Newbould Plane

This might get a bit wonky. A couple of weeks ago, I purchased a plane that manifests so much of what I love about early tools.

It is a fore plane, intended for the job of rough surfacing. I would estimate that it was made in the 1780s or 1790s. The plane is beech wood, and is very well crafted. There is, however, no maker's mark and given the idiosyncratic detail on the wedge, I suspect it was made by a craftsman rather than a professional plane-maker. With its rounded chamfers and 50 degree bed-angle, the plane was probably made in England. The iron is pretty exciting to me. It is round-topped and stamped Newbould - an early mark associated with Samuel Newbould of Sheffield, which dates it to the 1780s or 1790s. It is remarkably thin. I've read that as high-carbon cast steel was expensive in the 18th century, early iron were thin, but this is remarkable. The iron is barely used, and still has the curved, or cambered edge meant for the rough planing of lumber. I am really interested to see how this single, thin, steep, iron cuts.

But the best part? When I bought the plane, the price was low on account of the handle being a replacement. I had to take it apart, and when I removed the screw that held the handle in the body, it got my attention. When I did survey work of early 19th century architecture I had, oddly, the need to learn a lot about screws and how to date them. And this screw? 1820s-1830s And the handle itself is made of poplar, which is important.

So in the last years of the 18th century, when English steel tool-makers were still sending out batches of blades to be finished by laboring families, this plane iron was shaped and tempered and ground in a series of Sheffield households. It was bought by an English tradesman, who made a plane to fit it. Somehow, it made its way to the American mid-atlantic region, where, in the 1820s or 30s, its handle broke. Its owner carefully made a new handle out of the poplar so ubiquitous in the carpentry and cabinetmaking of that region; the light shows the scores of facets left by his knife. And, now, this plane sits on my bench. Amazing

The Little Dutch Plane

In 2001, I had just graduated from college and my Great Uncle proposed we go stay in Sweden for a few months with our family there. I realize this wasn't exactly backpacking through Indonesia for six months with a passport, a backpack and trail of furtive hostel hookups, but it was an amazing trip.

A memento of it is the sketchbook I kept. I didn't have a digital camera, so when I would get sick of lugging my ancient Nikon, so I would just draw. At the museum where the sunken and raised warship Vasa is kept, I drew several of the discovered ship's carpenters' tools, among them a little smoothing plane:

And just last month, I came across a series of entries on Peter Follansbee's blog examining the Gerfschaaf - the Dutch version of the little horned plane. Since I use a 20th century horn plane that I bought in Sweden nearly every day, the notion of experimenting with its formal ancestor was intriguing. I thought I would make one based on a photograph Follansbee posted.

I actually have had a need for a new plane, as well as this curiosity. I've been worn out of trying smoothing these big planks of curly walnut with 45 degree planes. The higher the pitch angle of the blade, the better the plane's ability to manage reversing grain without tear-out. Over the 20th century, nearly all planes were made with irons bedded at 45 degrees, but steeper angles were once the norm for planing hardwoods and an increase of ten degrees to 55 makes a tremendous difference. Try back-beveling the iron in your smoothing plane 10 degrees, seriously.

It isn't perfect yet, but it has potential and a Swedish steel iron.