. For instance the section headed Stone includes subsections of various kinds of stone. The sections on China, Furniture, and Metal are also comprehensive. This seems to me to be a more convenient way of arranging things than exact alphabetical order would have been.
This is the story of the weapons used by the British soldier throughout the ages, and the many developments in personal arms during the course of history, and the reasons which influenced their design. It starts at the Battle of Hastings in which the seeds of the British army were sown, and it ends with the short magazine Lee-Enfield rifle which served the British Army through half a century and two world wars.
It is interesting to learn that in the days of chivalry the weapons of the aspirant to the order of Knighthood were placed at the altar and were never to be used save in defence of honour, virtue and justice. The hilt of his sword was the emblem of Christianity, and to this day the pressure of his lips on the Cross is commemorated in the officer’s salute. It is facts such as these which help to explain the fascination which hand weapons have for so many.
From military arms have descended their counterparts in the chase, in sporting combat and on the range. These too form an interesting study, both in the multiplicity of their design and types, far exceeding the recognized weapons of war.
The craftsmanship shown in the manufacture of these weapons, of which many fine examples are illustrated in this volume, will appeal to both the connoisseur and the collector, besides the fascinating story of how they came into use.
During his long vigil through the hours of darkness the weapons of the aspirant to the order of knighthood were placed at the altar. He was taught that these weapons must never be used save in the defence of honour, virtue and justice. The hilt of his sword was formed in the shape of the emblem of Christianity; and to this day the pressure of his lips on the Cross, as he draws his sword, is commemorated in the Officer’s salute.
It seems probable that it is this tradition of the higher symbolism of weapons that has been largely responsible for the care and attention which, throughout his history, the British soldier has been exhorted to bestow upon his personal arms.
It is no doubt the glamour of ancient chivalry which explains in part the fascination which hand weapons have for so many. This is not, of course, the sole reason. The skill and craftsmanship so often shown in their manufacture, and the fact that they are of a convenient size for handling and display, invite the attention of the collector.
From military arms have descended their counterparts in the chase, in sporting combat and on the range. These too form an attractive study, but in the multiplicity of their type and design they exceed by far the authorized weapons of war; and to deal with them adequately would be beyond the scope of any one book.
This, then, is the story of the weapons which have been used by British fighting men, and of such developments which have influenced their design. It starts, since it must start somewhere, at the Battle of Hastings, in which the seeds of an eventual British Army were sown; and it ends with the supersession of the Short Magazine Lee-Enfield rifle, which served the British Army through half a century and two World Wars.
If one takes the battle of Hastings as a starting-point in a history of weapons, one must logically start with the bill; for this was the principal weapon of the armies of the Saxon kings. It consisted of a heavy axe-type blade, sometimes hooked or curved, set at the end of a long staff or handle. It was wielded with both hands as an axe, and a trained man became remark-7 ably skilled in its use. Few troops could face the steel wall of
FIG. I. SAXON BILLS.
the English household infantry with its line of flashing and cleaving bills. Even the Normans failed to break them by direct shock attack; and to the last they remained formidable as they died in compact groups round their fallen King.
William the Conqueror was too able a soldier to contemplate changing the infantry weapon of his new subjects, and the bill remained as one of the principal arms of the English foot soldier for many centuries after the Conquest. In any riot or tumult in mediaeval times the cry would be heard of, ‘Bills and Bows I Bills and Bows V
FIG. 2. TnE BOAR SPEAR. From ajourtrenth-centuiy MS.
It was not until the introduction of the pike in the fifteenth century that the bill began to lose its pre-eminent place as the infantry shock weapon. Even then it was by no means
0
Ij
FIG. 3. THE SPEAR IN BOAR HUNTING.
From the Cotton MS., ninth century.
replaced, for the Italian Daniel Barbaro, writing in ISS 1, notes the billmen as one of the elements of the’ English infantry. He says that their weapon was ‘a short thick staff, with an iron, like a peasant’s hedging bill…. With this, they strike so violently as to unhorse the cavalry; and it is made short because they like close quarters.’
As late as 1584 there were still a substantial number of billmen in the English forces; for a muster of the troops oil the Scottish border showed that out of about 7400 infantry, 2500 were armed with bills.
From the Bayeux Tapestry it will be seen that both sides at the battle of Hastings were armed with shafted weapons which
FiG. 4. Baas.
Left to right -. Henry IV, Edward IV, Henry VII, Elizabeth I,
Seventeenth century.
appear to be of identical design and something of a cross between lance and javelin; for they are depicted as used by both horse and foot for either throwing or overhand thrusting, and by the mounted knights in the ordinary fashion of a lance.
The spear had been used from very early times in these islands, and it had always formed part of the equipment of the Anglo-Saxon forces. At the time of the Norman invasion it was carried by the English household troops, probably as a secondary weapon, for use either in close combat or to be hurled as a javelin. In defence the latter method was the more likely, in order to break up the ranks of the attackers before they came to close contact with the steel wall and its formidable bills
The early Norman lance was of light construction and very similar to the Saxon spear. It underwent little change during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, though it may have been lengthened and -was probably eventually about thirteen or fourteen feet. The shaft was originally of ash, but in Chaucer’s day it seems to have been more commonly made of cypress wood. In the fourteenth century some protection was given
FIG. 5. SPEAR & LANCE HEADS.
1-3, British, 4-8, Anglo-Saxon, Norman; 9 & io, Fifteenth century;
i i & 12, Sixteenth century.
to the hand by fixing a small round plate (the ‘vam-plate’) to the shaft. In the fifteenth century the shaft of the lance was tapered. Instead of being comparatively narrow and of the same thickness throughout, it was increased in diameter from the point downward and a grip was made for the hand. Towards the end of the century, in the time of Edward IV, the shaft was fluted and the butt ends were shaped to various designs. The fourteenth-century tilting lance was extremely thick and was frequently painted spirally with the distinctive colours of its bearer.
