“It’s heavy!…What is it?” “The uh…stuff that dreams are made of”
“The Maltese Falcon” (1941)
THE MACGUFFIN
If you’ve studied creative writing or filmmaking in any decent capacity, then you’ve probably come across this term at least once in your life.
The MacGuffin.
But what is it? Where does it come from? What does it mean? Let’s find out…
The term was coined by screenwriter, and Alfred Hitchcock collaborator, Angus MacPhail sometime in the 1930s, meaning that the term “MacGuffin” has now been in use for nearly 100 years, across plays, novels, TV shows, and films. It pops up in all kinds of adaptations, and all sorts of storylines. It is not central to any specific type of genre, and can be found in almost anything, from adventure to mystery, action to spy-thrillers.
But what is a “MacGuffin”?
A “MacGuffin”, as defined by Alfred Hitchcock himself, was…
“…the mechanical element that usually crops up in any story…”
That is to say – it is a plot-device. An element of the story that drives the narrative forward, and which is the focus of the attention of all the main characters – the one thing that they’re chasing after during some (if not all) of the film.
As Hitchcock said:
“…in [criminal] stories it is almost always the necklace and in spy stories it is almost always the papers…”
A MacGuffin is something which drives the narrative (and characters) forward, but which, in-and-of-itself, holds no real significance, and which loses more and more of that significance the further the story progresses, whereupon, by the end of the narrative, the MacGuffin has become (or very nearly becomes) completely irrelevant. Indeed, the MacGuffin could even be destroyed (and some MacGuffins are) at, or near the end of the film or novel, and this doesn’t even effect the plot, since, as mentioned – the MacGuffin has been of decreasing significance to the plot since the moment of its introduction.
The true test of a MacGuffin is whether it passes this test of insignificance. If the MacGuffin could be replaced by something totally different, and if it could be destroyed or changed, without affecting the plot of the story itself, it is a MacGuffin.
Once you understand this definition, it’s amazing how many MacGuffins you will find in all kinds of filmic and literary creations. Famous examples of MacGuffins include the Horcruxes, or the Philosopher’s Stone from “Harry Potter“, the Ring from “Lord of the Rings“, the Necklace from “Titanic“, the Letters of Transit in “Casablanca“, the stolen money in “PSYCHO“, the unopened parcel in “Castaway“, and countless other examples, far too numerous to mention.
At the beginning of each story, these items (or even people, or other things – a MacGuffin isn’t necessarily an object) all sound frightfully important, and all the main characters want these items, but by the end of it all…they’ve lost all significance…and if you replaced them with something else, or even if you destroyed them, the basic plot of the story wouldn’t have changed one bit.
For all we care, Frodo could’ve been trying to burn a donut in Mount Doom, and the plot of the story would not have changed, because the end-result is the same. Therefore, the Ring is a MacGuffin.
This brings up another Hitchcock quote:
“…a MacGuffin is actually nothing at all…”
Which is true – a MacGuffin could be anything, and nothing, all at once. All that matters is that the characters in the film or novel WANT IT!! (my prrreeecious!!), that it drives the plot forward, that it becomes insignificant, and keeps you, the audience, guessing. Not because you want to know what it is (some of the best MacGuffins are never revealed – for example – we’re never shown what’s inside the briefcase in “Pulp Fiction”), but because you want to see what happens next in the character-arcs and plot development as they chase the MacGuffin.
Where Does “MacGuffin” come From?
The very word “MacGuffin” is, in a way, a MacGuffin itself. We don’t know what it is, nor what it means, where it comes from, or what it signifies. The term is most closely associated with famed thriller director Alfred Hitchcock, but while he used it often in his films, he did not originate the term, crediting his friend McPhail. McPhail is the first-known person to use the word “MacGuffin”, but it is not recorded when, where, or how this came to be. And, in the sense of a true MacGuffin, it’s not really significant, since even if we changed the origins, how a MacGuffin is used today is still exactly the same as it was back in the 40s and 50s when Hitchcock was using it.
A more recent example of a MacGuffin in modern times is the elusive “Rabbit’s Foot” in Mission Impossible III. They spend the whole film chasing after it, but by the end of the film, whatever it really was has lost all significance to the plot. On top of that, none of the characters even know what it is, or really, why it’s important. They just know that they have to have it. It is a MacGuffin.
Possibly the most famous “MacGuffin” in history, and one which beautifully illustrates just exactly what a MacGuffin is, is the black falcon statuette from the 1941 film “The Maltese Falcon“.
All the characters are desperately seeking the statuette, to attain it, to save it, protect it, to grow rich off of it…whatever their motivations may be…but when they finally attain it, they realise that actually, it’s nothing more than a worthless knockoff! A forgery made of lead, and has thusly, lost all significance to the characters, while the quest for the Falcon has driven the entire film. At this stage, you realise that the Falcon could’ve been anything at all, and the basic plot of the film would not have changed. Again – they could’ve been chasing a donut…
In today’s world of polyester, acrylic and spandex, traditional textiles and fibres can be increasingly difficult to find when it comes to buying quality clothing. What are the origins of the fibres used to create the textiles which our parents and grandparents grew up with, in the days before manmade fibres started to dominate the fabric-making world?
In this posting, we’ll find out together! We’ll find out what various fibres and textiles are, what they’re used for, and where they come from. While there are a multitude of fibres out there, I’ll just be covering the most common ones in this posting, or it could go on forever!
So rug up, and get comfortable…
COTTON
Used to make all kinds of fabrics, from toweling to velour to seersucker, and used to make all kinds of garments, from shirts, to blouses, to socks, and undergarments, cotton has been cultivated for centuries. That said, cotton, which grows in warm environments, is extremely difficult to harvest! Picking the bolls of cotton from the plants by hand was a slow, labour-intensive, and even painful exercise. Although the plant itself has no thorns or spines, the cotton boll – the bulb, or ‘fruit’ of the cotton plant – can be hard and spiky. When the boll opens, you gain access to the fluffy cotton fibres inside.
Once you’ve picked the cotton, it must then be processed to remove all the seeds caught up inside the fibres – an extremely slow, laborious process which took hours to complete! This is what slaves in the American South had to deal with day in, day out, for weeks on end during harvest-time on cotton-producing plantations back in the 1700s and 1800s. To make cotton-processing easier, Eli Whitney invented the cotton engine, or “Cotton Gin”. Raw, unprocessed cotton fluff was stuffed into one end of the machine, and a crank was turned, spinning a spiked drum. The drum-spikes basically ‘combed’ the cotton fibres through a mesh, teasing them out bit by bit. The mesh was just wide enough to let the cotton fibres through, but not large enough to admit the seeds caught up in the fibres. In this way, the raw cotton fibres could be separated from the seeds, and pure cotton could be gathered up, baled, and shipped out for spinning and weaving into fabric.
Once packed and shipped, raw, processed cotton was sent to cotton mills, either in the northern United States, or across the Atlantic to the UK. Here, it was spun and woven into fabric. The deafening noise of the rattling looms and spinning-wheels caused some cotton-mill workers to go deaf. It’s the origin of the term “Cloth Ears”, meaning an inability to hear properly.
LINEN
Light, airy and breathable, linen is the fabric produced from the fibres of the flax plant. Because of its light weight, softness and absorptive nature, linen fabric is often used for warm-weather clothing. Linen jackets, trousers and suits, linen shirts and handkerchiefs…linen was also used for toweling and bedsheets, which is why we still have the terms “bath linen” and “bed linen” today. Linen is generally the recommended material for summertime clothing because of its thin, strong, breathable, and lightweight construction.
SILK
We’ve all heard of the expression ‘smooth as silk’, but where does silk come from?
Silk is the thread which is extracted from the cocoons of the silkworm (the adorably-named ‘bombix mori’).
Silkworms eating mulberry leaves
Silkworms are now purposefully farmed and bred to produce silk, and the little critters are pretty pampered for the luxurious fibre that they generate. They’re fed almost exclusively on the leaves of the White Mulberry tree, although they can eat a (limited) number of other leaves. Sericulture, the practice of farming silkworms, has a history of at least 5,000 years, and originated in China. For literally thousands of years, China was the main producer, and exporter of silk, and guarded its silk-weaving and silk-farming processes jealously! Europeans loved silk for its softness and smoothness, its strength, and durability, but getting silk was almost impossible. Imperial decrees forbade anybody from detailing to a “foreign barbarian” where, how, when, or with what silk was manufactured, and Europeans remained in ignorance for centuries.
Eventually, knowledge of silk leaked out of China, and by the Middle Ages, silk-farming and production had begun in the Middle East and later, in Europe.
Silk has incredible properties. Spun, and then woven into fabric, it’s incredibly strong and dense, despite its light weight, and this made it ideal for all kinds of garment-making applications. In fact, some of the world’s first bulletproof vests were made of silk! Layers and layers and layers of silk were placed on top of each other, and then firmly stitched and quilted together, to form a thin, but very firm protective cloth padding which was impenetrable by arrows, and even by various types of gunfire. It’s how a lot of body-armour was produced before the invention of kevlar.
WOOL
Shorn from sheep (or lambs), wool has been used for centuries for everything from blankets and bedding, to tunics, hose, trousers, jackets, suits, coats, scarves and mittens. Depending on how it’s been carded, spun, and woven, wool can be anything from soft and plush to thick and fluffy, to smooth and luxurious!
These days, most “wool” garments are not pure wool. To give it strength and durability, it’s usually blended with synthetic fibres (polyester) to create a ‘wool-blend’. High-quality wool-blends are anywhere from 60-40 wool-poly, up to 80-20 or even 90-10 wool-poly. Wool has incredible water-shedding properties, as well as insulation, for warmth. It’s also robust against grime and light stains, and, depending on how it’s constructed – even fireproof!…although for that last quality, you’d want 100% wool construction.
Back in the old days, wool garments were 100% wool, and you can still find that today, if you know where and how to look, but they will cost more.
CASHMERE
Fluffy cashmere goats!
Mmmm…cashmere! Soft, fluffy, smooth, and warm. Cashmere is the name of the wool that is shorn from the Cashmere or “Kashmir” goat, which is native to India and Pakistan. Famed for centuries for its softness, cashmere is used for scarves, socks, coats, and other winter-weather clothing. As with pure-wool fabric, pure-cashmere is expensive. To stretch the budget a bit, cashmere may also be blended, almost always with wool, or sometimes, silk, for a more lightweight finish.
ALPACA
A type of camelid native to South America (in particular, Peru), alpaca wool is again, one more step above just ordinary sheep-wool. What makes Alpaca and Cashmere wool so popular is that the fibres of their wool are so extremely fine. This means that any fabric produced from their wool is both thin, and lightweight, but also incredibly dense, which makes them beautifully soft, and warm. Alpaca wool is used for blankets, scarves, and winter clothes due to its natural insulating properties and luxuriously soft texture.
VICUNA
Ever heard of vicuna? Probably not! That’s hardly surprising, considering that at one point, this little South American camelid was very-nearly extinct! Today, they’re no-longer extinct (yay!!)…but that fact has done little to hide the fact that vicuna wool is the MOST EXPENSIVE WOOL IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.
How expensive?
Well, for any reasonably sized vicuna-wool garment (say, a suit, an overcoat, a jacket, etc), you can expect to pay MULTIPLE TENS of THOUSANDS of dollars.
This is because of two main reasons: Vicuna wool is extremely fine and soft, and therefore, dense, and high quality (Oooh, luxury!), but also, because vicuna are small animals, and only produce a relatively tiny amount of wool each year. In an entire year, you’d be lucky to get more than a few tons of fleeces out of the global population of vicunas. Not a few hundred tons, not a few thousand…just…a few tons. And that’s it. And because vicuna only live in South America, you also have to factor in import and transportation costs for this valuable fibre, which drives the already high prices up even higher!…just to get your hands on what would be only a few hundred kilos of wool, if that.
As the weather changes and as things start to get colder, wetter, windier and rainier down here in the Merry old Land of Oz…it’s time for a change in footwear.
Away with the huaraches, the sandals, and the loafers or whatever…and out with the boots to slosh through the rain and sludge that inevitably comes with winter weather.
And also, out with the constant struggle to PULL YOUR GODDAMN BOOTS ON! Right?? Oh lord above…
If you’re a fan of “Chelsea”-style boots – of either the suede, or leather variety, or of slip-on boots in general, then this is a struggle you’re probably far too painfully familiar with. No doubt you’ve twisted your ankle or snapped a shoehorn or two, just trying to leave the house in the morning while pulling your boots on – but what’s the alternative?
Well – the alternative is a neat little Victorian-era invention known as a boot-hook, or boot-pull.
Most pairs of boots will come with a little leather or cloth tab or loop at the back of the boot, above the heel. If they’re large enough, you can just shove your fingers in there and pull your boots on and you’re done. Easy.
But what if those tabs are really small, or what if you have huge fingers? What if you just can’t get a grip on those tabs, and instead, they stare up at you, mocking you for your incompetence and lack of lateral thinking?
Well – in situations like that – you use boot-pulls!
Boot pulls come in all lengths, shapes, sizes and styles. They can be brand-new, they can be plastic, they can be antique, like mine, they can be fixed, or they can even be compact, folding models.
Regardless of style or age, boot-pulls are typically between 6-12 inches long, and usually have a grab-handle at the top, which you can hook your fingers around. Under that is a shaft, with a flat, angular hook at the bottom.
Why flat? So that the pull-tabs on your boots get even pressure put on them when you pull. A curved hook would compress all that force into one point and damage your boot tabs…plus, a curved hook is harder to slide into the tab-loop.
They also come with flat, blunt hook-tips, so that they can slide easily in and out of your boot-tabs without cutting, snagging or pulling on them accidentally. Once you’ve mastered using them, you’ll be able to pull your boots on with no problems at all. Simply slip your foot into your boot, feed the hook through the tab or loop at the back, and pull firmly upwards. It may take you one or two attempts to get the hook through the hole, but once you’ve done it, all you need is a firm tug to get your boots on.
Apart from just making boots faster to pull on when you’re getting dressed boot-pulls are great for people who might have back or leg issues which prevent them from bending over, kneeling, or reaching behind them with ease. If you have any of those issues, and hate wearing laced-up shoes, you might consider changing to boots and buying a set of boot-pulls for yourself.
Where to Buy Boot Pulls?
Boot-pulls can be found easily online on sites like eBay and such-like. My set is an antique pair with round, bone handles. I bought them at the local flea-market about four years ago, for like $20.00. You can also find antique sets on antique dealers’ sites, or on eBay, with handles made of wood, or bone. They can either be bought for next to nothing, or can cost several hundred dollars. Of course, how much you want to spend is up to you. I once saw a single hook for sale for about $450.00!! I love my boots, but not that much!
With the rise of internet gaming, gaming consoles, and PC gaming, traditional tabletop games such as card-games, chess, checkers, carom, etc, are starting to lose out in the face of stiff competition from their more hip, on-screen counterparts. However, one game which has never seemed to die out, even in the digital age, is the age-old Chinese favourite called…Mahjong!
The most famous of all Chinese traditional games, in this blog-posting, we’ll be looking at the history of mahjong, how it’s played, where it came from, where it went, and what happened to it along the way.
So, shuffle your tiles, build your walls, form your melds, and place your bets!
It’s time to go mahjonging…
Mahjong – What’s in a Name?
‘Mahjong’ is the accepted modern spelling of the traditional Chinese game known as “Mah Jiang”. The most literal translation of the word ‘mahjong’ is ‘sparrows’ (‘Mah’ in Chinese), or ‘chattering sparrows’. This is believed to have been derived from the clattering, chattering, clacking noise produced by traditional mahjong tiles, which sound like chittering, fluttering birds.
An alternative spelling of the game – chiefly used in the United States – is “Mah Jongg” – for some reason, with two ‘g’s on the end. This is actually a trademarked name, and is not in any way related to the traditional Chinese pronunciation, Wade-Giles Romanisation, or pinyin spelling. I’ll explain how it got its “two-g’s” spelling, further on down in the article.
The History of Mahjong
The exact origins of mahjong are unknown. Where, when and by whom the game was invented have been lost to history. Creative marketing, myths, and legend, will tell you that mahjong is an ancient game, invented thousands of years ago, by the great Chinese philosopher, Confucius, as a way to train the mind, that it was played by the concubines and empresses in the Forbidden City in Peking, and that from these lofty beginnings, the game was gradually democratised over the passing centuries to the Chinese peasantry, to become the national game of China!
…Right?
I’m very sorry to disappoint you, but…none of that is even slightly true! Not one bit of it.
Detective-work and educated guesses by Chinese historians seem to have traced the game’s roots to Chinese card-games played in the 17th and 18th centuries. Such games were similar to modern Poker, or Gin-Rummy, which are the closest European equivalents to modern mahjong, in terms of gameplay.
The problem was, of course, that paperboard playing-cards did not last very long. They were easily prone to damage, warping, tearing, and splitting. These thin, paper cards were difficult to hold, fiddly to handle, and lightweight, which means they can blow away in the wind…hardly ideal when you’re in the middle of a game.
The game that’s most similar to mahjong, before mahjong itself was invented, is known as Yezipai, or simply “Yezi”. It was played using small slivers or slices of ivory, bone, or wood, an improvement on paper cards, but still not as hard-wearing as modern mahjong tiles. The thin sheets of ivory and bone were easily broken and could be snapped in half, ruining an entire deck due to one person’s clumsiness!
It’s for this reason that someone – nobody knows who – decided to transfer the designs on the cards onto durable, heavyweight bone and ivory tiles – solid blocks which could be stacked, stood up, laid down, packed and unpacked easily, and which could withstand years of heavy-handed playing.
When this transition took place, nobody seems to know, but it appears to have happened by the early 1800s. As for where the game was invented, that’s a bit more straightforward: In the first half of the 19th century, when mahjong was likely in its infancy, the game was only really being played in one location in China: Ningpo.
A port city in Zhejiang Province, Ningpo was one of several “treaty ports” opened by the British as a result of the unequal Treaty of Nanking, which ended the 1839-1842 First Opium War.
The chief British diplomat stationed in Ningpo in the mid-1800s was a man named Frederick E.B. Harvey. Harvey’s official title was British Consul to Ningpo, and he was in charge of the British Consulate within the city.
Harvey’s diplomatic career in China started in Hong Kong. Thereafter he was transferred to the International Settlement of Shanghai, and finally, to Ningpo, in 1859.
It was while living in Ningpo that Harvey met a man named Chen Yumen – the person who would introduce him to the relatively new game called ‘Mahjong’.
Harvey’s letters home to England, and diary-entries while living in Ningpo, are the first written English records detailing the gameplay, rules, and culture surrounding mahjong. His writings are also among the first references, in any language – to the existence of mahjong in any capacity, giving us a fairly accurate starting date for mahjong in the early 1800s.
From its creation in Ningpo, mahjong spread to Shanghai, Peking, Tientsin, and eventually, to all of China.
Mahjong in the 20th Century
For most of the 1800s, mahjong remained a largely Chinese game, played wherever four Chinese people could be found to fill a mahjong table, but this started to change at the end of the 19th century.
Chinese migration in the second half of the 1800s, and the turn of the 1900s saw the game being exported to ethnic Chinese communities overseas, such as those in San Francisco and New York in the United States, to the British Asian colonies of Hong Kong and Singapore, and to other cities with large Chinese populations such as London in England, or Toronto, in Canada. Western exposure to mahjong started largely in the early 1900s – and a lot of it had to do with one city:
Shanghai.
As mentioned previously, mahjong is believed to have been invented in, or near, the city of Ningpo, on the southern shores of Hangzhou Bay in Zhejiang Province.
Well, if you study a map of China, you’ll find out that the nearest major city to Ningpo is just across the bay, and a few miles north – the city of Shanghai – built around the Huangpu River, which leads to the Yangtze nearby.
By the late 1800s, knowledge of mahjong had spread to Shanghai. This larger, more cosmopolitan city adopted the game, and made it their own. Mahjong was played everywhere in Shanghai, from inside peoples’ homes, to public parks, teahouses, private clubs, and even in dedicated mahjong houses. Mahjong manufacturing was also centered around Shanghai. The large, urban population meant that there were loads of off-cuts of the materials used to make mahjong sets: Wood, bone, ivory, and bamboo, so the city was the natural location where mahjong sets would be produced.
It was from Shanghai that mahjong was exported, either physically, or by word-of-mouth, around the world. It was in Shanghai, or more specifically, within the confines of the International Settlement, that mahjong was first exposed in a big way to Western audiences. British, American, French, Russian, and Jewish expats living in Shanghai (known as “Shanghailanders”) became fascinated with the game, and started playing it with their Chinese friends.
At the same time, Western tourists visiting Shanghai were purchasing sets of mahjong, and taking them home as souvenirs, or writing about them in letters and postcards, and posting these back to loved ones and friends in Europe and North America. Expats who had lived in Shanghai for some number of years, and who had come to love the game, purchased mahjong sets as mementos of their Chinese adventures, and likely played mahjong during the long steamer-journeys home to the USA, Canada, or Europe, exposing the game to even more foreigners.
Mahjong in the West
It was in this way that mahjong started catching on in Western countries – particularly Britain, Canada, the United States, and countries in Western Europe which had extensive contact with China. Mahjong started being imported to the USA in the early 1920s by Standard Oil Company executive Joseph Park Babcock. Babcock had headed up the Standard Oil office in Shanghai, operating out of the International Settlement. While living in China, Babcock and his wife had developed a taste for mahjong, and he got the notion into his head that if he marketed it correctly – mahjong could become huge in the United States!
To this end, Babcock wrote a simplified rule-book for mahjong, and started marketing it aggressively as “Mah-Jongg” (with two g’s) in the USA.
Mahjong was already starting to gain traction in the U.S., because of, as I mentioned previously – written references to the game in letters and postcards, and because foreign tourists were bringing back mahjong sets from China as souvenirs of their travels. However, it was Joseph P. Babcock’s creative streak that really set the ball rolling when it came to the arrival of mahjong in the United States.
Along with the simplified rules and importing new sets directly from Shanghai, Babcock came up with a whole fanciful “history” for the game. In the early 1900s, all things “Oriental” were highly en-vogue in the Western world. Chinese-style clothing, dresses, furniture, food, Chinese decorative elements and colour-schemes, were all the rage. Look no further than the reconstruction of Chinatown in San Francisco, post-1906, as one example.
It was into this heady mix of fried rice, silk robes, chopsticks, and a blur of red, black, and yellow hues, that the first large-scale Western contact with mahjong had entered. Mahjong was seen as being mysterious, new, exciting, dangerous, hedonistic, and exotic! No game like it had existed in the West before, and Americans bought up mahjong so fast that importers working with manufacturers in Shanghai couldn’t keep up with demand! Luxurious mahjong sets made of beautiful woods, with inlaid cases decorated with polished metalwork, and intricately carved tiles were bought and sold by, and from big-name department stores and gaming-products manufacturers, such as Parker Brothers in the US (more famous these days for selling “CLUE”).
Mahjong became so popular in America that there was even a song written about it! “Ma is Playing Mahjong”, from 1924! The lyrics are, perhaps, not very politically correct, 100 years later, but its existence speaks to the incredible impact that mahjong had on American culture. You can listen to it here…
It was in this way that mahjong became incredibly popular in the United States, starting in the 1910s and 20s, and going right through the 1930s, 40s, and 50s, and well into the present-day!
While mahjong thrived in the West, mahjong in China was under attack! During the Cultural Revolution – the ten-year period between 1966-1976, mahjong was banned in China for being a decadent, wasteful extravagance, and an “old idea” that had no place in the “New China”! The ban was lifted upon the end of the Revolution, when Chairman Mao died in 1976.
The Mahjong Set
Obviously, to play mahjong, you need a mahjong set. A traditional mahjong set comes with dice (at least two, and sometimes up to four), a wind-disc or indicator, with wind-directions engraved or printed on it in Chinese characters, tally-sticks (for scoring) or tokens / coins (again, for scoring), and last, but not least – the tiles!
A full mahjong set contains 144 tiles, divided into suits. The suits are:
Circles, Bamboo, Wan (or ‘characters’), Winds, Dragons, Honours, and Bonuses, also called Flowers and Seasons. Unless you’re playing competitive mahjong, the bonuses/flower tiles, can be discarded, as they won’t affect play unless you’re actually scoring the game. Because of this, mahjong sets which are bought just to enjoy the fun of the game, rather than for competition, usually exclude these tiles, for a set of 136 tiles, instead.
Each suit has four sets of tiles with numbers going from 1-9, for circles, bamboo, the wan/characters, and four-each, of the winds, and dragons. By tradition, One of Bamboo is indicated by a bird (usually a peacock, or similar). The “Wan” tiles have numbers in Chinese characters, with another character (the “wan”) underneath. “Wan” is the Chinese word for “10,000”, so for example, a two-wan tile is actually “20,000”. Again, this is used in scoring the game, but when playing for fun, most people ignore this stuff. There are four-each, of the honours and bonus tiles.
To play the game effectively, at the very least, you will require a pair of dice, and a full set of mahjong tiles (which, again, is 144 pieces).
In the 1800s and during the first half of the 20th century, when mahjong was at its height of international popularity, mahjong sets were sold in fantastically elaborate cases. These cases or cabinets had handles, sliding doors, and tile-drawers to hold the tiles and paraphernalia for playing. Today, such cabinets (there’s usually 4-5 drawers – one for each suit, and a fifth drawer for the bits and pieces), in good condition, complete with their sets of playing tiles and accessories, cost hundreds, or even thousands of dollars each.
Modern mahjong sets, usually made of melamine plastic (unless you’re rich enough to afford a handmade set which is produced the old-fashioned way using bone and bamboo!) are sold in simple briefcase-style boxes for ease of storage and transport. Some modern-day manufacturers, looking to recapture the beauty of the antique cases from the 1900s, will produce modern-day sets in vintage-style cases, complete with the handles, sliding doors and pull-out drawers.
How to Play Mahjong!
Now that you have your mahjong set, you need to know how to use it! How do you play with it? How do you win? What’s the POINT OF THE GAME!?
The following instructions are given based on the use of a traditional mahjong set – which has 144 tiles– and gameplay as followed using traditional Chinese/Hong-Kong-style rules.
The aim of a game of mahjong is to build a winning hand of tiles (14 in number) comprised of FOUR MELDS and ONE PAIR.
A “meld” is a grouping of tiles, and a pair is…a…pair! Two matched, identical tiles.
There are three traditional melds:
Pong, Kong, and Chow, also spelled as “Pung”, “Gung”, “Chi”, and various other spellings, depending on Chinese dialects. For the sake of simplicity, I will use “Pong, Kong and Chow”.
A “Pong” is three identical tiles. For example – three white dragons.
A “Kong” is four identical tiles. For example – four West Winds.
A “Chow” is three suited tiles in-sequence. For example – one-two-three of bamboo, circles, or wans, or 2, 3, 4, or 4, 5, 6…you get the idea.
Once you have built four melds (which would usually be 12 tiles), then you have to get your “pair” – two identical tiles. Once you’ve got that, you’ve won the game! Traditionally, the winner will clamp their winning hand together between their fingers, and then slam them down on the table in triumph, to announce their winning hand! (trust me, you should totally do this. It’s a lot of fun!).
And that’s basically it. There are other details, which I’ll go into later on, so keep reading…
Setting up the Game
To play a game of mahjong, you need at least two people (and ideally, four), a square, or circular table, and plenty of time to enjoy a leisurely afternoon of gossip, gameplay, tea-drinking, and shouted profanity, when you find out that someone has beat you at the table!
First, you have to “wash” or shuffle the tiles. Once the tiles are shuffled, you have to build your walls.
There are four walls. If you’re using a traditional 144-tile set, then the walls are 36 tiles each, or two rows of 18 tiles, double-stacked.
The ritual of building the walls is one of the reasons why mahjong was so fascinating to Europeans when they first saw the game. The customs and intricacies of gameplay were unlike anything they had ever seen with cards, or chess, or checkers. It simply had no comparison to anything in the West. In the American version of mahjong (and yes, there is an American version), this stage of the game is known as “Building the Great Wall of China” (because, why not, right?). It’s another element of the game which harks back to the Western exoticism of mahjong in the early-20th-century.
Once the four walls are built, they’re set out in a square. Then you throw the pair of dice into the square, and count around the players going anti-clockwise until you reach the number of the dice. The person you land on is the dealer.
You throw the dice again, and then count along the dealer’s wall. You break the wall at that number, and then each player takes three stacks of four tiles (so, 12) from that break in the wall, again, going anticlockwise around the walls.
The dealer takes an additional stack, giving them 14 tiles. Every other player takes ONE extra tile (so, 13 tiles). The tiles that you’re given (or have taken) form your “hand”. These are the tiles you will concentrate on for the duration of the game. Got all that? Right! The game is now ready to start.
Playing a Game of Mahjong
To begin, if anybody has “bonus” tiles – Seasons, or Flowers – toss them out. You won’t need them in gameplay unless you’re doing a professional game with scoring. Replace those tiles with fresh tiles from the wall. Take a minute to set up your tiles and arrange them in a way that makes sense to you, and see if you have any patterns emerging, or any melds or pairs you can form. When setting up your tiles, they’re stood up on-end, facing you. This conceals your hand from other players, displays your tiles easily for quick manipulation, and allows you to slide, part, or push your tiles together as required, to build melds and pairs.
Got all that? Right! Next step…
Now, the dealer casts out his first tile to kick the game off. By tradition, a game of mahjong moves in an anticlockwise direction around the table.
Each player TAKES one tile, sets it into their hand, and then CASTS OUT one tile that they don’t need. That is considered one turn. Once a player has done that, play moves to the next participant, and so-on, around the table.
As the game progresses, you’ll end up with two “piles” on the table. One is the “draw pile” or the “wall”, and the other pile (in the middle of the table) is the “discard pile”. These are all the tiles that people have chucked out of their hands that they don’t need. As a courtesy to other players, keep the discard pile neat and tidy, as it helps people to know which tile was freshly discarded, and prevents later confusion during gameplay.
You may take a tile from the discard pile to form a meld, or to complete a winning hand and end the game. However, if you do this, then you must “open” the meld to the rest of the table. So, for example, if someone throws out a tile and you find that taking that tile produces a meld for you, you can grab it and shove it into your hand. But then, you have to drop those tiles down onto the table to show the other players the meld that you’ve built from that discard.
You don’t have to do this if you form a meld from a tile taken from the wall-tiles, during your turn.
And so the game continues until a person has a winning hand of FOUR MELDS and ONE PAIR. A winning hand is typically 14 tiles – four groups of three, and one pair, or 18 tiles – four groups of four, and a pair – although this is much harder to attain, so most people will stick to a 14-tile winning hand.
When you have built your winning hand, line up your tiles in a row, grip them together firmly, and then slam them down onto the table, all together, in one, swift, sure, satisfying, and smug move, to show that you’ve won the game!
And that is how mahjong works! It’s really that simple.
Of course, there are complexities – for example – what type of mahjong are you playing? There’s three main styles – Japanese-style mahjong, also known as “Richii Mahjong” (“Richii!” is what you shout when you’re one tile away from winning!), American-style mahjong, which developed in the 1920s and 30s, and finally, the oldest, and most authentic version – Hong-Kong-style mahjong. Most Asians who play mahjong will have grown up learning Hong Kong-style mahjong.
Buying a Mahjong Set
So – you wanna buy a mahjong set, huh?
Sure! I mean they’re not that hard to buy, are they? There’s loads of them on eBay, AliExpress, and other websites. You can probably buy one in any Chinatown in the world, or while visiting countries with large Chinese populations such as Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, etc. Or, you might just find one at your local weekend flea-market.
If you do buy a set, it’s likely to be a modern set, with plastic tiles, counters, tally-sticks, dice, and other accessories, in a briefcase-style box. If you buy a secondhand set, make sure that the case is in good condition, that all the pieces are present and correct, and that you can open and close the case smoothly and securely – the last thing you want is to pick up the case and have everything spill out! Whoops…
But, I hear you say…
“I Want to Buy one of those Fancy Antique Mahong Sets!”
No problem! You can still buy one of those – but there are a lot more things to think about. Antique sets are more likely to have missing pieces, have structural damage, and of course – have higher prices! Depending on age, condition, completeness and rarity, an antique mahjong set can be had for a few hundred dollars, all the way up to a few thousand dollars!
When buying an antique set, make sure that you have all the tiles – a full set is 144 tiles. A set without the “bonus” or “honour” tiles is 136 tiles. Most sets are one, or the other. If it has less than 136 or 144 tiles, then there’s tiles missing!
Check the case for damage. Splitting, cracking, dovetail-joinery coming apart, and so-on. Check any inlays for fit – if they’re getting loose, you’ll have to poke them out, and glue them back in to prevent loss. Check the drawers to make sure they slide in and out smoothly, and that the handles and doors work properly. A lot of these old cases have split wood, cracks, and faulty joinery, so it pays to check literally every square inch of the case, front and back, side to side, top and bottom. Some faults are repairable with glue, clamping, and reinforcement, others are a total loss.
Check the metalwork, as well. Handles, pull-tabs on the drawers, and the corner-tabs on the sides of the case. Usually, these are brass, or nickel-silver. They’re riveted or hammered into place, so check the nails to make sure that nothing’s coming apart. If it is, nail it back in and glue it in place. Traditionally, these cases were meant to be picked up and carried by their handles – you might not want to do that if it’s a rickety case. A case in good condition should be able to be carried without fear of anything coming apart!
Last but not least – check the tiles themselves. Antique mahjong tiles are made in two parts: An upper tile-face, and a lower tile-base. On the majority of antique sets, these were BONE on top and BAMBOO on the base. Other sets used ivory, or special hardwoods, etc. The tiles are spliced together using dovetail joints. High-quality sets will have solid, firm, secure joints, well carved and tight-fitting. Cheap sets have joints which are loose or in danger of falling apart! Traditionally, no glue was used to hold the tiles together. Simple friction was all that kept them as one.
Antique mahjong sets were manufactured by hand. That means that all the woodwork is hand-cut and joined, and the tiles are hand-cut and dovetailed together. Likewise, the tile-faces are carved or engraved by hand. The more intricate the engraving, the higher-quality the set is. Similarly, the more bone-content you have on each tile, the higher quality the set. Sets with hardly any bone on the tiles are cheap and tacky. Sets with loads of bone in each tile are higher quality, as they can withstand higher-quality, more intricate engravings.
My Antique Mahjong Set
In closing this article, I feel it only proper to write one last chapter – with which to introduce to my readers, my own personal mahjong set.
I bought this at auction back in 2018, and paid what some thought, was a rather exorbitant price, at the time. However, recent developments have shown that I basically paid peanuts for something so valuable that it’s basically irreplaceable…certainly for the price I paid!
Comprised of a rosewood case, complete with brass fittings, a sliding door, and four tile-drawers, my mahjong set is one of my absolute pride-and-joys! I would never sell this, and I love being able to use it. The tiles are made in the traditional way – bone and bamboo, dovetailed together, and carved by hand. I don’t know how old it is, but my guess would be early-to-mid 20th century.
The entire case – including the door, and the four, sliding tile-drawers – is made of Chinese rosewood, or what is known as “huanghuali“, in Chinese. The pull-tabs on the lid, and the tile-drawers are little brass butterflies.
Each drawer holds one suit of tiles. Circles, bamboo, wans, and then the dragons, winds and bonuses all live in one drawer by themselves, for a total of 144 tiles. There’s also two tiny bone dice which go with the set.
One thing you may not have noticed about the set is how incredibly SMALL it is! The case measures just 5.5in. x. 5.5in. x 9in! I’ve seen tissue-boxes bigger than that! The tiles are all half-sized, and they’re absolutely adorable! Here are the various suits of tiles…
Overall, the set is in fantastic condition. There’s no damage to speak of, and everything is in perfect, working, usable condition. And I do use it! When my friends and I play mahjong, this is the set we use, and we have a lot of fun with it.
Anyway – this concludes this rather lengthy posting, all about mahjong! Its history, how it’s played, and how to buy and use your very own mahjong set.
Happy playing!
Want to Find out More?
Information for this article was gleamed from the website of mahjong historian Gregg Swain, which may be found at Mahjong Treasures.
Additional information was gleamed from the CCTV documentary about the history of mahjong, which may be found on YouTube (or at least, it could be, at the time of writing this posting).
This amazing score, and the latest addition to my pen-collection, was made just before the new year.
I hardly ever browse sites like Gumtree, usually because the chances of finding nice stuff on there is not very high – and when you do find stuff, it’s usually heavily overpriced – but this time – this time – I got lucky.
Extraordinarily lucky.
Sterling silver fountain pens are already expensive. Montblanc pens are even more expensive.
Sterling silver Montblanc pens are even more expensive than that!
Sterling silver Montblanc pens which also have vermeil (gold-on-silver) finishes?
I’ll let you do the maths on that one. Or, you could just go on eBay right now, type in “Vermeil Silver Montblanc Pen”, and then have a heart-attack over the prices…because that’s what I did the first time I ever looked into buying one!
As with the last pen which I wrote about in this blog, this model, which, like the last one, is a 146-sized pen – is part of the Montblanc “Solitaire” lineup, meaning that it’s a pen which is made of a precious metal – in this case – sterling silver.
Yep – I said sterling silver. Don’t let that fancy gold finish fool you! It’s vermeil – 18kt gold-filling over a sterling silver base. The cap on the pen is marked “925” for 92.5% purity of silver – the Sterling Standard.
This particular pen has the ripply, gripply “Barleycorn” finish, which was one of two finishes available to people buying a Montblanc Solitaire pen back in the 1980s, 90s, and early 2000s. The other finish was known as the “Pinstripe” variant. A third, significantly rarer style was the “Chevron” finish, which featured a chevron pattern across the pen.
Finding the Vermeil Barleycorn 146
I stumbled across this pen on Gumtree shortly after Christmas, and after thoroughly examining the pen, decided to buy it. The price was outrageously cheap (for a Montblanc in sterling silver, at any rate) and I knew that this would be a once-in-a-lifetime purchase. I was thrilled that it came complete with the box and cardboard sleeve, the instruction-booklet and everything else – usually, these are the first things to be hucked into the trash when you buy anything short of gold jewelry.
The pen was in fantastic condition. It had – as far as I could tell – never been touched, never been used, and had probably only come out of the box a handful of times in its life, if ever.
Of course, with something this cheap, the first thing you always think about is whether it might be fake.
Right?
Of course right! But just because something is at a price that’s too good to refuse, doesn’t mean that you should, right? Well of course not – because you never know – it might be a deal that IS too good to refuse, and which you would regret, if you did. Provided that you know what to look out for.
After close examination of the photographs, I determined that the pen was real, and that the price was too good to pass up. But as they say – ours is not to reason why – ours is but to view…and buy!
Because of the valuable nature of the package, it was shipped express, at no extra cost, and arrived safe and sound, three days after postage.
My Review of the Pen
If I had to sum up this pen in as few words as possible, I’d say that it was smooth, weighty, and wet.
The nib certainly writes as a medium, as opposed to a fine, and writes really glossy, smooth, and wet. The nib lays down a generous flow of ink without flooding the page, but also without feeling like it’s skimping on anything. At no point did I feel like the pen was going to run dry. That’s a characteristic of Montblanc pens that I’ve noticed over the years – when they write, they lay down really generous ink-flow. If you’re a fast writer, you’ll appreciate something like this.
Apart from the nib, however, this pen has a lot more metal on it than ordinary Montblancs. The cap and barrel are both sheathed in solid silver, one noticeable difference between this pen and a regular 146 is that this pen (like the sterling-striped variant in my previous posting) is much heavier! So for example – a Montblanc 149 “Diplomat”, which is a physically larger pen, weighs only 38g fully-inked…whereas this pen, while physically smaller – weighs 51g fully-inked. If you’re a fan of lightweight fountain pens – then chasing a silver or even a gold Montblanc of this size is definitely not for you.
Is the pen uncomfortable to write with? No. But that said, I wouldn’t be placing the cap on the end of the barrel (“posting”) while doing so, just because the weight may throw your balance off a bit. Unlike with a regular 146 pen, this one, with its silver cap, will add significant weight to the pen, which may pull the nib off the page and cause you to put more effort into your writing.
Concluding Remarks
The Montblanc 146 Sterling Vermeil in Barleycorn is a beautiful pen. Expensive, yes, but beautiful. If you’re not the kind for loud, garish writing instruments, it’s probably not for you – but if you want a somewhat overstated and elegant writing instrument with which to jot down your next shopping-list – this is the pen for you. Of course, they are very expensive, but if you’re patient enough and play your cards right, you can find amazing pens for amazing bargains. Just make sure that what you decide to buy is the genuine article, and that you haven’t been taken for a ride, and you should be fine.
Sometimes, you really can find stuff that you never expect to find, stuff that you never even thought would exist.
I picked this up from a local jewelry dealer while browsing my local flea-market. It’s not much, and nor did it cost that much, either. I mean, it’s only two-and-a-half inches long, after all, and not even high-grade gold…but it is gold!
Yep. The mark on the shaft is there for all the world to see: “9ct”, for 9ct gold…or 37.5% purity.
With its loopy handle, twisted shaft, and spearpoint tip, you’d probably never mistake something like this, or of this size, to be anything else. I’d never really thought about buying, owning, and having added to my collection – a solid gold toothpick – but now that I’d seen one – why not? I mean, how many people even know these things exist, or indeed, what they are?
A History of Gold Toothpicks
It may surprise you, but gold toothpicks aren’t nearly as uncommon as you might think.
Back in the 1700s and 1800s, they used to be quite common – and were one of several types of luxury accessories or pieces of jewelry that were carried around, by both men, and women.
Most gold toothpicks were of the retractable type – similar to a sliding, retractable pencil. The shaft of the toothpick was affixed to the inside of a gold (or silver, if you couldn’t afford gold) cylindrical sleeve. When not in use, the toothpick was retracted, and hung on a gold chain or necklace. When it was required, the toothpick was slid out of its sleeve, exposing the shaft and the familiar spear-point tip. Once used, the toothpick was wiped down, and slid back inside its sleeve for safekeeping.
Of course, open models, without a sliding metal sleeve, also existed – that’s what I have!
Toothpicks like this in gold and silver were very common in the 1700s and 1800s, and even into the early 1900s. In an age when dental hygiene was not what it perhaps could be…(eurgh!)…using a toothpick to scrape the gunk and stuck food off of your teeth was one way to at least try and keep them clean. That, and it avoided the awkward situation of talking to someone when you’ve got a chunk of something jammed between two teeth…which is uncomfortable at the best of times, let alone unsightly.
Carrying Your Toothpick
Such toothpicks became so common that there was actually a surprisingly good trade being done not only in toothpicks, but also in toothpick cases! Numerous Victorian and Georgian-era examples exist made of everything from solid gold to ivory, bone, tortoiseshell and sterling silver. Some of these boxes, which are typically long, flat and rectangular, even came with built-in mirrors underneath the lid (like a lipstick case!) so that the owner could hold it up to their mouth and uh…ahem…make sure that they were hitting all the right spots.
Victorian-era concerns over dental hygiene meant that it was common for people to carry toothpicks around with them when they went out for a meal. The sooner you could deal with that chunk of toast stuck in your teeth, or that sliver of roast pork, the more easily you could clean your teeth properly, later…that, and it’s not very nice to spend an evening out while also wearing the remnants of dinner on your teeth – if people want to know what you ate, they should ask you, not look at you.
To carry one’s toothpick, it was either suspended on a gold or silver chain in a manner similar to a pendant necklace, or else was stored in one of those aforementioned toothpick cases. If the former (which was common for women) then it would be hung around the neck as a piece of jewelry. If the latter, then either stored in one’s handbag, or kept in one’s suit-jacket pocket until required.
The Death of the Metal Toothpick
Do gold and silver toothpicks still exist today? Absolutely! You can buy them on eBay right now. Granted, the silver versions are more common, but gold ones do still exist, even if they’re usually much, much more expensive. Gold examples are typically made of either 9 or 14kt gold, and silver ones are sterling silver.
That said, they’re not as common as they used to be. Nowadays, it’s much more common to carry around a plastic, or even a cheap, throwaway wooden toothpick, sharpened to a point. However, with fears over cross-contamination and germ-spreading, especially in the wake of the petering-out COVID-19 Pandemic, the use of individually-carried toothpicks might see a resurgence now, since the idea of digging into a communal container which everybody else has touched, to select something which you’re then going to put into your mouth…doesn’t sound particularly hygienic.
Buying a Gold or Silver Toothpick
“Y’know what? Buying and owning my own precious-metal toothpick, instead of using disposables, and contributing to waste, landfill, and cross-contamination – sounds like a good idea!…where can I get one?”
Well – there’s always the antique variants – they’re often found on eBay or other online selling-sites, or in antiques shops, but you can also buy the modern ones. Retractable silver and gold toothpicks still exist, and there are companies which still make them. From what I’ve seen, these are mostly produced in China or other Asian countries, where heavy toothpick use is still common. Of course, a silver toothpick will be much easier to find than a gold one, and will also cost significantly less – although – given how small they are – even a gold one doesn’t cost that much – which is how I was able to buy mine.
As for my own – I don’t know that much about it, except that it was likely manufactured in the UK, and in the early 1900s. There’s only one other mark on it apart from the “9ct”, and that appears to be a maker’s mark – which sadly, I haven’t been able to trace.
Regardless – this has got to be one of the most interesting (and the smallest!) antiques I’ve ever added to my collection!
…or what you can find online, if you search hard enough, wait long enough, and save up all your Christmas money for three years during a global pandemic! (Hey, at least it was useful for something…!).
So!
I’ve been after a MB146 in sterling silver (because sure as hell, I am not typing out the full model-name and variant all over again. Once in the title is more than sufficient for my carpal-tunnel syndrome, thank you very much…) for many, many, many years now. Since at least 2017, and definitely, since 2019. Sadly, the instances where I could actually buy the pen were annoyingly few, and far between.
Very, very, very far between.
Every time I saw one for sale at collectors’ fairs, they were either really expensive, or they were snapped up by other collectors, before I could even get a look-in. As usual – “…some guy just bought it, sorry…”, was the most common refrain I received in instances such as this. Oh, the dreaded ‘sumgai’ – the bane of every collector since the dawn of humanity.
Anybody who’s been a longtime reader of this blog will know that I love vintage and antique silverware. I do. I just do. I love how it looks, I love the different shades and finishes, I love how it gleams when it’s cleaned, and how almost anything can be made from silver, if you have enough imagination – like a beautiful sterling silver fountain pen! And since I love fountain pens, I had to find a beautiful marriage of the two, to add to my collection – and this was going to be it!
Sterling silver fountain pens are nothing new. They literally go back over 100 years, to the earliest days of fountain pen design in the 1880s and 1890s. Even before then, luxurious, gleaming, silver dip-pen holders were also available for those who wanted a bit of class while writing their daily correspondence. Fountain pens have always been made of sterling silver, from the oldest Parkers and Watermans (Watermen?) at the turn of the last century, right through to the Parker 75s, the Auroras, Omas and other more modern models of the late 1900s and early 2000s, and they’re still being made today.
Unfortunately, they are rare, which obviously makes them difficult to find. It’s not like every company produces a silver variant of every single model of pen that they produce, so getting your hands on one is not exactly easy – unless you buy the pen from a company that specialises in silverware, like Tiffany. Yes, Tiffany sells silver fountain pens – very, very, very expensive ones – but yes, they do. But even a company like Tiffany doesn’t exactly splash them around, and they are not easy to find secondhand.
The Start of the Hunt
I got interested in wanting to buy a silver Montblanc back in the mid-2010s, when I started seeing them in the collections of friends, and other collectors online in collectors’ groups on Facebook, but raising enough money to afford one was always a struggle. This was because almost every single one which I saw was being sold at retail prices – which, if you’re not aware, is the better part of $3,000+!!…which not only could I not afford, but also, couldn’t justify, even if I had that kind of money. Oy…
They do come at lower price-points, but I was always outbid, or out-bought, by faster (and probably richer) collectors than I, and so it was a fantasy that remained a fantasy for years to come.
However, the challenge in buying a silver Montblanc is not limited solely to the pricing of the item – but also the variant of pen that you want to buy. There’s quite a few of them out there, and this effects not only the price, but also the availability – and it can trip you up if you’re not aware of the details.
Montblanc fountain pens that have sterling silver variants are the 144 pocket-model, and the larger 146 piston-fill model, the little brother of the more famous MB149. Montblanc fountain pens in sterling silver are part of their “Solitaire” line of precious-metal fountain pens, which come in sterling silver, sterling vermeil (sterling silver with gold overlay), and finally, solid 18kt gold. They usually come in two finishes: Barleycorn, and Pinstripe. From what I’ve seen, the Pinstripe variant seems to be more popular (and consequently, more available).
These varieties are available for both sizes of Montblancs available in silver – so you can get a 144 in Barleycorn or Pinstripe, or a 146 in Barleycorn, or Pinstripe, and they’re priced accordingly online. This is why it’s so important to pay attention to the details when you’re chasing after a pen like this – because from a distance, they can look remarkably similar – and why you should always pay attention, ask questions, and ask for photographs when attempting to net one of these for your collection.
Cerchez le Plume!
After saving up over a year’s worth of antiques-flipping money, I attempted to track down a Solitaire 146 Pinstripe at the upcoming pen-collectors’ fair…and to quote Maxwell Smart – “Missed it by THAT much!”
Rats!
And to make things even more painful – this was the second time in a row that I’d missed out on a silver Montblanc at a collectors’ fair! Clearly, the fates were conspiring against me in some sadistic game of Piggy-in-the-Middle.
Every single silver Montblanc that I saw on sites like eBay and Etsy were asking insane amounts of money (by which I mean, full-retail prices), which I could never justify spending. Upwards of $2,500 – $3,500, not including the cost of postage. I’ve never bought a Montblanc at retail prices, and I didn’t intend to start now, so the quest continued.
This involved a lot of clicking, scanning through photos, reading descriptions, and checking details, but after a lot of effort, I finally found one for sale in Japan for what was a very good price for what it was. Still pretty expensive (it’s a Montblanc, it’s always going to be expensive), but also far below what they usually sell for. After shifting a few other pens in my collection to make space (and more money), I finally nabbed the pen and bought it!
For the price advertised, the pen was looking a bit rough. It didn’t have any surface damage that I could see, but it was significantly tarnished (being silver will do that to an item…), and the nib was looking a bit suspicious. However, apart from these slight cosmetic defects, it seemed to be perfectly functional – and it had the right type of nib which I like in my pens – a Fine.
Could I have bought a nicer-looking silver Montblanc? Yes. But for the same price? Hell no! As I have said in previous posts of this type – collecting vintage items and antiques is all a matter of compromise. How much are you willing to put up with, overlook, or sacrifice, in order to find the item that you want? I decided that a bit of surface tarnishing, and nib-wonkiness, was nothing, and that I’d be happy to buy the pen in this condition. After all – there was nothing mechanically or really, cosmetically wrong with the pen, that I couldn’t fix. It just needed a damn good polishing – which you would have to do anyway, if you buy a silver pen, and a bit of nib-tweaking (which is VERY common with vintage pens) so in the long-run, it really made no difference. Besides, after all that work (which isn’t all that much, really), you’d get a new-looking pen for at least half the price of an actual brand-new pen. It’s a win-win!
Analyising the Pen
So – the pen arrived just a few days before Christmas, which must be one of those Christmas miracles I keep hearing so much about, because the postal tracking on this parcel had dropped off the face of the earth two weeks ago, leaving me all but guessing. But, it arrived, nonetheless, and was excellently packaged.
Once I got the pen out, I was able to see just how heavy the tarnishing was, but fortunately, not so heavy that I couldn’t just rub it off using my silver-cloth. The results were stunning!
I was a bit worried about the tarnish, largely because tarnish usually hides defects and damage in silverware that you never notice until after it’s been cleaned – stuff like cracks, scratches and dents. But once this was cleaned, it was absolutely flawless! Muah!
The next area to check apart from the body, was the piston-filling mechanism – smooth as melted butter! Just like new! Nothing to see here, so I left it alone.
In examining the pen, I found clues to its age. The clip-ring at the top of the cap had a serial-number stamped into it, this was an anti-counterfeiting measure introduced by Montblanc in 1991 (and which continues today) to deter fraudulent manufacture. However, next to this, were the letters “W. GERMANY”, meaning that the pen was manufactured before the German Reunification in 1991. Deduction: The pen was made in the late 1890s or very early 1990s, and sold as a West-German pen, by a German company in a reunified Germany, around 1992, after the serial-numbers were introduced. So a pen like this would date pretty firmly to between 1990-1992. One last thing I found engraved on the cap was the single word “METAL”, indicating that this was indeed the matching silver cap for the silver pen barrel below.
Anyway, after exploring the pen to try and find out more about it, came the careful (and lengthy) examination of the nib. While it was, as advertised, indeed a Fine, it was a fine with significant issues attached – which I expected, for a pen which was this heavily discounted, but finding the cause for these issues was an adventure in and of itself!
Tweaking the Nib
I found the nib on this fountain pen to be intolerably scratchy, noisy, and very unpleasant to write with. Out came the loupe, a bottle of ink, and a notepad, and what followed was several hours of nib-tweaking and adjustment. Leveling the tines, rocking the nib, and finally, spreading the point to increase the inkflow.
Tweaking and adjusting a fountain pen nib is a real exercise in patience. Nothing about this can be done in a hurry, and it can take hours to get right. You’re working in tolerances of fractions of millimeters, here, so absolutely microscopic adjustments have to be made, before the nib will write smoothly, or at least, less coarsely. However, despite all my best efforts, I was only able to make superficial improvements in the writing quality.
I was NOT happy. A pen from Montblanc, that cost this much, should write FLAWLESSLY. I don’t care how old it is! Montblanc provides, and I expect, and demand, perfection, goddamn it!
Time for drastic action!
I drained the pen of ink, and wrapped a tissue around the nib and feed. Then, I started twisting.
Montblanc and Pelikan fountain pens have feeds and nibs which screw into their sections. In theory, you need the correct piston-wrenches and section-wrenches to remove these components, but enough evenly-applied pressure is usually sufficient. After a firm twist, I felt a ‘pop!’, and the feed began to unscrew.
Once I’d gotten the nib out, I cleaned everything away – all the grit and dust and ink…and had a closer look.
Now I realised what the problem was: The nib wasn’t lined up with the feed! There was a tiny gap between the nib and feed, which meant that the tines at the nib-point would be uneven once the nib and feed were screwed into the pen. It’s so small that you’d never notice it (and would never SEE it, because it’s hidden by the SECTION!). Only by physically pulling out the feed, could I spot this defect. I gave the nib a slight twist to realign it against the feed, and then screwed the whole thing back into the pen and filled it with ink again.
Result: Absolute Perfection! The pen now wrote like it was built yesterday! Well worth every penny that I spent to buy it.
“Cool Pen!…Where Can I Get One!?”
Thanks! And uh…good luck!
Precious metal fountain pens in gold and silver are very hard to find, and very expensive. As I mentioned before, average price for one of Montblanc’s sterling silver models is upwards of $2,500 – $3,500+ (not including postage), depending on the seller, condition, and what’s included as part of the lot.
My pen was even harder to find, because it’s a vintage model. The Le Grand Solitaire Pinstripe in sterling silver (which is what this is), isn’t manufactured anymore. You can only get them vintage, or New-old-Stock, which only drives the price up even higher! If you are trying to find a sterling silver or precious-metal Montblanc of any kind, (or any type of fountain pen made of these materials) then start saving – they hardly ever go on sale for under $1,000, unless they’re the small, 144-sized pocket-pens. The chances of finding a 146-sized pen in sterling silver, vermeil, or solid gold, for under $1,000 is never going to happen.
To find them, search collectors’ communities on Facebook, ask friends or other collectors who might have one they want to sell (unlikely), trawl eBay or pen-selling websites, and visit pen-fairs and collectors’ shows. That’s about the only way you’ll ever get your hands on one, short of buying one brand-new from Montblanc.
Just thirty-odd days from now is the 2022 MELBOURNE PEN SHOW!!
This is the first show that Melbourne has had since 2019, with the event obviously unable to run during the height of the COVID pandemic, but with things settling down, this, the oldest show of its kind in the Southern Hemisphere, is now back on track!
The Melbourne Pen Show takes place at…
The Malvern Town Hall. (Cnr. Glenferrie Road & High Street, Armadale, Melbourne, VIC. Australia). 9:00am – 4:00pm. 20th of November, SUNDAY, 2022.
Admission is $10.00. Kids can come in for free!
There are over two dozen sellers and exhibitors, and over three dozen tables full of stuff to look at, and buy!
So if you’re in Melbourne, coming to Melbourne, or planning to visit Melbourne in November, drop in and have a look!
We’ve got pens, pencils, stationery, leather-goods, desk accessories, writing accessories, antiques, pen-storage and maintenance supplies, and much more besides! The Melbourne Pen Show is the largest writing instruments and accessories fair in Australia, and south of the equator! Drop by and find out for yourself.
PLEASE BRING CASH. Most sellers will not do EFTPOS.
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.