Well over a year ago, now, a family friend got me on my own during a get-together on a public holiday, and asked me all about antique sewing machines. She was having her house renovated and when the renovations were complete, one of the new rooms was going to be a sewing room.
The problem was, she didn’t have a sewing machine. Or at least, not one which worked. The one machine she did have was broken. It was one of those modern white plastic junky things which runs off electricity and has a million bells and whistles on it. It was expensive, fragile and unreliable. Because of this, she wanted something more reliable and robust – hence the questions about antique machines. She already had a pretty good idea of what she wanted: It had to be antique, in good condition, with nice decorations and decals, it had to be in full working order, and it had to be a treadle-powered.
While I tried to keep an eye out for such a machine, eventually, she got one on her own, and she and her husband dropped it off at my place for me to have a look at it. Although a little battered, the machine was in good working order – it was just extremely dirty, grimy, dusty, and very stiff.
The machine when it arrived.
Antique sewing machines are famous for two things: Their beauty, and their robustness. Their decals, their decorations, their gold-leafing, mother-of-pearl and the various patterns and mouldings applied to the machines and their cabinets and cases were a deliberate attempt by manufacturers to sell their machines to an initially skeptical public in the 1800s.
Because machines were so expensive to buy (most did so through hire-purchase schemes), they had to be strong and robust enough to work for long hours without wearing out, and take a beating without breaking! In some cases, they had to take several beatings, because despite being made for the domestic market, a lot of them were (and still are) used in medium-scale manufacturing. This means that the machines had to be made strong enough to run almost nonstop for hours every day.
The beauty on this machine was more or less intact, but the robustness was wanting. Decades of non-use meant that the entire mechanism had seized up. Once the machine had been dropped off with me, I got to work pulling it apart, cleaning it, and oiling it!
“So What is this Machine?”
It’s a Singer Model 66-K, made in Kilbowie, Clydebank, Scotland, back in 1926. It’s a round-bobbin machine that uses class-66 bobbins, and it is decked out in “LOTUS” decals. My parents’ friend purchased it at a local antiques shop and brought it round to our place for me to give it a bit of TLC. I’ve always loved these machines and told her that if she ever got one, I’d be happy to give it a once-over to ensure proper operation!
The 66-model came out in 1900 and at the time, was the most modern and up-to-date type of machine available, a big boost from the much older-style shuttle-type machines, used in the second half of the 1800s. The machine was quieter, was easier to use, and had fewer components, which meant that there was less to go missing, less to break, and less to worry about when it came to using the machine.
The 66 was a full-sized machine, meant for regular, heavy use, compared to the smaller models like the 28 or the later Singer 99, which came out in the 1920s, which was basically the little brother of the 66.
“What did you Have To Do?”
The restoration of this machine involved about six different steps. They were, in order…
Disassembly.
Pulling the machine apart. Removing plates, covers, unscrewing components, removing the clutch-wheel and balance-wheel and basically taking the machine apart as far as possible without requiring heavy tools. During this stage, I also removed the electric motor that was mounted onto the side of the machine at sometime during its life. My friend’s mother didn’t want an electric machine, she wanted a treadle one, so off went the motor, which not only restored the machine’s original look, but also reduced the overall weight of the machine.
Removing the side-mounted motor.
Cleaning & Lubrication.
Once I’d pulled off as much as I could, I cleaned everything out with tissues and cotton-buds and stuff. Then once the grime and dust and grease and grit had been scoured away, the next step was to lubricate the machine by dousing the entire mechanism in sewing-oil.
The motor, power-cords and foot-pedal, all removed…
This was tipped over the gears, poured down the holes in the top of the machine (which are there for that purpose), and then carefully working the machine’s mechanism to get it moving properly. On some machines which are really, really stiff, that can be a massive challenge – but on this one it wasn’t too difficult. Don’t worry about being too forceful with these machines – they were designed to take a beating.
Removing the balance-wheel for cleaning and oiling.
Replacing the Treadle Belt!
The next step was replacing the treadle-belt. I was lucky enough to find the original belt and securing-staple inside the drawers that are built into the machine-cabinet. It was in pretty good condition, so I measured it up, looped it around the machine and the drive-wheel, and then started to splice the cord together.
The belt is made of leather, and originally, it would’ve been joined simply by punching a hole in either end, feeding the staple through it, and then clamping or crimping it together with pliers. First step was to punch the holes. I did this with a steel spike and hammer. I punched one hole, fed in half the staple, wrapped the belt around the mechanism, and then marked where the other end of the staple would go through the other end of the belt.
The belt back on the machine!
I removed the belt from the machine, punched the other hole, wrapped the belt back around the treadle mechanism, fed the other end of the staple through the second hole, made sure everything lined up properly, and then crimped everything shut with a pair of pliers. I left a bit of slack in the belt so that the machine could move freely, and so that the belt wouldn’t get any undue strain. The next step was to test the running of the machine.
Testing the Machine…
The finished machine!
Once the belt was on, I started testing the machine, oiling it where it squeaked, checking that the motion was smooth and regular, and that everything worked – that it sewed, that the tension was correct, that the bobbin-winder spun around smoothly, and that it would actually fill a bobbin. Once that was done, it was simply a matter of wiping the machine down, polishing it and ringing up my friend to tell him that his mother could come by and pick up the machine whenever she wanted to!
All in all, it took me about two or three days to get the machine back to functioning order, working in sections. I’m very pleased with the results!