From the early 1800s until the 1930s, China – the Central Kingdom – did a lot of trade with the west. Not all of it willingly, but a lot of it, in the various types of merchandise, materials and curiosities that Western audiences were very eager to acquire: Chinese silks, Chinese porcelain, Chinese tea, various oriental spices, and even Chinese silverware!
These various types of merchandise – furniture, porcelain, silks, silver and suchlike – were known as “exportware” – because they were deliberately made in China, for export (or internal sale in the Concessions) to Western markets. Today, such articles of exportware can be very valuable, and are often sought-after by collectors. A couple of weeks ago, I landed myself my own small piece of exportware – a lovely pair of Chinese export silver chopsticks.
This lovely pair of chopsticks, in solid silver, feature beautiful twisting grips that taper down to thin, cylindrical points, and have lovely carved rings set near the base of the grips, to show where one’s fingers should grip the chopsticks when in use. A set like this would’ve been purchased as a personal set, for individual use – either by the buyer, or as a gift for someone else. Fancy silver chopsticks like this would not have been cheap, but they would certainly have been treasured!
Sets like these are typical of those made in the late 1800s through to the early 1900s, and they’re sometimes identified as “travel” chopsticks. This is because, as you’ll have noticed – they are chained together at the top!
Chaining the sticks together is a deliberate act, and would’ve been done when the chopsticks were being made. It’s actually a far more common practice than you might think, and I’ve seen it done with several sets of antique personal-use chopsticks such as these, in the past. The whole point of the chaining is to prevent the sticks from being separated, and to stop them from being lost. This appears to have been common with personal silver sets like this – but less common with other sets – I’ve never seen this practice applied to antique chopstick-pairs which weren’t made of silver, suggesting that they weren’t valuable enough to warrant this extra effort of making, and then securing, a chain to the top of the sticks to prevent separation.
Using the Chopsticks
So, does the chain get in the way of anything? Does it make the chopsticks harder to use?
Honestly? No!
When held properly and used correctly, the back-end of a pair of chopsticks never moves more than a fraction of an inch, so provided that a proper grip is maintained – the chain will never pose an issue to effective chopstick use – and you’ll be able to eat quite comfortably!
If anything, the fact that the chopsticks are made of silver, is one of the main issues in using them. The silver is really thin, which can make the sticks fiddly to hold, and the tips are really smooth – which means there may not always be sufficient friction to grip the food – so basically eating noodles with these things is an exercise in futility…but anything else that isn’t slick or slippery, should be no more difficult than eating with any other chopsticks.
How old Are They?
The fact that they are export silver chopsticks would mean that a set like these are at least 100 years old. The wear on the silver and the discoloration just from regular use, is enough proof of their age already. On top of that, the heavy use has not only given the sticks a lot of wear and patina, but they’ve also meant that neither stick is 100% straight, either!
Rolling, pressing, and applying gentle pressure has eased out the worst of the warping, but they’ll never be 100% straight…maybe 95%, but that’s about it. This is the sort of wear that only comes from regular use over many, many decades of ownership, and I think it only makes them more quirky and desirable, as well as providing proof of their age.
You honestly never know what you’ll find when you’re browsing the flea-market.
I picked up this neat little walking stick about a week ago!
Normally I don’t buy walking sticks, but I do find them fascinating. For the longest time, walking sticks of one variety or another were popular all over the world, from China to Chile, England to America, Europe to Ecuador! A tradition dating back literally thousands of years, people carrying walking sticks has been done for all kinds of reasons – fashion, infirmity, self-defense, to complete an outfit, to make a statement, to fend off attack, or to assist in traversing rough terrain.
Walking sticks were at their height of popularity in the 1700s, 1800s, and early 1900s, when people were traveling and moving around more than ever.
A typical walking stick is comprised of three or four parts:
The Handle
The handle is the grip at the top of the walking stick. It’s either a curved crook, a T-shaped ‘derby’ handle, or else some kind of knob or grip. This can be as elaborate or as simple as you like – topped with brass, sterling silver, ivory, bone, glass, pearl, or even solid gold – if your pocketbook can stretch that far!
The Collar
The collar is the area directly beneath the handle. This serves a mostly decorative function, and is designed to make the transition between the handle to the body of the stick more pleasing. Collars were usually brass, silver, or gold. Sometimes, they were engraved with things like dates, names, dedications or inscriptions, if, for example, the stick was a gift or presentation, or if the owner wished to identify it in the event of loss.
The Shaft
The main body of a walking stick is known as the shaft. It can be made of almost anything! Wood, bamboo, rattan, bone, glass, or even ivory!
The Ferrule
The ferrule is the spot at the very bottom of the walking stick. Today, most ferrules are made of rubber or leather, but in times past, ferrules were often made of sterling silver, brass, or steel. The point of the ferrule is to protect the base of the shaft from contact with the ground. Constant striking and scraping would damage a stick very easily, and cause the shaft to crack, split, or shatter! To stop this, the ferrule took the impact of any strikes against the ground, and prevented the stick’s base from wearing out. If or when a ferrule wore out – it was easily replaced – without damaging the stick itself.
The Stick I Found at the Market
So what about this stick? What’s the story behind that?
Well, as I said, I picked it up at the market – cheap – because the handle was badly damaged. It was cracked and worn out, and had been broken at some point. It had been replaced at one point with a new walking stick header or topper, but this was only crudely attached – and came off easily – as you can see.
That being the case – why did I buy it?
Well, I was interested in it for a number of reasons…
One – the body or shaft was of an unusual material – it may not be immediately obvious – but it’s actually made – not from wood – but from bamboo! You might notice that the stick is not fully straight – it curves and bends slightly, due to the nature of the bamboo when it was growing – which makes the stick a little quirky!
Two – the stick had a silver handle – and I liked that. I’ve always liked silver, and that attracted me to it. But lots of walking sticks have silver handles – so what? Well – this led me to the third part of the stick which I liked…
Three – the collar! This was what really interested me in the stick – not the handle, not the fact it was broken, not the bamboo – but the collar. The reason I was so interested in it was because the collar (and presumably the original handle, at one point) featured all kinds of Chinese motifs on it, which I thought was really cute! Wrapped around the top of the stick was a silver collar – roughly an inch and a half wide – and it was festooned with trees, palms, and figures dressed in old, Chinese attire, and little Oriental-style buildings in the background in hills and streams…and I thought – it’s adorable! And so topical – for fairly obvious reasons!
So after solid haggling, I got it half-price, and walked off with it, swinging it through the air for fun.
Fixing the Handle
Despite my best efforts, repairing the – by now – at least twice-previously-repaired handle – was just not going to be easy. And yet – also surprisingly easy – all at the same time.
The original handle was just a flat plate across the top of the collar – this much I could tell just from looking at the stick – there was no attachment point for anything more elaborate like a crosspiece or a chunk of ivory, etc. This had been replaced at some point by a dome-top, which was all dinged up from use – striking against things and so on. This was wobbly and loose, and when I got it home, it eventually fell off altogether when the stick was unbalanced and hit the floor!
That was when I realised just how badly the replacement repair had been made! The replacement knob was just cheap, silver hollow-ware – basically a shell of paper-thin silver which had been stuck on the top of the stick – and stuck badly, too, if one good knock was all it took to break it off! And when I mean the silver was paper-thin, I mean literally paper thin – you could rip it in half with your fingers – and it was completely hollow underneath, to boot. All in all, a completely useless repair for a part of the stick which is designed to take the full weight of the user.
Fortunately, my little mishap did not damage the reason why I bought the stick in the first place – the beautiful silver collar.
Repairing the Damage
The real challenge came with repairing the top of the stick – and this proved to be surprisingly easy to do. I found some silver of a suitable shape, size and thickness in the box of broken silver scraps which I keep aside whenever I buy antiques. In digging through it, I found a large, sterling silver cufflink with a broken toggle. I broke the toggle off with a pair of pliers, and placed it over the damaged spot on the top of the stick – it matched up perfectly!
Mixing up some epoxy, I filled the gap left by the broken handle, with enough glue to completely flood any gaps, so that we wouldn’t have another cave-in. The overflow from this gap-filling would be sufficient to seat the new handle-topper over the damaged area, and make the stick resemble, more or less, what it would’ve looked like when it was new, back in the 1800s. It was just a matter of sticking it down, and adjusting the positioning so that the rim of the new header lined up with the uppermost rim of the decorative silver collar.
Some slight misalignment was inevitable (because of the aged nature of the materials involved, and the previous damage to the handle), but I’d say it was 99% successful! I found a suitable place to stand the stick upright, and left it alone overnight to cure.
Come morning – the stick was good as new!
The diameter of the old cufflink which I used as a handle-topper is SLIGHTLY wider than the width of the collar-top at its widest point. This means that now, the handle flares out ever-so-slightly, and tapers down towards the collar – which is a really nice effect. Plus, it allows you to hang the stick easily between your fingers without having to actually grip it.
The slightly off-kilter nature of the repair matches with the battered look of the collar underneath, and doesn’t make it look like anybody was trying too hard to be perfect with a flawless repair that would be jarring with the overall appearance of the stick. Last but not least – being able to use silver – a proper, solid piece of silver – to fix the handle meant that both the collar, and the handle were now made of solid silver which was not going to break off, crack, rip off or drop off anytime soon – and the stick should be good to go for another 150-odd years!
What do we Know about this Stick?
A stick like this is certainly no modern manufactured geriatric support aid. Oh no. Definitely not.
A stick like this has age, has use, and has been around the block more than a few dozen times!
Looking closely at the stick, there are several indicators of age, and also, of country or region of origin.
On top of that there’s the silver collar. It’s festooned and decorated with all kinds of Asian themes – people in robes with Asian features, Asian-style buildings and flora, and just a whole ‘Oriental’ vibe. This overt Oriental decoration points to it being made in Asia (if the shaft material alone didn’t suggest that!) – and most likely for export to the West.
The collar has no hallmarks on it – Asian silver in those days was rarely marked – and when it was, they wouldn’t have bothered with something as insignificant and small as a walking-stick handle! On top of that, there’s all kinds of minor damage to the stick. For example – the shaft has loads of cracks in it from where the bamboo has dried out (I filled and clamped some of these with glue, to improve the structural integrity of the stick) – and the silver collar has all kinds of little dings and chips from where it’s been handled – again – not something you can easily fake.
Last but not least – is the length of the ferrule.
The ferrule is the cap at the bottom of the stick, remember? And this can be used in dating the stick.
Later sticks, those made in the late 1800s and into the 1900s, typically had shorter, less substantial ferrules, while earlier sticks from the 1700s and earlier 1800s, had longer, more substantial ferrules.
Why?
Well – it was because of the state of the roads and transport at the time! Paved roads is something we take for granted today, but for most of history, very few roads – in town, and especially in the country – were ever paved. And if they were, they were paved with cobblestones or similar, which were hard-wearing, to the point of destruction! Because of this, earlier walking sticks needed thicker, longer ferrules to guard against the scraping and chipping on cobbles or bluestone pavers, and to protect against mud, ooze, dirt and water, which could rot the base of the walking stick. To stop this from happening, sticks were made with thicker-based ferrules with longer shafts covering more of the walking stick to give extra protection.
As paving improved and roads became less hazardous, walking stick ferrules became smaller and smaller, since less of the shaft had to be protected from mud, water and grime now, and the hard wear on the tip was less likely.
Since this stick has quite a substantial ferrule (nearly two inches!) it had to be an older one, since a more modern stick would only be about half an inch, to an inch at most.
All in all – a beautiful antique, and one with a fascinating past which we can only guess at.
These four little ivory fellas (yes, they are ivory) were my latest score at the flea-market, and they are a miniature representation of the famous “Four Wise Monkeys”.
Parodied endlessly in memes, cartoons, statues, and kitschy little nicknacks like this, the wise monkeys have been around for thousands of years! But who are they? What are their origins? What are their names? Where do they come from? Today, we find out.
Hey, Hey! We’re the Monkeys!
Before we begin, just who are the “four wise monkeys”?
From left to right, we have: See no Evil (covering eyes), Hear no Evil (covering ears), Speak no Evil (covering mouth), and finally – Do no Evil (covering crotch).
The Four Wise Monkeys date back thousands and thousands of years, and are said to be the embodiment of four virtues or beliefs to lead a peaceful and harmonious life – namely, not to badmouth others, not to listen to evil thoughts or deeds, not to speak ill of others, and not to commit unlawful acts. But where exactly do these four most famous of tenets come from?
The first-ever hint of anything relating to the four monkeys (or at least, of their four sayings) dates back to the second century B.C.E, and was written out as “Look not at what is contrary to propriety; listen not to what is contrary to propriety; speak not what is contrary to propriety; make no movement which is contrary to propriety“, giving us, not only the four sayings, but also, the original order in which they were positioned.
But who was it who spoke so eloquently, so deeply, and yet, so succinctly? A Chinese philosopher of almost mythical status – that’s who! A man, who, even two thousands years after his death, is still remembered to this day.
A man named…Kong Qiu…but whom his students called “Kong Fuzhi” – and who is known to western audiences by the Latinised name – Confucius! Yes indeed!
The statement above is taken from Confucius’s “Lun Yu“, or Book of Selected Sayings – usually translated into English as the Analects of Confucius, or Sayings of Confucius – a series of sayings or proverbs recorded by Confucius, and by Confucian scholars during, and after his lifetime.
The Origin of the Monkeys
‘Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage‘. Thus spake the English poet Richard Lovelace, in 1642.
While that may be true – so is it also true that one series of proverbs from some old Chinese guy, do not immediately translate into a cutesy little catchphrase, which may or may not be uttered by four adorable little primates, sitting in a row.
And if that be true – then where did the four monkeys come from? Who are the famous ‘Four Wise Monkeys’? What’s their origin?
The answer? Japan!
In Japanese culture, the monkeys were originally three in number, and were known as Mizaru (see no evil), Kikazaru (hear no evil), Iwazaru (speak no evil) and finally – when a fourth monkey was included – Sezaru (do no evil). It’s because of this Japanese origin that the monkeys are traditionally depicted as Japanese Macaques – a breed of monkey which is – as the name suggests – native to Japan.
While the saying (or a variation of it) likely came from China, the addition of the monkeys or macaques, is almost certainly Japanese. So – where did that come from?
It’s believed that the first depiction of the monkeys comes from the Nikko Tosho-gu shinto shrine, in the Japanese city of…Nikko…as the name suggests. The depiction was in the form of wooden carvings on a doorframe – and these carvings are believed to be the first artistic representation of this kind. The shrine dates back to 1617.
Over time, the three (sometimes four) monkeys became synonymous with the Confucian saying, and the two were melded together as being one and the same, even though they started out as two entirely separate entities – the phrase coming from China, and the monkeys from Japan.
Back to the Ivory Monkeys
OK, so much for the history. But what about these four little guys themselves, what’s their story?
In all likelihood – they’re a tourist piece. Ivory carvings made from leftover chunks of scrap ivory used to make larger items, were very popular in the 1800s and early 1900s as cheap, kitschy little souvenirs. These were sold in countries like Singapore, Hong Kong, Indonesia, and so-on, to Western tourists coming from Australia, the Americas, Britain, or Europe. Even back then, ivory was very expensive, so every last piece was used, and what was used, was used sparingly. That’s why even something this small (the little monkey-figures are only 1.25 inches tall!) was considered worthwhile to carve – purely due to the scarcity and expense of the material.
All in all, it’s a cute little piece, and I’m very happy to add it to my collection of antique ivory.
With the closure of one of my local antiques centers imminent, a lot of the local dealers have been trying to liquidate their stock, and this involved some of them taking it to the local weekend flea-market to try and sell it off at greatly reduced prices.
That was how I got my hands on this curious little device!
I love anything to do with writing, antiques, history, and silver, and when this little doohickey showed up and scratched all those itches at once – I had to buy it!
Never seen one before? I’m not surprised. They’re not exactly common.
This long, square, silver tube is a device known as a sealing-wax dispenser! It would’ve held a long, square stick of sealing wax, which the user could extend or retract using the sliding silver toggle on the side of the tube.
It was made in England, and has full English hallmarks on the sides, dating it to London, 1904.
The dispenser measures six inches long, and is perfectly square. Inside is a sliding metal collar which is used to grip the sealing wax when it’s pressed into the tube.
But you might ask – why does such a thing exist?
It’s simple, really. Dispensers like this were intended to make the process of melting sealing-wax easier. The extender-slide on the side of the dispenser allowed the user to advance the stick of wax and melt it with a candle or cigarette lighter, while also keeping one’s fingers as far away from the flame as possible – something which would become harder and harder as the stick of wax got progressively shorter. Burning your fingers on hot sealing wax is something you’d never forget doing!…I speak from experience.
Devices for holding, melting and dispensing sealing wax used to be very common in the 1800s and early 1900s, especially with the rise of official government postal systems which made written correspondence faster and cheaper. Along with wax dispensers like these, there were also wax-jacks, and even wax-melters, which had little spirit stoves and spoons for heating, melting and pouring the liquid hot wax.
Part of the reason for such an array of devices specifically for sealing wax was because of the nature of sealing wax itself.
A sterling silver sealing-wax jack
Unlike candle-wax, which is deliberately soft and pliable, for easy melting, sealing wax – traditional sealing-wax, anyway – has an entirely different composition. Along with the wax and the colourant to make it red, black, blue or whatever other colour (red is the most traditional), sealing wax has a third ingredient: Shellac. It’s this shellac which gives the wax its distinctive hardness and makes it harder to melt. This also means that it’s harder to break, which keeps the letter or parcel more secure once sealed. And if it is broken, then it’s impossible to put back together again, which tells the recipient that the parcel or document had been opened before its delivery.
But it’s because traditional sealing wax is harder, and harder to melt, that all these devices were invented. None of them are strictly necessary (you can easily melt sealing wax without them), but they make a tricky and potentially painful task much easier, and more pleasant overall.
This is pretty neat, huh? I bought this on eBay about a month ago, as an addition to my collection of writing instruments. I’ve always wanted a drop-action pencil, ever since a friend showed me one in her own collection. One day I was browsing eBay, and found a few which were for sale, and ended up buying this slick, smooth-sided cylindrical deal from the late Edwardian era.
The pencil is in sterling silver, and is made by the famed English manufacturer, Sampson Mordan & Co.
Sampson Mordan – the man, not the company – was an 18th and 19th century English silversmith and inventor. In his youth, he was apprenticed to the equally-famous English locksmith, Joseph Bramah (of ‘Bramah locks’ fame).
Mordan didn’t become a locksmith, but he was fascinated by mechanical doohickeys, and ended up inventing, in the early 1820s – the first ever mechanical pencil! The pencil operated on a screw-type mechanism where by rotating the pencil advanced or propelled the shaft of graphite out of the tip of the silver housing, allowing a person to write with a pencil without getting graphite all over their fingers, and without having to constantly sharpen the point. Since the action of the pencil’s mechanism propelled the graphite out of it, they became known as ‘propelling pencils’.
Mordan made a HUGE name for himself as the inventor of, and chief producer of, graphite propelling pencils! Largely made in sterling silver and gold (he was a silversmith, after all), the Sampson Mordan silversmithing firm started cranking out all kinds of whimsical designs for pencils. In the 1800s, there was no such thing as a portable fountain pen, and the ballpoint was a century away – so having a compact, easy-to-operate writing instrument in your pocket that you could whip out at any moment was very useful. Mordan (and other companies) started manufacturing all kinds of novelty shapes and styles.
You could buy pencils which were shaped like rifles, golf-clubs, cricket-bats, wine-bottles, and polo-mallets! In sterling silver, or in a wide variety of gold.
One of the company’s greatest inventions came out in the late 1800s – the drop-action pencil holder!
Pencil-holders had existed before Mordan, but they were all slide-action. You grasped the barrel of the holder, and then with your other hand, you pulled the slide down the barrel, and the pencil inside slid out, held in place by the clutch-ring inside the mechanism. These were good, sorta, but the need to always have two hands free to operate them was always a bit of a faff!
The drop-action pencil-holder, by comparison, was a big improvement!
The mechanism is very simple, and works entirely on gravity (so long as you have the right pencil size!). After seating the pencil firmly in the circular clutch-ring inside the barrel, you press the release-button on the back of the holder. The whole thing works on a catch-and-release system. Pressing the button both drops the button down, and twists it slightly. This releases the clutch-ring that holds the pencil, and allows it to drop down through the barrel and out the end of the holder, exposing the pencil, and locking the ring in place.
The holder with the pencil extended
When you’re done writing, you press the release-button again, and, with another in-and-twist motion, the clutch-ring is released from the barrel opening and drops back into the base of the holder.
Hence ‘drop-action’. That said, they’re also called gravity-action pencils, because they work entirely on gravity. Since the pencil could be operated entirely by one hand, it became very popular. Such holders were compact, portable, easy to use (which made them great when you were busy and needed to take notes) and economical, because they allowed you to use up the last few centimetres of a pencil before having to throw it out when it at last, wore down to a stub!
Pencil-holders like these started losing favour among writers after the First World War. When fountain pens started coming onto the market, the need to always carry a pencil around with you diminished greatly, and eventually, pencil-holders and propelling pencils started losing ground to the modern mechanical click-action clutch-pencil used today.
The hallmarks on the silver barrel. Originally it was just “S.M.” for Sampson Mordan, but after he died in the 1840s, it was changed to “SM&Co.” for Sampson Mordan & Company. SM&Co. ended in 1941, when the factory in London was bombed by the Nazis during the Blitz
Regardless, antique silver and gold drop-action and slide-action pencil-holders are still popular, and still collected today, for their artistry, their uniqueness, but also for their practicality – unlike the antique propelling pencils which relied on specifically-sized graphite leads or rods to operate – these pencil-holders simply require another pencil!
Such holders do have a few drawbacks – ONE – their small size means that only small pencils fit into them, so you can’t have anything longer than 2-3 inches – TWO – the pencils have to fit into the clutch-ring that holds the pencil-stub in place inside the barrel. This means you have to whittle down the pencil to fit in – THREE – modern hexagonal pencils are a bit fiddly. They still work, but it’s better to use pencils which are cylindrical, instead, since they slide in and out of the holder more reliably. You can use a hexagonal pencil if you want to, however you’d have to round-off the edges on the shaft first, to prevent them from rubbing on the sides of the barrel and jamming the mechanism.
The release-button and the slide-and-lock mechanism may also need some cleaning with a bit of oil for lubrication, but once everything does work, it works very smoothly, with a solid ‘click’ at each end of the slide, to indicate that the pencil has been locked into position.
The final drawback to these pencil-holders is that for them to function – they must be in really good condition. Any big dents or dings on the sides of the barrel will render the holder completely useless, since they would jam the sliding mechanism inside, meaning that the pencil would be stuck in the open or closed position. If you’re looking to buy such a pencil for your own use – always check for dents – even a small one can incapacitate a pencil with relative ease.
If you wait around long enough, whatever you want to add to your collection will eventually appear.
And such was the case in December last year, when, after years, and years, and years of searching, I finally landed a beautiful set of cutthroat razors to add to my collection!
I’ve always loved using straight razors, ever since I bullied myself into learning how to use one when I first started shaving. Forcing myself to learn how to use one was one of the greatest little personal achievements of my life.
Ever since then, I’d always wanted to assemble a collection of antique razors. My first dream was to secure a coveted “seven day set” – a cased set of seven matching razors – considered by many to be the pinnacle of straight razor collecting. Such sets are extremely rare, and phenomenally expensive (at time of writing, average price on eBay for an antique set is about $1,000 – $2,500+AUD).
Their great rarity is mostly due to the fact that unless they’re perfect – nobody wants them. A cracked scale, a chipped blade, a broken box – anything but the smallest and most inconsequential of defects causes the desirability, and therefore value, to plummet.
I was lucky enough to land a seven-day set for peanuts, which I purchased from a friend a few years ago. It’s remained one of my most treasured possessions ever since – mostly because I could never afford the price of another one!
The next thing I wanted to add to my collection was a two-razor set – a matching pair of cutthroat razors in their original case. These aren’t as well-known as the fancier, larger, more expensive seven-day sets, but they existed as a more affordable, but still elegant, shaving solution for the man who wanted a nice set of straight razors, without the enormous expense of an entire weekly set.
To understand just how expensive a seven-day set is (and always was), in the United States in about 1900, a full, seven-day set cost, on average, $25.00. A two-razor matched set using the same materials and razors, cost just $7.00-$8.00 – 1/4 the price! This at a time when the average wage was about $15.00 a week. So while seven-day sets remained as status-symbols, the cheaper two-day sets or matched pairs could be in reach of most middle-class men, if they knew how to count their pennies.
S. Hibbert & Son – Sheffield
The company which made my set was S. Hibbert & Son, a cutlery firm based in Sheffield in the UK.
S. Hibbert was Samuel Hibbert, who ran his little cutlery firm with his son, Charles Hibbert, in what was at the time – the cutlery capital of Great Britain. Sheffield was famous for anything with a blade – knives, swords, scissors, pocketknives, cutlery knives, straight razors, surgical equipment…if it cut, stabbed, shaved, or sliced – it was made in Sheffield. Or at least, it was until the 1980s, when the cutlery industry finally collapsed, unable to compete with cheaper Asian imports.
S. Hibbert & Son was established ca. 1890, and remained a father-son venture until 1898, when Samuel Hibbert died, leaving the enterprise to his son. Charles saw his family firm survive into the 20th century, and the firm lasted until Charles’ death in April of 1938.
S. Hibbert & Son would’ve been just one of dozens of little cutlery houses operating in Sheffield at the turn of the 20th century. Such firms were plentiful and competition was fierce, especially when there were a lot of much larger, more famous companies around, like Joseph Rodgers, Southern & Richardson, and George Wostenholm & Sons, to take your business away from you!
A Breakdown of the Set
A General Overview
The set is pretty typical of the kind manufactured in the U.K. and the U.S.A., and in Germany…and in most other cutlery-producing countries around the world at the turn of the last century. The razors are a matched pair, originally both with ivory scales. One razor had its scales broken and these were replaced with matching celluloid scales when the razor was repaired at sometime in its life. It’s interesting to note that celluloid was invented in the 1850s as a replacement for ivory, so it’s interesting to see the two materials side by side.
The razors are housed inside a wooden box lined with leather on the outside, and silk and felt on the inside. The main body of the box is hinged, with a spring clasp, and has two sets of ridges on either end for holding the razors in place.
The razor blades themselves are hollow-ground, and in great condition for being, at a guess, 130 years old! They’re both punched with the maker’s marks on the shanks, and – this is a nice feature – the spines of both razors are decorated with leaves, and engraved with “1” and “2” – just to prove that they really ARE a set! It’s a cute little additional feature, and I think it makes for a nice extra bit of decoration. It’s certainly not something that you would find on all sets of this type, so it’s nice to have.
Another nice feature is that the razors have been manufactured with what are called “Spanish” points – meaning that the end of the blade is slightly concave, instead of being straight or outwards-curving. Spanish-point blades are pretty rare in modern times, and they’re usually a feature found on antique blades like this.
Faults and Flaws
The only major flaw was a cracked scale, around one of the drilled pivot-holes. Under other circumstances, this might be awful, but it’s actually pretty common with antique razors which have scales made of natural materials. So long as it’s just a surface-crack and is holding together, there’s really nothing to worry about, and if it ever does get worse, it can simply be reinforced with a drop or two of strong glue to hold it together.
The Storage Box
While you can find two matching razors anywhere if you look hard enough, one thing which is definitely much harder is finding the right box or case to put them in. Sets like these came with slim, hinged two-razor cases, similar, but smaller than, the more elaborate seven-day razor kits sold by high-end manufacturers and luxury retailers like Mappin & Webb or Joseph Rodgers.
Cracks around rivet-holes on antique straight razors – especially those with scales made from natural materials like bone or ivory – are extremely common. In most instances, they are nothing to worry about.
The box, like the razors, was in great condition, and a bit of minor cleaning, and a few touch-ups with shoe-polish and a drop or two of glue was all that was needed to render it serviceable once more. In many ways, the box is rarer than the razors. It’s really common for the boxes to be broken, torn up, or even missing parts entirely, which renders them completely unusable.
Purchasing Antique Straight Razor Sets
Buying antique straight razors is pretty…eh…straightforward.
Buying antique sets of straight razors, however, is rather more involved. Such sets usually came in pairs, such as this one, in three-razor sets (which aren’t too common), four-razor sets, which are somewhat more common, and last but not least – the coveted seven-razor sets, also called ‘seven day sets’, with one blade for each day of the week.
The more razors there are in the set, the harder the sets are to buy. Not just because they cost more, but also because there’s more things to go wrong. For such sets to be worth the expense, they have to be in perfect condition – or in as near-perfect condition as you can find them.
Check for issues like cracked or chipped blades (any razors in this condition are completely unusable – ignore them and keep searching), cracked or chipped scales (depending on the damage, this may, or may not be repairable), and any damage to the box or case itself.
Razors made of natural materials such as horn, bone, ivory, and tortoiseshell almost always have some manner of cracking around the pins and pivots, simply due to the nature of the material. If the cracking is light, then there’s really nothing to worry about. Serious cracking may be repaired with the right types of adhesives (if you have all the pieces to glue back together, of course!), but broken scales should be avoided at all costs, unless you’re intending to re-scale the entire set of razors yourself – it is possible to re-scale antique razors – I’ve done it myself – but it takes patience and skill, and is not something to be rushed into.
When looking to purchase a two, three, four, or seven-razor set – make sure that all the razors are there, and that all the razors are matching, and that they’re all in identical (or near-identical) condition. Count the razors, and check each one individually. Skimping on this means that you could end up with something that you don’t want. But if you don’t want it, chances are, nobody else does – and selling a mismatched or broken set is not going to be easy.
Last but not least, check the box or case.
Razor boxes designed to hold sets of razors were typically made of wood, and covered in leather, with interiors fitted out with slots and ridges to hold the razors, padded with felt or velvet, and with the interior lid-linings being done in silk – sometimes, but not always – with the details of the manufacturer stenciled on top in gold leaf. Some sets were not swathed with leather, and you can find cases out there with polished wooden exteriors, sometimes inlaid with brass, ivory, bone, or some other contrasting material, to add a touch of flair and decoration.
Again – check for defects. In particular – damage to the hinges, damage to the clasps or catches, damage to the lock (if there is one), and if the lock (if it exists) has a key. If it doesn’t have a key, you can usually find another to replace it, however.
As always with buying anything secondhand, the better condition something is in, the higher the price is likely to be. Hunt and shop around, compare prices, and weigh up the pros and cons. Sets like these are hard to find, so you’ll have plenty of time to do that! Last but not least – as always – decide what your level of tolerance is.
By that, I mean – how perfect does something have to be, before you’ll buy it? Does it really matter that there’s a surface-crack? Does it really matter that there’s rust? Can it be polished off? Do you have to have a set by this particular manufacturer or retailer? What are you able to fix or restore by yourself? The more you’re willing to compromise on these things, the cheaper the prices become.
Preparing the Razor Set
Once you’ve found a set that you like and can afford, the next thing to do is to prepare it for use.
First – repair anything that needs repairing. Glue any cracks that need gluing, and stick down any loose parts that might peel or fall off. Apply any necessary polish to the leather or wood that the case is made of, and make sure that everything works.
Next, turn your attention to the razors. In most instances, a fine-grit stone will do for sharpening. Once the blade is sharpened, going edge-first along the stone at least 25 laps (back-and-forth = one lap), then either move to an extra-fine stone, or start stropping at least 20 laps – again – back-and-forth = one lap. Your razors should now be ready to use. If they’re tugging or catching while shaving, then they’re not sharp enough. Repeat another 20-30 laps on the stones and another 20-30 laps across the strop to get the edge properly sharp and ready. A straight razor which is ready to shave should cut effortlessly with no force or pressure applied by the user. Your hand is only there to hold the razor and guide it, not to apply pressure.
And there you have it!
My cased pair didn’t require much tinkering before use. A bit of glue and a lot of blowing and dusting, a thorough sharpening and stropping, and it was ready for use. Honestly, these antique razors are pretty low-maintenance when you think about it, and they shave just beautifully.
Antique brassware has been one of my most popular areas of collecting for as long as I can remember. I just love the golden glow of brass, the aging, the patina…it’s something you don’t usually get with the flat, white, sterile look of steel – stainless, or otherwise.
Brass, for those who don’t know, is an alloy metal – a mixture of copper, and zinc, with a majority of copper, and minority of zinc. The zinc gives the copper strength, but also the famous, glossy, golden shine that brass is famous for.
For centuries, brass had been the metal of choice for manufacturing all kinds of things, from doorknobs to cookware, fire-irons to padlocks and keys. The reason for this is quite simple – brass doesn’t rust.
This robust and relatively easily-maintained metal was therefore ideal for a wide range of applications where steel or iron was inappropriate. It’s why, for example, you see a lot of brassware on old ships – porthole frames, bells, wheelhouse mechanisms, etc – because it could be exposed to the wet and cold out at sea, without rusting like steel would. All that had to be done to keep it serviceable was the occasional polish.
It was all these qualities of brass – its strength, it’s ability to resist rust, and its relatively low maintenance to achieve a beautiful, glossy shine, that made brass the ideal material for manufacturing food containers – in particular – tiffin carriers.
What is a Tiffin Carrier?
A tiffin carrier, or tiffin box, is a food storage and transport container made out of stackable compartments, held together in a rigid frame with a carry-handle on top. They’re usually made of brass, or enameled steel (or in modern times, also stainless steel). They’re descended from the stackable bowls and baskets (made of bamboo) used in China for centuries, for storing, transporting, and even cooking food.
The modern tiffin carrier was invented in the 1800s, and is named after the Anglo-Indian slang word for ‘lunch’ or ‘afternoon tea’ – ‘Tiffin’! That’s because these stackable metal containers became popular as lunchboxes for transporting things like curry, rice, noodles, dumplings and other delicious treats safely and comfortably when going to work. The separate compartments kept the various food-components apart from each other – after all, you don’t want your naan bread or roti getting soggy from the curry, and you don’t want your sweet tarts smelling like last night’s leftover beef, do you?
Tiffin carriers ranged in size, from one or two compartments, to up to half a dozen or more! The standard size is between 3-4 compartments, with three being the most common.
My New Brass Tiffin Carrier!
I’ve always wanted a brass tiffin carrier that I could always – y’know – use! I just find the steel ones so boring, and the enamel ones aren’t always as attractive as I’d like them to be. After weighing up my options between buying an antique and getting one new, I decided to bite the bullet and get a new one instead. For what is, essentially – an old lunchbox – antique tiffin carriers – either in brass, or enameled steel – are surprisingly expensive! $200-$300+ (and that doesn’t include the postage!) is really common for the old brass ones…and easily 3-4 times that price for the enamel ones!
All stacked, locked, and in one piece.
After a bit of digging, I found a website that sold really, really nice Indian-made domestic brassware products. In case you don’t know, India is really famous for making brassware. If you ever want nice brassware – bowls, cups, candlesticks, etc…buy it from India. Antique Indian brassware is also really nice – but like I said – can also be really expensive! So I went modern, instead. The site was also having a big end-of-year sale, so I ended up with a nearly 70% discount!
The carrier I ended up buying was identical to the antique brass tiffin carriers made in India 100+ years ago, in every single respect – so I got an antique-quality piece of brassware with the benefit of modern manufacturing – and for a fraction of what it would’ve cost to buy it secondhand! Having bought an antique brass one in the past, I know how much they cost!
The Parts of the Carrier
So, what are the various component parts of the tiffin carrier? How are they used?
Every tiffin carrier has three basic components: The compartments, the lid, and the rack, or frame, that holds it all together. The compartments, or bowls, are recessed, so that they stack neatly, one on top of the other. In most instances, which order you stack the compartments in is irrelevant, but in some models (such as mine), there is a specific top-compartment, which always goes on last (what order you stack the other ones in really doesn’t matter).
The reason for this is because second component, the lid, has to be firmly fitted on top. On mine, the lid was flat, but on some carriers, the lids also held little storage compartments of their own (usually used for things like spices or chili sauce, etc). Most tiffin carrier lids are designed to be flipped over so that you can use them as plates!
The third component of any good tiffin carrier is the frame or rack that holds everything together. These vary greatly in design, depending on the age and style of the carrier. Mine was made up of a simple circular base-plate, and two hinged brass straps on the side, with a hinged handle on top, and a hinged pin and latch to hold everything shut.
The frame with the latch open. The pin goes through the large hole, the latch holds both parts of the handle together, and then a padlock goes through the smaller hole underneath (which also goes through the handle) to lock everything super-securely. Padlocks are optional.
For extra security, the latch that holds the frame shut even comes with a set of holes punched through it – this is for you to slip a padlock around the frame, or even just tie some string or a piece of wire to hold the latch shut. You don’t need to, of course, and the frame holds together just fine without it, but this padlock-hole in the security latch is a common feature in a lot of antique tiffin carriers.
I mean hey, you don’t want some jackass stealing your candy-bar, do you?
How Do You Use It?
It’s easy, really. You swing out the latch, you open the frame, and then you take out the compartments and fill them with food. Tiffin carriers are designed to carry “bulk” foods – stuff like rice, pasta, and noodles. If your carrier is large enough, you can also put sandwiches and stuff in there, but they’re not really designed for that. But if you’re taking leftover spaghetti and meatballs, or leftover Chinese food or last night’s sushi for lunch at the office – a tiffin carrier is great for that!
The brass sides of the frame unlatched and folded down to access the compartments inside.
You fill each compartment with food until it’s just below the top, stack it into the frame, and then pop the other compartments on top, put the lid on and then close it. Just keep in mind that tiffin carriers can be heavy, even before you fill it with lunch! Mine weighed 1.44kg (approx 3lbs) completely empty!
Purchasing Antique Brass Tiffin Carriers
For my early Christmas present, I bought myself a brand-new brass carrier, built to antique specifications and with a solid tin lining on the interior, just like grandma used to make! Mmm-mmm!
But – what if you actually want to buy a REAL antique brass tiffin carrier – like the ones that grandma actually used? Can you do that, too?
Hell yeah! But there’s a lot of things to consider, first.
First and foremost – the price. Antique tiffin carriers are expensive! $200 – $500+, depending on condition, style, how fancy they are. And that doesn’t include postage (remember, these things are heavy!).
Antique, brass tiffin carrier, made in India. As you can see, it’s quite literally identical to mine in every way, except that this one is about 130 years older and pretty beat up.
Just like bored kids in the schoolyard playground, our ancestors were also huge fans of pimping up their lunchboxes, and you better bet they did a good job of it! That extra decorations (which can be anything from engravings to flowery embossing, or even painting or gold-leafing on the fancy enamel carriers) can drive the prices WAAAY up because of how rare they can be. The more elaborate the decorations, the more expensive the carrier becomes.
Most modern steel carriers cost a pittance. You can find them in shops all over Asia=, and they can be bought online for a song. As I’ve already proven – you can buy a modern brass carrier for a fraction of what the antique ones cost! So if you do want to buy an antique one – be prepared to spend. A lot!
The second most important thing to pay attention to is the condition of the brass itself.
The good thing about brass is that it doesn’t rust, but it can, in rare instances, corrode. This is usually caused by ammonia, or by acids, and in really bad cases, brass can flat-out just crack and shatter!…you don’t want that.
If your brass has cracked, then it’s best to keep searching.
Another really common condition issue is denting. Remember, antique brass tiffin carriers were used every single day – for decades. They were, quite literally – used hard, and put away wet. Because of this, denting is a really common problem. Fortunately, brass is fairly malleable. With a few good hammer-strikes and the right amount of padding, most dents that you can hit, you can pop back out or smooth over. Ideally you want to avoid doing this at all, but if you don’t mind it, then the prices can drop a bit.
The third thing to pay attention to is the frame or rack that holds the carrier together. These are often just made of bent flat strips of brass or steel, which have been shaped into position. The problem is that just as easily as they can be bent into shape, they can also be bent out of shape!
Make sure that any antique brass tiffin carriers you buy have frames which are in good condition. No cracking, no warping, bending or kinking. If the frame isn’t centered and straight, then it’s not going to hold everything together properly, and the last thing you want is the whole damn thing falling apart the moment you pick it up – that’s generally not a good sign. Some frames can be bent back into shape if they’ve been a little kinked-up, but severe damage should be avoided.
The final thing to pay attention to is the interior lining.
The interior with its tin lining. Even the underside of the lid is lined in tin. If your antique brass tiffin carrier doesn’t have a lining like this, then you should think twice before buying it, if you’re intending to use it.
As I said – brass tiffin carriers are always lined inside the compartments with a solid coating of inert metal – almost always either tin, or nickel. This is to prevent the brass from corroding when in contact with acidic foods, and leeching out unpleasant toxins. So long as the lining is intact, the carrier is safe to eat from. If it isn’t, or if it’s wearing really thin, then it’s time to either keep searching, or else – if you want to – pay to the get the lining redone.
Can you re-tin antique brassware all on your own? Absolutely! In fact, here’s an Instructable on how to do it, if you can find all the materials that you’ll need.
In short: Any antique brass tiffin carrier you buy should be in solid, workable condition. All the pieces should fit together smoothly, the frame should hold everything together without rattling or shaking, and should be straight and without damage. The inside of the brass containers should be solidly lined with tin. If they aren’t, either keep searching, or purchase the antique carrier with a view to getting the interiors re-tinned.
Concluding Remarks
So – what are my final thoughts on this latest addition to my brassware collection?
Well: It’s solid, well-built, is really robust, and is large enough to hold a decent amount of food without being excessively bulky. It opens easily, but also closes really securely, and has the option of being locked, if you want it – which isn’t a feature found on most modern tiffin carriers – or on modern lunchboxes in general!
It has all the vintage styling that one could want, with none of the disadvantages of buying an actual antique, such as high prices, restoration, or checking for damage. And even when it isn’t being used, it’s still a really nice piece of home decor – which is not something you could say of…say…a thermos flask.
The safety razor came out in the late 1800s, and was being marketed more and more aggressively in the leadup to the turn of the century. In 1901, King Camp Gillette pioneered something that would change the men’s grooming industry forever:
A safety razor with a disposable blade. For the first time, the necessity of sharpening, stropping and cleaning one’s razor blades – all of them essential skills that any well-groomed man had to master up until that point – would be a thing of the past.
The rise of the compact safety razor with disposable blades was such a game-changer that almost immediately, safety-razor manufacturers like GEM or AUTOSTROP, GILLETTE and STAR, started producing handsome, all-inclusive cased razor-sets, trying to maximise on the luxury market.
Sets could be incredibly elaborate, with blade-stroppers, shaving-stick tubes, blade-banks and all other kinds of accessories thrown in, but companies like Gillette also realised that they could make a lot of money by appealing to men who were looking for something elegant, but also compact. Travel sets which held all the essentials without being excessively bulky also became extremely popular with travelers moving around the world by train, car, and ocean liner in the early 1900s.
One of the earliest examples of these super-compact travel sets were the ones that Gillette made for the U.S. Army during WWI. When the doughboys went off to fight the Hun in the trenches of France and Belgium, Gillette had a contract with the U.S. Army to supply soldiers with basic, and easy-to-use shaving kits. Unlike in the Civil War, or the Spanish-American War, this time, U.S. soldiers were expected to be clean-shaven and neat, so that their gas-masks could fit comfortably (and securely) around their faces – something that you couldn’t do if you were sporting a beard worthy of a 19th-century sea-captain.
When the war ended in 1918, and travel resumed in the 1920s and 30s, Gillette began making an even wider range of portable shaving kits, and it was during this period that my kit was made.
So, here we have the set – made in the USA back in about 1920 – it’s solid brass, and would originally have been gilded (gold-plated) to reduce the chances of the brass tarnishing, and losing its shine. 101 years later, and most of the gilding has worn off, but you can still see what a beautiful set it would once have been.
Here we have the set, with the razor-head (left), blade-bank (right), and the screw-on handle (at the bottom) inside the beautiful cloth-lined brass carry-case.
The set comes with its original “ball-end” razor handle, typical of Gillette sets in the early 20th century, with crosshatching along the sides to make it easier to grip. Straighter handles without the balled ends would not turn up until the 30s, 40s and 50s.
The outside of the box is smooth brass, with this woven design on the lid, reminiscent of a wicker basket, complete with a flat, rectangular cartouche – a useful place to engrave a date, initials, or a name – razor sets were popular gifts back in the early 1900s. This one is beautifully smooth, with no engravings, or any evidence of previous engravings, so it’s in original condition, exactly as it would’ve looked when new.
One of the most remarkable things about this set is the fact that the interior velvet lining has survived. Usually, stuff like this rots away, or peels out, or wears and tears, until it just drops out of the box. Not only has this survived, but also the gold-leaf stamped lettering on the underside of the lid. Usually, stuff like this is the first to go, simply because it’s so fragile. Here, it’s intact, and all complete.
Closing Remarks
I’d been looking at sets like this for years, and finally decided to acquire one. This one was found on eBay, and was the best condition for the best price that I could find. It was also compact, robust and still presented itself very attractively. Personally, I’m more of a straight-razor user, but in a pinch, this is also a very elegant alternative to those who prefer more traditional methods of shaving. I love antique brassware for its simplicity and beauty, and at any rate, it’s also a fascinating glimpse at the birth of the first generations of safety razors at the turn of the last century.
When we’re taught about great innovations in the history of manufacturing and design, we’re often told that prior to 1900, the only way that men had to shave themselves was to use a cutthroat razor – three inches of hollow-ground steel sharpened to a lethal edge, and which could be fatal if you didn’t know how to use one correctly. We’re then taught that all this changed in 1901, when King Camp Gillette came along with his swanky new double-edged safety razor and revolutionised the shaving industry forever!
Right?
Not really.
The Origins of Single-Edge Safety Razors
Yes, Gillette’s safety razor was an innovation, yes, it made shaving cheaper, faster and safer…but it isn’t the game-changer that everybody seems to think that it is – mainly because Gillette was not the first person to invent a safety razor!
Safety razors date all the way back to the last quarter of the 19th century when inventors and manufacturers, spurred on by the Industrial Revolution, attempted to improve on the effectiveness and the ease-of-use of the razors then in use – that is to say – straight razors!
To this end, there were actually loads of companies in the late 1800s and early 1900s all trying to find a system whereby a safer razor could be sold to the public, which was easier to use than the traditional straight-edge, which took skill, time and patience to both use, master, and maintain. Companies like GEM, EverReady, Valet-Autostrop, STAR, and Wilkinson Sword, were all on the bandwagon!
In fact, the very notion of marketing a new device as a “safety” razor wasn’t even Gillette’s idea! Nope – the Kampfe Brothers beat him to it by twenty years! When they launched their new “STAR” Lather-Catcher in 1880, it was the first safety razor! No, it wasn’t the first to be invented, but it was literally the first safety razor in the sense that Kampfe Bros. was the first company to use the term “Safety Razor” in their very aggressive advertising. The idea caught on, and soon, loads of other manufacturers were all trying to jump on this new bandwagon of selling “safety” razors.
These early versions of safety razors were about as different from modern double-edged razors, and modern cartridge-razors as it’s possible to be. For one thing – the blades were not disposable! Nope – the whole idea was that once the blades were dull, you’d sharpen them up again like any other razor or knife or pair of scissors – and then you’d give them a thorough stropping with a piece of leather, and put the same blades back into service. In an era when money could be tight and people wanted as much value out of their products as possible, this was an attractive, and cost-saving feature.
These razors were what’s known today as “single-edge” or “S.E.” razors, because only one side of the blade was sharpened. They were basically modified straight razors, with the blade cut into chunks, fitted inside a protective steel cage or guard, and then affixed to a handle or grip – the same as just about any other safety razor today, except for the shape, fit and finish.
Wilkinson Sword Single-Edge Safety Razors
Wilkinson Sword is one of the most famous cutlery companies in the world, founded by famed London gunsmith Henry Nock in 1772. As the name suggests, the company originally made…swords! When the demand for swords started to fall away however, after the American Revolution, French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars of the 1770s, 80s, 90s, and early 1800s, the company had to find something else to make, and they turned from edged weapons to edged tools.
While the Wilkinson company made loads of things – rifles, guns, bayonets, swords, and even motorcycles during WWI – they became famous for razors in the late 1800s and early 1900s, shortly after the company was officially named “Wilkinson Sword”, in 1891. Along with companies like Kampfe Bros., GEM, and Valet-Autostrop, Wilkinson Sword became one of the most famous manufacturers of razors in the world, and they started cranking them out in earnest in the 1910s and 20s.
Wilkinson Sword safety razors made in the early 1900s were all of the single-edged variety, with removable hollow-ground blades designed to be reused and re-sharpened over and over again. Sets came in handsome stained wood, or leather-covered boxes, with a little rack to hold the blades, and a cradle to hold the razor and strop. The company gave the sets attractive, classy-sounding names like “Empire” and “Pall Mall” to appeal to customers aspiring to be seen owning and using the very latest in personal grooming devices. In the 1930s, these sets started becoming more simplified. The wooden boxes with their metal fittings or leather exteriors were replaced with simpler steel boxes, nickel-plated, and adorned with more hip, Art Deco-style designs.
In our increasingly waste-conscious world, people have started rejecting throwaway cartridge razors, and some are even rejecting the less-wasteful, but still disposable double-edged razors – the kind introduced by King C. Gillette at the turn of the last century. There’s a growing interest, in the 21st century, in using vintage razors such as the classical cutthroat straight-edge, and in single-edged safety razors with reusable blades.
So, how exactly do you use them? Where do you get them? What kinds are there?
One of the most easily accessible manufacturers of these types of vintage, single-edge razors are those made by Wilkinson Sword! I purchased a set on eBay, and spent the last few days restoring it to as close to its original condition as I could reasonably manage. So, what exactly needed doing?
Restoring the Razor Set
The good thing about these sets is that they’re very over-engineered. The metalware is typically brass, heavily plated in nickel for extra protection, and the blades are carefully protected in their own little racks inside the storage case.
So what’s the biggest issue with these sets?
Perhaps unsurprisingly – water damage. They’re razors, they’re used in wet, damp environments, after all, and water-damage (specifically rust) is their greatest enemy.
The set I bought was a bit battered, but in usable condition, barring rust, to greater or lesser degrees, on almost every single one of the seven blades which made up the kit’s seven-day set. The first thing to do was to take everything out of the metal case, blow it out, dust it and clean it.
Once that was done, I was able to more closely examine the blades, which had obviously been used rough and put away wet – literally. To de-rust the blades meant having to slide them out of their protective brackets, the little metal sleeves which allow the blades to be mounted inside the razor head. In some cases, this was pretty easy. In others, the blades had to be tapped loose with a hammer! In some instances this wasn’t too difficult, in others, the blades required real persuasion.
When metal rusts, it expands, and that causes the friction which jammed the blades into their mounting brackets. Liberal use of WD-40 and a lot of firm but determined hammer-tapping loosened the really stiff blades, however, and meant that I could get on with the main job:
Cleaning the mounting brackets, and de-rusting the blades. Fortunately, the brackets are, like the razor, heavily plated in nickel, so there’s no rust or corrosion to be found there – just a lot of dust and gunk, easily removed with cotton-buds.
De-rusting the blades required treatment with an acidic de-rusting solution, and then polishing with 0000-grade steel wool to remove the final encrustations back down to bare steel. Removing the water-marks on the blades would be nigh impossible (and even if I did remove them, they’d only come back after more contact with water), so I left them as they were. I did however, remove all the rust and smooth off the steel, and then sharpened and stropped the blades (again, with them removed from their mounting brackets) before putting them all back together and back into the razor case.
The next thing to do was to attend to the razor itself. It has a number of moving parts, such as the comb, the bar that holds the razor-blades, the spring-loaded teeth which hold the blades in place when the razor is in use, and the swivel-knob at the base of the handle for releasing or tightening up the razor-head for when you want to insert or remove a blade. Obviously, when you’re dealing with something that’s literally razor sharp, you don’t want any sort of stiffness and jerky components!
Replacing the old Strop
One feature of these old single-edged razor kits which is pretty nifty is that they almost all came with some type of automatic stropping device, to smooth off the blades and realign the edges between shaves. You can see this in the STAR razors, the Wilkinson Sword razors, the Rolls Razors, and – pretty obviously – in the Valet Autostrop razors. The basic premise was that you fed the strop through the razor (or put the blade into a specially-made stropping handle) and ran the blade back and forth across the strop.
The strops were made of leather. This means that they don’t always last. They dry, they crack, they break, or they wear out from overuse – so replacing them, if they can’t be revived, is rather important.
This is easily done with a piece of leather of the right thickness, length, and finish. The leather must be smooth, soft, and thin. In the case of the Wilkinson Sword razors, the leather must be thin enough to fit into the gap in the razor-head through which the strop is designed to run. Then it’s simply a matter of finding a way to mount one end of the strop to the wall, and being able to feed the other end through the razor. The leather has to be long enough to strop the razor effectively – at least 12 inches long.
How Does this Set Work?
It’s pretty simple, really.
You sharpen the blades on sharpening stones of appropriate grits, until they’re literally razor sharp. Then, you strop them on a strop.
Make sure that you remove the blades from their brackets before sharpening, to prevent damage, and to put them back into their brackets when stropping, so that they’re easier to hold. You can either use the automatic-stropping system that comes with the razor, or if one doesn’t exist, because the original strop is unusable or missing (or you haven’t had the opportunity to make a new strop, which is easily done with enough of the right leather), then you can use an ordinary straight razor strop. It’s not ideal, because these small blades can be fiddly to hold, but it does work.
If you do have a compatible strop for the razor, then you mount one end of the strop to the wall, and feed the other side through the razor where it says “INSERT STROP THIS SIDE”. With a firm grip on the razor, and keeping the strop straight and level, slide the razor back and forth across the stop – the faster, the better.
The faster you do it, the faster the gears on the razor engage with the strop, causing the blade to flop over to the correct side for each pass along the strop. Thorough stropping typically involves a couple of dozen passes to ensure complete coverage of the blade. It’s important to keep the strop level so that the blade connects with the leather, and it’s equally important to keep the strop tight, so that the blade doesn’t slice up the leather due to improper angle between the blade and strop.
When you’re done, you simply slide the razor off the strop, and now you’re ready to lock the blade into the razor, and commence shaving.
If you’ve used the razor method of stropping, then you can ignore most of what comes next. If you had to strop the blade by hand, then you will need to read what comes next, because that’s how to put the blade into the razor, ready for shaving…
This is done by unscrewing the knob at the base of the razor, so that you loosen up the razor head. You swivel the mounting bar that holds the blade upwards, and slot the blade (in its mounting bracket) onto the bar at right-angles to it, so that the knob on the bar fits into the hole in the bracket. Then you twist sideways, and this locks the blade into place.
Flip the blade down the correct way (pointing towards the adjustable comb feature at the front of the razor) and hold it in place by pressing the adjustment-knob at the back of the razor head. This slides out the comb, which locks the blade in place with two little teeth, stopping it from flopping around everywhere. Finally, adjust the razor head and tighten up the knob in the handle to hold everything in place.
You’re now ready to shave!
To remove the blade, you simply release the knob in the handle, press the adjustment-knob at the back of the razor head to unlock the blade, and twist it off the mounting bar. Easy! Just make sure that in all these operations, you don’t cut yourself on the blade.
In this last image here, you can see the razor with the blade correctly inserted, with the two prongs or teeth holding the blade down, ready to shave. As you shave, the stubble and soap builds up under the blade, between the edge, and the teeth or ridges on the comb. You can remove it all easily when the time comes to remove the blade after use.
Looking After the Razor Set
Looking after a Wilkinson Sword or similarly-styled single-edged safety-razor set is much like looking after a set of straight razors, and the same rules apply.
The blades should be sharpened thoroughly, stropped generously, and kept DRY when they’re not in use. These old blades are made of carbon steel, and as such, they can rust extremely easily. If you expect your set to last, the blades must be kept dry between uses, and any blades used must be cleaned and dried after shaving, before they’re put away. Any damp at all will cause the blades to start growing rust. In fact this was such a problem with early razors that Wilkinson Sword was one of the first companies in the world to start selling stainless steel razor blades in the 1960s!
Closing Remarks…
So – what are my thoughts on this? Are these old SE razors effective? Do they shave?
Yes they do. They take a bit of getting used to, but having used my Wilkinson Sword set, I can assure you, they most definitely do shave, and they do it passably well. Their bulk may make them tricky to handle in the beginning, but I’m sure with practice, you could get quite good at it.
Are they worth buying and using as everyday shavers?
Yes, if you don’t mind the extra maintenance, and the potentially high costs of purchase and possible need for restorations.
What should I check for when buying such a set?
Quite a lot, actually. Make sure that the set is complete, that the blades are in usable (or at least, restorable) condition, that the razor is functional and free from cracks or other damage, and that they can be cleaned thoroughly before use. As for yourself, make sure that you know how to properly sharpen a razor blade before using it. Shaving with a blunt razor is a recipe for disaster, so it’s better to over-sharpen a razor than it is to try and cut corners with it, and make sure you strop the blades thoroughly before use.
Picked this up at the flea-market before our current lockdown happened. At least it gave me something to play around with, something to write about, and something to restore, during this winter of our discontent. Great discontent!
This is an antique, silver bombilla.
What is a Bombilla?
A bombilla (“Bom-bee-yah”) is a straw, designed for drinking yerba mate, a type of tea popular in South America. To prepare mate, a quantity of tea-leaves are crushed and then poured into the teacup – or mate gourd – and then hot (but not boiling) water is poured on top. The bombilla is inserted, and once the tea has brewed, it may be drunk out of the gourd using the bombilla.
To prevent rusting, bombillas were always made of non-ferrous metals – brass, copper, pewter…or if you could afford it – solid silver, like this one. These days, most bombillas are made of stainless steel.
Due to the high quantity of tea-leaves and leaf-powder present in yerba mate, it’s usually impractical to drink the tea as one might with other types of tea – since you’d end up swallowing half the tea-leaves along with the drink! It’s for this reason that the bombilla was invented. The bombilla allows you to suck up the tea, while bypassing the tea leaves. And in case you can’t, then there’s always the filter or strainer, at the bottom of the bombilla, to catch any tea-leaves or grit that might be sucked up by the straw. This stops the leaves from clogging the straw, or from being swallowed…or choked on…by the drinker, while enjoying their tea.
Antique bombillas made of silver are often intricately formed and decorated. The straws are chased, engraved, they might twist and turn in a spiral fashion (think of those plastic crazy-straws that kids use), or they might even have applied, silver decorations to them, similar to mine.
How is a Bombilla Used?
You suck on it.
OK, actually it’s a bit more complex than that. Not by much, but a bit.
Bombillas come with a filter at the bottom. That’s the little perforated strainer that you see at the end. It’s purpose, as mentioned earlier, is to prevent you from sucking up and either swallowing, or choking on – the tea-leaves or tea-dust inside your mate. The mate tea-leaves are pressed to one side of your cup or gourd, and then the hot water is poured in. This means that only a small amount of tea-leaves are steeped at any one time, so that you can get the strongest flavour! This is also why you have the bombilla, anyway – to drink the tea at the bottom of the gourd, since you sure as hell can’t hold it up and drink it – unless you want the tea-leaves going all over you!!
One useful feature about bombillas is that you can pull them apart. Usually, the filter-bulbs unscrew, or unplug from the straw. This allows you to clean out the straw, clean out the filter, remove any clogging from tea-leaf residue, and keep the whole thing in working order. In my case, the filter just unscrews, like so:
Once your bombilla’s been cleaned – you simply screw the two parts back together. Easy!
Because bombillas are metal, the tea they’re used to drink is rarely served (or at least, drunk) at boiling-hot temperature, to prevent burning your mouth or lips on the straw. The length of the bombilla (this one is 8 inches long!) also aids in helping the tea to cool down during the journey from the teacup to your mouth.
Cleaning your Silver Bombilla
As it’s going to be something that you’ll put in your mouth, it probably goes without saying that if you do buy an antique silver bombilla, you should definitely clean it before using it. This can easily be done with soap, hot water, and a thin, stiff-bristled bottle-brush or tube-brush, to scour out and clean the inside of the straw, and the filter.
If you need to polish the silver, you can do that with either a liquid or paste silver polish (I use Hagerty’s polishing paste), a silver-polish cloth, or, if you’re worried about the residue from the polish getting into the straw – you can use the baking-soda method!
This has become a very popular method for cleaning silver over the last few years, and you can find loads of videos about it on YouTube.
Put simply – you line a wide, flat-bottomed container with aluminium foil (shiny side up). You put the silver item into the foil-lined container (in this case, the bombilla), and then you fill the container with BOILING HOT WATER. It has to be boiling hot, or else nothing happens.
Next, you pour in copious amounts of baking soda, making sure to cover as much of the silver item as possible. The baking soda and the hot water react, and you get a fizzy, sizzling sound, and lots and lots of bubbles. The baking soda reaction eats away at the tarnish on the silver, scouring the metal with the fizzing water, and loosens and removes blemishes from the surface of the metal. Then – fish the silver out, and dry it off. The baking soda will either have removed the tarnish entirely, or if not, then will have loosened it enough to remove it by regular polishing.
This method is useful if the silver item you’re cleaning is intricate, fragile, extremely dirty, and/or hard to clean, or if you’re cleaning loads of things at once.
Can you Still Find Silver Bombillas?
Absolutely!! There’s loads of them – mostly antiques – on eBay, but they can be quite pricey. Anywhere from $100 – $500, depending on the age, condition and size. Some are quite small, others, like mine, can be quite lengthy. If the bombilla is silver, it’s usually stamped on the filter at the bottom of the straw with 800, or 900 silver. When buying, make sure that the filter is undamaged, without dents, and can be easily removed and replaced on the straw (this is vital, because otherwise, you can’t clean it if it gets clogged or needs rinsing out!).
But – you might be asking – what about the yerba mate gourds? The cups used to drink the tea out of? Are they made in silver, too?
Oh, you bet! They’re not as common as silver bombillas, but silver gourds can be found, although, like the bombillas, they can be fairly expensive. Sometimes, you can find them together, sold as bombilla-and-gourd sets.
