“High Class Hand Safe” – Vintage steel-construction strongbox (Ca. 1930)

Here’s something you don’t see every day.

“High Class Hand Safe”

This beast is the “High Class Hand Safe”, although it don’t look that high class, and it sure as hell ain’t a safe!

I bought this at the local flea-market after managing to knock down the price from the seller who didn’t want to have to lug it all the way home again. This charming object is a solid steel, Japanese-made cashbox. Prewar, ca 1920-1930. It’s extremely solid and very strong. To unlock it, you need the key and the combination. It comes with space for banknotes, cheques, papers and cash. And two keys. One to unlock the box, and one to wind up the alarm-bells inside!

The box is extremely rugged and dare I say it, bomb-proof. The clockwork bell-alarm inside the box comes with two settings:

Setting #1: The bell rings whenever the box is unlocked. And that’s all it does.
Setting #2: The bell rings whenever the box is unlocked. Or, whenever the box is moved! So if you try and pick it up and run away with it, the alarm goes off, and it is LOUD! Kinda handy feature if I ever take this to an antiques fair and someone tries to steal the money I made from selling my bric-a-brac! Hahahaha!!

It’s an absolute charmer and certainly very cute. I’ve seen a similar one which belonged to a family friend, but they’re not as uncommon as the seller would have one believe. Although I have seen them in better, and in much worse condition than this, online.

Dad’s always wanted a safe – one of those huge old antique things which you could hide a dead body inside. Well it ain’t a safe, but it sure as hell is a strongbox. Without a key or some way to pick the lock, you couldn’t open this thing. And even then, you still need the combination (which thankfully, I do have!)

Maybe this’ll do until someone dies and leaves us a safe to inherit.

Curiouser and curiouser…here’s an identical strongbox owned by a family friend. I photographed this back in May, when I was visiting Penang, Malaysia:

 

Antique Brass Counter-Top Bell (1880-1900)

About a week ago I was out on the town, running errands and attending to a couple of meetings and trying to get to the bottom of a couple of issues which had been bugging me for a while. After sorting all those things out, I decided to do a bit of antiquing on the way home. I stopped by a tiny little hole-in-the-wall antiques shop that I know of, on a tram-route home from the center of town. I stopped in, poked around, and found something sitting on a shelf…quite dark, dull, ugly, and frankly…unloved.

After some haggling with the shopkeeper he agreed to knock the price down to almost half. And I purchased this rather ugly-looking object, for what can only be described as a pittance – since I’ve seen these things selling for about $150-200 online (and up to $300 in other antiques shops I’ve visited!). Here it is:

My God it’s ugly! What the hell is it, and what swamp did you dig this up from?

What you’re looking at here is a Victorian (or possibly, Edwardian)-era counter bell. To say this was a diamond in the rough is putting it mildly. It was in horrific condition! It was ugly, brown, tarnished and looked like it had been sitting in a sewer for 100 years. But I had to have it.

Back in the days when ringing a bell like this actually provided you with customer-service, a bell like this would be found on every front-desk, lobby, shop-counter and foyer in the world. This particular bell is admittedly, quite plain – there are ones which are extremely elaborate and unique, and which come in all shapes and sizes.

The bell is of a more familiar push-button design, and something which we’d recognise more readily as a service-bell, than say, my other one, which is probably from the 1860s or 70s, and is of a more antiquated, side-striking spring-toggle design:

1860s/70s side-toggle service-bell

But it differs in one main respect. Like the 1870s one above, that ugly duckling in the first picture is a pedestal bell, a style which lasted well into the 1900s, not finally dying out, to be replaced by the more squat, low-based bells which we have today, until probably the 1910s or after the First World War.

Anyway. Back to the bell.

I’d figured out roughly how old it was, and also, how the gong at the top was correctly oriented…Yeah there is actually a way that it fits onto the stand! I didn’t notice it either at first! But if you look at the picture at the top, you’ll notice that the hole drilled through the gong for the stand is NOT drilled dead-center. It’s actually off-center, on an angle.

That is done deliberately – it’s not a manufacturing-fault.

Drilling the hole like that forces the bell-top to sit lopsidedly on the stand. This means that one side of the bell-rim is higher than the other. If you look close, you’ll see that there’s a slight angle, with the left side of the edge higher than the right. It’s made like this so that when the button at the top is pushed, and the clapper underneath swings up (and to the left) to strike the bell, even with your hand or finger still on the button above, the clapper won’t touch the rim of the bell, and therefore, mute the sound – it allows the ring to sound freely and resonate – something that it couldn’t do if the gong was oriented the wrong way around, with the low side of the rim to the left. This would cause the clapper to rub against the underside of the bell, dulling the sound and not producing as loud or clear a ring.

Once I’d screwed the gong onto the bell correctly so that the clapper would strike it properly to produce the best ring, I wondered what I should do next. It is brass…maybe I should polish it?

A bell like this would originally have taken pride-of-place on some shop-counter or hotel desk, its golden yellow brass sparkling in the light from oil-lamps, candles, or the flame of a gas-mantle or an early form of electric-lighting. And I wanted to restore that shine, sheen and sparkle to the brass.

So. Out with the Brasso. Invented in 1905 and still shining to this day, Brasso is probably one of the best metal-polishes in the world. It stinks like hell and it’ll leave your hands as black as coal, but it does the job! It took me AGES of scrubbing and rubbing, wiping, buffing, over and over and over again to remove decades of tarnish, which had built up in caked-on layers of oxidation. But I finally got it all off. And I’d restored a golden shine!

Here is Before:

Dull, dark, tarnished, crusty, rusty, eugh…

…And here’s After:

Golden, polished, shiny brass, scrubbed and buffed to a mirror-finish!

The problem with brass is that…it tarnishes. Left to its own devices, it will eventually turn back to that dull, unsightly brown, tarnished, oxidised appearance all over again. What to do??

Brass has been used for centuries. Its colour, shine, sound and the fact that it’s impervious to rusting has made it an extremely popular metal. And that means that there’s LOADS of ways to clean brass. Everything from ketchup to toothpaste to lemon-juice and baking-soda, crushed salt and Worcestershire Sauce! But the problem is that most of these POLISH the brass…but don’t do much else. Once it’s polished, it’s polished and it’s done.

Of course the way to give the brass any sort of long-term tarnish-protection is to spray-coat it with clear lacquer. I don’t have any, and I’m not about to go out and buy any. That’s when I realised you could use something else at home to produce a similar effect. Not only does it polish the brass, it also gives it a protective coating. It’s not as effective or long-lasting as lacquer, but it does the job if you take care of it.

Olive oil.

A small bowl of oil, a paper-towel, and some elbow-grease not only cleans the brass, but after a bit of rubbing, it gives it a nice, protective layer a bit like lacquer. Obviously since it’s a natural product it won’t last as long, but it does what lacquer does, which is what you want it to do – which is slow down the tarnishing process, which is what brass will do, if you leave it alone. You’ll know that you’ve polished it enough with the oil when the cloth comes away clean from the brass. The layers of oil should keep the brass shiny for a nice long time 🙂

 

Return of the Winder – Some Things Just Die Hard

A while back, I made this post about trying to fix the malfunctioning bobbin-winder on my antique Singer sewing machine.

Despite my most determined efforts, and my initial success, it still failed to work flawlessly all the time. It kept jamming or loosening, and none of my adjustments worked well enough for it to be a lasting repair.

 In the end, I completely disassembled the winder to see how it was put together, and what were its component parts.

It assembles in this way:

Nut – Bolt -*WINDER-ARM* – Bolt – Washer – Toothed Wheel – Heart-Cam – Bolthead/screw-head.

My attempts to fix the jamming and loosening by adjusting the nut at the end of this assembly were unsuccessful. On a whim, I added a second, small, flat, round brass washer into the mix, between the bolt and the main wheel, but still kept the original washer (a flat, thin, slightly concave piece of metal) in-place. My guess was that the original washer was probably damaged or worn out from 70-odd years of use.

I reassembled the ‘new, and improved’ bobbin-winder, with the additional brass washer in place, and screwed everything in tight and firm.

And that has made all the difference, so it seems.

The addition of one small piece of metal has had the most remarkable, and pleasing result, in that the bobbin-winder now works 100% flawlessly! I’m very pleased with the results! Yay!!

 

 

My, What Big Teeth You Have!

Out of boredom, I decided to remove the dust-cover on my sewing-machine’s crank-assembly to see what it looked like underneath, and maybe clean it up a bit. This was what I found:

The crank-cover is held on by two screws. You can see them lying on the lid of the attachments-compartment under the balance-wheel. The screws are loosened and then the ring-shaped cover is simply slipped off and over the hand-crank to reveal the teeth of the gear-wheel behind it.


This was filled with old gunk and dried oil or grease. So I cleaned it out with some cotton-buds. Then, I put the cover back.

It’s nice to see the workmanship on something as simple as a pair of gear-wheels. The teeth are good and long, so they lock together really well. No chance of the gears slipping and failing to mesh together.

 

An Alarming Time with an Antique Air-Raid Siren!

Anyone who has been wondering why this blog has not been updated In a whole month will be glad to know that I have not just simply vanished off the face of the earth. For the last three weeks, I have been on holiday in the Peoples’ Republic of China. I visited three cities, Peking, Xi’an, and Shanghai. More of that in a future posting. This posting is to share the prize souvenir which I brought back home with me to Australia from my trip to the heart of the Orient!

A hand-cranked, handheld air-raid siren! Most likely dating back to the time of the Second Sino-Japanese war (1937-1945), this is the first military antique (or piece of ‘militaria’) that I have ever purchased, and at a fair bargain, too!

It was purchased at the Panjiayuan (‘Pan Ji’ya Yuan’) antiques and flea market in Peking. Anyone wanting to buy antiques in Peking is strongly advised to go here! I did, and I had a wonderful time – just remember to wear your poker face and haggle hard!

Is this siren rare? Not particularly. In all likelihood, hundreds, if not thousands of these things were produced by all sides during the Second World War. And it may well be a reproduction. But is it cool? You bet! Fold down the handles, lock in the crank, open the slide and let ‘er rip! Soon, that classic siren wail will be filling the air, sending people diving for cover! It is completely mechanical and is totally capable of sounding the alarm now, as it was nearly eighty years ago!

The siren comes complete with its original military green canvas carry-pouch, which, like the siren itself, certainly shows it’s age.

The History of the Air-Raid and it’s Siren

The first air-raids ever took place on London during the First World War. Carried out by the German Air Force, these first aerial attacks on a civilian population were done using zeppelin airships, the only craft large enough at the time to carry out practical, cross-channel raids.

British preparations for air-raids in the first war were nonexistent, and the strategies for coping with this new kind of attack were hastily thrown together in response to the threat hovering in the skies over London and other British towns and cities. A typical air-raid warning consisted of little more than London’s Special Constabulary (a volunteer force of citizen-policemen) walking or cycling around London, the familiar, discordant shriek of their ‘Metroplitan’-style police whistles providing the only form of rudimentary alarm. Considering that the screech of a police whistle was as common then as a police siren is today, not everyone paid attention, and probably paid with their lives.

Air-Raid Precautions (1924)

Fearing that thousands of Londoners might be killed in future European wars, an organization called Air-Raid Precautions was created in 1924, he aim of which was to develop strategies for the protection of London, other British cities, and their civilian populations, in the event of future air-attacks.

ARP was responsible for protecting and calming the civilian population of Great Britain during air-attacks, by providing warnings of raids and supervising safe evacuations, and by helping to maintain a citywide blackout that would confuse enemy aircraft flying overhead. Wardens were appointed whose job it was to enforce the blackout, and to assist the population during a raid, guiding them to air-raid shelters before the bombs started to fall.

The Wartime Air-Raid Siren

Air-raid sirens were developed in the late 1930s to warn people of the danger of upcoming aerial attacks or ‘air raids’ during the Second World War. A typical air-raid siren is comprised of a pair of cylinders or wheels, one spinning inside the other. The sound of the airflow constantly being interrupted is what gives the siren it’s distinctive droning wail. The faster a siren’s wheel spins, the louder the sound, and the higher the pitch, due to the more frequent interruption of airflow.

These sirens typically came in three general sizes:

Handheld, crank-operated ones, which could be operated by one man standing up (such as the one featured in this article)…

…medium-sized, manually operated sirens that were placed on portable stands…

…and finally, large, electrically powered sirens, typically mounted to large poles, or to the tops of large buildings.

Sirens normally produced two different types of alarms:

Red Alert”, or “Red Warning” – a continuous, up-down rolling wail – this is the classic wartime siren sound that we all know from movies, TV shows, and computer games. Hearing this meant that an attack was imminent and ongoing. Civilians were to make their ways to air-raid shelters immediately. Such alerts came in two forms: one was a general alarm. The other was the signal to seek immediate shelter.

In England during the Second World War, factories engaged in wartime manufacturing were expected to keep running after the first siren had gone, and to instruct their staff to seek shelter only upon hearing the second siren which signaled an imminent attack. If the first siren was a false alarm (and they did happen), then the factory would have stopped work for no reason, and precious time would have been lost.

“White Alert”, or “All Clear” – a long, continuous, rising note that sounded for a preset period of time, indicating that an attack was over. It would now be safe to come out of shelters, and continue with ones lives.

Air-Raid Sirens After the War

The drone of an air-raid siren is most commonly associated with the Second World War and the conflicts of the 1930s and ’40s. However, they continued to be used well after the end of the Second World War.

The onset of the Cold War in the late 1940s meant that these sirens, now also called ‘civil defense sirens’, were redeployed to warn of impending nuclear attacks. The two old wartime signals of ‘Red Alert’ and ‘White Alert’ were still used, but we’re now supplemented with other warnings which indicated the likelihood of an attack, to give civilians more time to evacuate to their fallout shelters. The new medium of television was also used, along with the old standby of radio.

With the ending of the Cold War in the late 1980s, these venerable sirens were given yet another lease of life. They are still used in the United States to warn of impending natural disasters, such as tornadoes, giving people an audible signal of the approach of danger, allowing them to escape to their storm-cellars and bunkers before the big one hits.

 

Antique Sewing-Machines – Cleaning the Decals

One of the BIG draw-cards for antique sewing machines are decals.

Decals are the decorative stencils and patterns which were transferred and printed onto the cast-iron bodies of these antique beauties back in the factory, when they were being made. Although most of these patterns were never given names, sewing machine collectors, restorers and users have given them names in modern times, to help us differentiate between them. Such as “Victorian“, “Egyptian Sphinx“, “Filigree“, “Indian Star“, “Lotus” and “Red Eye“, to name a few.

Antique sewing machines which have spent years and decades in rough storage can often have their decals dulled, gritted up and darkened by years of dust, grime and gunk which have gathered on the machine, and then dried and crusted over.

Some people leave the machines as they are. While others wish to buff them up and restore them. Understandably, some people are scared of doing this, for fear of simply scraping the paintwork off and losing the patterns altogether!

On a whim, I conducted a small experiment today.

My Singer 128k is my ongoing restoration-project. And for a while, the gunky, grimed up decals have been an eyesore to me. Pondering how to clean them, I discovered a very simple and easy method:

Steel Wool. 

To buff the decals and polish and scrape off all the accumulated grime, dust, grease, cigarette smoke, nicotine and other gunk that has built up on the surface of my Singer, I used extremely fine-grit steel wool.

You can buy this stuff at your hardware shop. It comes in lumps in cardboard boxes like cotton wool. Buy the FINEST GRADE steel-wool – nothing else. Finest-grade steel-wool is specifically for polishing and buffing and removing gunk and rust.

Tear off a small lump, about the size of your thumb. Roll it into a ball or mash it into a pad, and then simply buff and polish away on the decals to remove the grime.

Here are the results:

Before (on the left), and After (on the right)

Here’s the decal at the base of the head:

Before: Dull, dark and covered in grime

After: Bright, clear and shiny! Don’t worry about the white specks you see everywhere. That’s the dust and lint from the steel-wool. You can just wipe it off later with a piece of tissue-paper

Here’s the main “SINGER” decal:

Look at how dark and brown the decal around the screw-head is

After a buffing with steel-wool, it looks like this:

Oooooh…!!!

This is the decal on the other side of the pillar:

Oh yuuuuck! Eww…

Clean and pretty!

The set of decals on this machine are called the Victorian.

Gosh this is satisfying 🙂 How’s that old Brylcreem ad go?

Steel wool,
A little clump’ll do yah,
Use more, only if you dare,
Watch out, the re-sults may surprise you,
You’ll want to try and use it everywhere… 

…it’s also great for polishing your knob…

Reflecty! Ooh…

…on the end of your sewing machine, that is!

 

Chop-Chop! The History of Asian Name-Seals

Ever been to Japan? Hong Kong? China? Singapore? Ever gone to the local Chinatowns or flea-markets or department-stores? Or those little kiosks that you find inside sprawling shopping-malls?

If you have, then you’ve probably seen those tables selling dozens and dozens of rectangular blocks of soapstone (and other stones), with intricately-carved handles and heads, which are used for the production of Asian name-seals. Also called name-stamps, or ‘chops’.

What are these things, and what are they used for? Why on earth would you buy one, own one, or use one?

It stamps, it seals, it chops!

For ease of understanding, the devices in this posting shall be referred to as name-seals, or chops. Invented in Ancient China, name-seals are common throughout Asia. You can find them in China, Japan, Korea, Taiwan, Singapore, and Hong Kong. But only in the first four of these countries are they really used for their actual purpose.

Chops have existed in China since ancient times. They were first used during the Shang Dynasty, which ruled China starting in 1600B.C. By the Han Dynasty (206B.C. – 220A.D.), they were becoming commonplace and started spreading around Asia, most notably to Korea and Japan. Seals were originally used only by those high in society. Emperors. Lords. Samurai warriors. As the number of warlords and samurai grew during the 15th century, when Japan was experiencing civil war, the number of seals being cut and carved grew, slowly spreading down the social scale.

Seals were eventually used by almost all classes of people. Emperors had enormous, ceremonial seals for marking important government documents, like the Great Seals in Western society. Shopkeepers and merchants might have seals which would be stamped on receipts, bills and notices. Ordinary working people would have seals to sign letters, parcels or to mark important legal documents.

What are Chops Made Of?

Chops or seals are made of many different materials. The most common are soapstone, wood, ivory, gold, jade, and in more recent times, titanium and plastic.

Most of the ones that you buy at those little Chinese shops and stalls are made of soapstone. As far as rocks go, soapstone is soft, and easily carved. This makes it ideal for being used for seals, which must be intricately engraved by hand to create the Chinese, Korean and Japanese characters in reverse on the base of each seal. Soapstone is largely made up of the mineral talc, from which talcum-powder is produced. So you can see why it’s so soft and easily carved!

A traditional Chinese seal with its dish of red, inky paste.

Chop-carving or seal-carving is considered an art in Asia. All throughout China, Japan, Korea, Singapore, and Hong Kong, as well as in large Asian expat-communities in the western world, there are master carvers who produce seals with intricate designs carved into their tops. This is a process considered just as fiddly and eye-bending as the carving of the Asian characters into the base of the seal, which must be done, not only in a tiny space the size of a postage-stamp, not only in reverse, but also either engraved or carved out. Engraving the characters into the base of the seal means that when it’s stamped onto the paper, the characters appear white. When doing the reverse, the characters will be inked, but the background will be white. Carving out the gullies deep enough either side of the character-strokes to produce this second effect takes great care and precision. It’s all done by hand with sharp carving-knives.

The Names of the Seal

They’re called name-seals, but they don’t ‘seal’ in the way that Western seals (made of brass or gold) do, when they’re pressed into hot wax. Asian seals are more like stamps, used to punch out an inked impression onto paper.

Asian seals are also commonly called ‘chops’. This comes from the Hindi and Malay words ‘Chapa‘, and ‘cap‘, meaning stamp or seal. These words eventually evolved into the word ‘Chop’ today.

In Chinese, seals are called ‘Yin’, and ‘In’ in Japanese.

Sealing-Ink

In the western world, seals are used with sticks of sealing-wax. In Asia, seals are used with a thick, paste ink. In Asia, just like in Europe, red is the most common and popular colour. Mostly because it stands out clearly against white paper, and cannot be mistaken for something else.

Sealing ink is thick and pasty. If it’s too fluid, it won’t stick to the bottom of the seal. It’d just drip off like water. Or it wouldn’t coat the seal sufficiently enough to leave a clear mark on the paper.

Sealing ink, or sealing paste, is typically made of three ingredients: Castor-oil, crushed cinnabar, and either strands of silk, or the ground-up root of the Mugwort plant (called Moxa). If you have kids around, make sure they don’t eat this stuff!…Cinnabar is another name for raw mercury-ore!

Relax. It’s perfectly safe so long as you wash your hands and don’t put the stuff in your mouth…or do something silly like lick the base of your seal before washing it.

What are Seals Used For?

In the Western world, seals are largely ceremonial. They’re used on formal letters and invitations, important documents, or to adorn letters and parcels sent between friends who wish to add a bit of creative flair to their writing. But they’re not often used beyond this.

In Asia, things could not be more different.

While you might buy one as a souvenir, in China and Japan, seals are part of everyday life. It’s taken for granted that almost everyone has one, and that everyone will use it. To the Chinese and Japanese, seals are more important than your signature. Signatures can be forged. But a seal, which is hand-carved, is unique. It cannot be copied except when you either steal the seal, or cut an exact replica.

In Asia, seals are used for everything. Signing a letter? Seal. Marriage-records? Seal. Bank-documents? Seal. Legal documents? Seal. Signing in for work? Seal. Authorising something or giving permission in a form? Seal. Signing a cheque? Seal. Signing for a package or some other form of registered mail? Seal. Birth-certificates? Death certificates? Car-registration? Seal. Seal. Seal.

Seals are used for almost everything. But to prevent tampering, forgery and theft, seals must be registered. They’re not treated as toys in Asia – they’re treated as legally-binding devices. Every seal that you have cut must be registered at a local office which keeps tabs on seals. These offices will keep a record of the seal. Who it belongs to, who they are, details about their personal life, contact-information, as well as an imprint of the seal in their files. Registered seals are issued with seal-certificates. These documents are used to certify that a particular seal can be used to sign legally-binding documents such as contracts, registrations, records, banking-details and so-forth.

Seals in Asia are so important that while most people will only carry one, some people will have three or four of them, depending on their professions. A seal for general correspondence between friends and family. A seal for business transactions, a seal for banking, a seal for filling out forms. In artistic circles, there are even MORE seals. A painter is likely to have his own artistic seal, used to stamp his finished artworks (similar to how a Western painter would sign his name in the corner). Seals are also used by authors to sign books, and other pieces of writing. There are even seals cut by seal-carvers to indicate their craft and profession. Due to the skill needed to carve intricate characters in such a tiny space (about the size of a postage-stamp), seal-carving is a recognised art and profession in Asian countries.

Who here has read the famous memoir, “Mao’s Last Dancer” by Chinese author Li Cunxin? Grab a copy. Any copy. Open it. Turn to the last page. His signature…and his seal, overlapping.

The seal of Li Cunxin, overlapping his signature written in English. Taken from my own copy of ‘Mao’s Last Dancer’

Seals range from small, personal ones, to enormous seals used by governments. The Japanese Emperor has his own seal, which functions much as a Great Seal of State for the United States, or the United Kingdom, to sign and mark important documents of national importance. Called the Privy Seal of Japan, the Emperor’s seal was used to seal the Japanese Surrender in 1945.

Seals in Asian Culture

Seals in Asian culture are very important. In a number of Asian countries, they’re still used in-lieu of signatures, which are more easily-forged. Since seals are carved by hand and great care must be taken in their production, it’s much harder to produce a seal-forgery. On top of that, seals are easily carried around and are compact, strong and long-lasting. They enjoy a history going back thousands of years. In Japan, law actually requires you to own a seal with which to sign documents and other important items.

How to Use a Seal/Chop?

Due to their hard surfaces, Chinese seals are not like conventional rubber stamps. They must be inked and applied in a very specific manner to get the best impression on the paper.

Don’t just JAM the seal into the paste and wriggle it around and hope for the best. All this does is flood the seal with ink and you end up with garbage on the paper.

Instead, the seal is lightly dabbled onto the ink-pad, softly and evenly. This builds up a coating of paste on the surface of the seal-base. The seal is then pressed firmly into the paper. Rock it left to right and back and forth, to evenly distribute the ink, and then lift. Clean the seal afterwards to prevent ink-build-ups. Don’t slam it down on the paper. Again, all this does is flood the seal’s grooves with ink, destroying the impression and not leaving one that is clearly defined. It helps to have some sort of padding (paper, a book, the leather surface of a desk) to absorb the pressure of the seal as it’s pressed and rocked into the paper, to leave a sharp, clear impression.

Closing with a Personal Touch…

My personal seal, with my name in Chinese characters (Zhang Sha Han):

Carved from soapstone, with a traditional ceramic dish of cinnabar sealing-paste. Applied properly, the result is what you see on the left. Pretty, huh?

More Information?

“Begin Japanology” – Episode – ‘Name Seals’.

 

Singer 128 – Fixing a Malfunctioning Bobbin-Winder

For fifteen quid, you don’t expect much and don’t generally get much in return. Such was the case when I purchased a “display-purposes only” interwar-era Singer 128 vibrating-shuttle machine in London.

Over the last year or so I’ve been steadily sorting it out, bit by bit. Finding slide-plates, keys, extra bobbins, even a case-lid and attachments. But for all my progress, one problem eluded all my attempts to fix it.

The bobbin-winder.

The offending bobbin-winder!

I had tried cleaning, oiling, tightening, loosening, disassembly, reassembly…I’d just about given up hope of ever getting it working. But the problem is, it’s a huge pain in the ass winding a bobbin on these antique long-bobbin machines, without the bobbin-winder.

The Problem

The issue was that every time the winder was engaged and was operating, the large, central screw (in the middle of the heart-cam) would rotate and shift, and either become too loose, or too tight against the winder. This creates a lot of friction, jamming or disengaging the winding-mechanism as a result. The only way for the mechanism to work was to hold the screw in-place, with a screwdriver, while you operated the crank. Hardly an ideal situation.

The Solution

If the screw holding the bobbin-winder could be placed in its optimum position, and be induced to STAY there, then the jamming and friction would cease to be an issue. All previous attempts to address this issue had failed. Until today.

Taking a closer look at the mechanism, I determined that this big central screw is held in-place on the machine via a nut at the back, which holds it onto the winder-body. If I could adjust the nut (which is fiddly, because it’s right at the back, where you can’t see it. You can only feel it with your fingers), then the screw at the front would cease to move. Problem solved!

So, I positioned the screw in its ideal position. I held it in-place with a screwdriver while I tightened and loosened the nut behind it, with a pair of pliers. I was doing this entirely by trial and error, trying to get the right tension on the screw and nut. It has to be loose enough that the wheel and heart-cam spin smoothly, but not so loose that the wheel doesn’t engage the winding-thread connected to the bobbin-wheel.

The Result

It took a while, but I finally got it! Now, I can run the bobbin-winder without it jamming. The winder-arm now runs smoothly from the right…

…to the left…

…and back again, over and over and over, without the screw coming loose, turning around, and jamming up the works anymore! The addition of a bobbin and a spool of thread to the equation causes no problems at all!

Winding a Bobbin on a V.S. Machine

Winding a bobbin on a vibrating-shuttle machine is a minor adventure.

Unlike later round-bobbin machines (Singer 99, 66, 201, 15, etc), which have automatic-stop toggles built into the winders, V.S. machines (27, 28 & variants) simply wind the bobbin. They don’t do anything else.

Round-bobbin machines have toggles or catches built into the winder. As the bobbin fills with thread, it presses against the toggle. When the bobbin is full, the thread forces the toggle back, disengaging the winder automatically.

Some GERMAN vibrating-shuttle machines came with mechanisms such as this, and I believe, so did some American ones. But as a rule, Singer vibrating-shuttle machines did not. So when you wind a bobbin on one of these machines, you have to be careful not to over-wind it. Otherwise the bobbin will be so full of thread, you won’t fit it into the shuttle!

 

What’s That Tune? No. 3. More Stories Behind Famous Pieces of Music

Title? “Entrance of the Gladiators” / AKA: “Thunder and Blazes!”
Who? Julius Fucik (“Foochick“)
When? 1897
What? Military March

Roll up! Roll up! See the bearded lady, the Fat Boy, the Incredible Hulk! Witness feats of daring do, of amazing acrobatics, stunt-riding and trick-shooting! Young and old, big and small, come him, and you, and them, and all!

If you’ve ever been to the circus, then you’ve probably heard this piece of music! Or even if you’ve NEVER been to the circus, the moment you hear this tune, it’ll conjour up images of juggling clowns, ponies, horses, fire-eaters and knife-throwers!

Entrance of the Gladiators” was written in the 1890s by Czech composer Julius Fucik. It was originally titled “Grande Marche Chromatique“, or the “Grand Chromatic March”, to reflect its rolling use of scales. It was retitled as ‘Gladiators’ due to Fucik’s fascination with the Ancient Roman Empire.

The piece was originally meant to be a triumphal military march. In 1910, Canadian composer Louis-Philippe Laurendeau rearranged the piece for a small, brass band, and retitled it “Thunder and Blazes“.

It was at the same time that it gained its now legendary status as the quintessential circus score, something that it has now held for over a hundred years!

Title? “The Sabre Dance”
Who? Aram Khachaturian
When? 1942
What? Ballet Music

Although not as frequently-used as the piece above, Khachaturian’s ‘Sabre Dance’ is one of the most recognisable pieces of music in the world, and has been used in circus-acts to comic effect, to indicate frantic activity, chaos and panic.

Written during the Second World War, the piece is meant to recall traditional Armenian sabre-dances, acted out with swords, and was produced to be part of the final act of the ballet “Gayane“, which premiered in Russia on the third of December the same year.

Title? “Also Sprach Zarathustra
Who? Richard Strauss
When? 1896
What? Symphonic Poem

Famous for its use in the film “2001: A Space Odyssey“, ‘Also Sprach’ was composed by Richard Strauss in 1896, after he was inspired by a work written by Fredrich Nietzsche.

The part which most people are familiar with is the movement called “Sunrise”, depicting the grand dawning of the sun. The whole piece actually runs for over half an hour!

Title?When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again
Who? Patrick Gilmore
When? 1863
What? Song. March.

In the early 1860s, the United States was hardly united. Feeling threatened by the election of new president Abraham Lincoln and his new policies, state after state of the Old South secedes from the Union, to form the Confederate States. To preserve the country which their fathers and grandfathers fought and died for, Lincoln prepares the nation for war.

The tune above is probably best known to most people as “The Ants go Marching”, but it was actually written back in the 1860s by Irish-American composer Patrick Gilmore, tentatively celbrating the end of the War and the return of the union soldiers to the safety of their homes.

Title? The Fountain in the Park
Who? Ed Haley
When? 1884
What? Popular Song.

Even though it is over 120 years old, ‘The Fountain in the Park‘, also called ‘While Strolling through the Park One Day‘, is one of the most famous popular songs ever written.

It’s famous for its countless appearances in popular TV shows, cartoons and feature films. To name but a few: The Simpsons, Disney cartoon shorts, Tom & Jerry Cartoons, Alvin and the Chipmunks, and even the Flinstones! It was even sung by astronauts on the moon!

The song recounts a young man’s saunter through the local park “in the merry month of May“, and his encounter with a young lady which he meets there.

Few other songs written during the Victorian era have remained as popular, as frequently used, and as well-recognised as this one.

Title? The Charleston
Who? J.P. Johnson
When? 1923
What? Dance Number

Ah, the Charleston! This is the song, and dance, which made the Twenties Roar. This fast-paced, bouncy jazz tune is synonymous with prohibition, Art Deco, flappers, and wild, drug-pumped parties, and of course – the famous dance.

Originally composed by African American musician James Price Johnson in 1923, this song came to define the carefree, wild reputation of the “Roaring Twenties”, when the restrictions and formalities of the Victorian era were thrown off and a new youthful excitement filled the air.

Title? The Flight of the Bumblebee
Who? Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov
When? 1900
What? Orchestral Interlude

Did you ever master your scales while learning the piano?

Yeah, I never did, either…

You’d probably need to, for a piece like this.

Written for the opera “The Tale of Tsar Saltan“, in the closing years of the 19th century, Rimsky-Korsakov’s epic, ‘The Flight of the Bumblebee‘, is world-famous for its frantic pace and wavering ‘buzzing’ sound, which mimics the buzzing of a flying bumblebee.

Used in countless cartoons and TV shows, and performed in talent shows around the world, this piece has remained popular for over a century and has had numerous reinventions.

Title? Miserlou
Who? Tetos Demetriades (first known recording)
When? 1927
What? Greek folk-song.

“Miserlou” (meaning “Egyptian”, in Turkish) is one of the most famous songs in the world. Most people are familiar with its pulsing, upbeat 1960s rendition by Dick Dale and the Deltones, which evokes visions of white sandy beaches, blazing summer sunshine and surfer-boys slicing through the waves…

But how many people have ever heard the original version?

A Greek folk-song of uncertain origin, it was first recorded for posterity by Greek singer Tetos Demetriades in 1927. The music was popular with belly-dancers and evoked back then, visions of the deserts of the Middle East and far-off Arabia, instead of the sands of Hawaii or California.

Additional recordings of the song were made throughout the 1930s and 40s, by Greek, and later, American musicians, rewriting it for jazz, the pop-music of the era. But it wouldn’t be until 1962 and the surf-rock version, that the song would attain the worldwide fame for which it is known today.