Wood is in my blood so to speak; let me explain...
I come from a long line of Buckinghamshire farming folk and the leafy lanes and beech woods in that county have for centuries molded each and every one of us. If they weren't working the land then several of my ancestors would have been working with wood. Some of them would have set up home amongst the trees in little wooden shacks like this one.
Everything was done by hand in those far off days and work continued from dawn until dusk.
Branches were cut from trees and stripped of their bark and as a result mountains of wood chips lay everywhere.
The men who worked in this way were known as bodgers and their pole lathes would have been spinning and whirring all day long. After many hours of turning, shaping and piecing together the results of their labours would have been Windsor chairs not unlike like this one. What amazing craftsmanship.
I treasure several old Windsor chairs that were made by my great uncle as a wedding gift for my grandparents but for this post I have used this miniature version which is an exact replica of rather splendid chairs that were made with arms. (Teddy is 7 inches tall ).
I now live in the Lake District which is many miles from my home amid the beech woods of Buckinghamshire but for centuries bodgers would have been busy working in the Lakeland woods also. They didn't make chairs but turned wooden bobbins and their livelihoods relied entirely on the success of the neighbouring Lancashire cotton mills. Bobbins were required in their millions and the process was soon mechanised. Stott Park Bobbin Mill is the last remaining Victorian mill with its machinery still in working order. It is open to visitors and demonstrations take place each day.
Vintage bobbins that were once used in cotton mills are now being made into decorative items for the tourist industry. Visitors to this area love to take home little 'bobbin built' keepsakes like this little model of a steam traction engine (my Mum couldn't resist this when she saw it!)
The wooden objects on display around my home come in all shapes, sizes and colours. For this post I have chosen a few turned pieces to show you. My granny used the items above in her farm kitchen. The butter mold in the centre has a very elaborate crest.
I'd love to know its origin.
This Victorian inkwell and drinking vessel are turned from one of the heaviest wood of all known as lignum vitae
How fortunate I am to have met and married a sweet man who loves wood as much as I do. He occasionally buys me little wooden pieces like these. The plate is oak, the cup and saucer ash and the tea canister and scoop are made from sycamore. I love them all.
So you see, wood is in my blood... My dad taught woodwork in his school and was a master cabinet maker. From an early age I was taught not only how to recognise different trees but how to recognise different woods also. And so I'll end this post with a little poem by H E Palmer. The message, I think, is a very poignant one.
Woodworker's Ballad
All that is molded of iron
Has lent to destruction and blood;
But the things that are honour’d of Zion
Are most of them made from wood.
Stone can be chisell’d to Beauty,
And iron shines bright for Defence;
But when Mother Earth ponder’d her duty
She brought forth the forest, from whence
Come tables, and chairs, and crosses,
Little things that a hot fire warps,
Old ships that the blue wave tosses,
And fiddles for music, and harps;
Oak boards where the carved ferns mingle,
Monks’ shrines in the wilderness,
Snug little huts in the dingle,
All things that the sad poets bless.
King Arthur had a wood table;
And Our Lord blessed wood; for, you see,
He was born in a wooden stable,
And He died on a wooden tree;
And He sailed in a wooden vessel
On the waters of Galilee,
And He work’d at a wooden trestle
At His wonderful carpentry.
Oh, all that is molded of iron
Has lent to destruction and blood;
But the things that are honour’d of Zion
Are most of them made from wood.
Herbert Edward Palmer (1880 - 1961)
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