Were dovetails used on historic English chests?

When woodworkers build modern chests, they often use dovetails, and let’s face it – dovetails are extremely strong for this purpose, and they may be the most aesthetically pleasing of all the joints. But what about historic chests? In Ancient Coffers and Cupboards, [3] Fred Roe looks at how these were built from “the dark ages” until the 16th century. The coffer was a box of great strength, intended for the keeping and transporting weighty articles – essentially a strongbox, or small chest. Roe’s book contains numerous illustrations of these coffers over the ages, many ornately decorated. But how were these ancient chests held together? Were they festooned with dovetails?

The simple answer is probably not, or rather we don’t know.

As we know, the ancient Egyptians were already using dovetails in high-end carpentry. There is evidence from the Roman architect Vitruvius, in his Ten Books of Architecture (25BC) on the construction methods for roof beams, including the use of “dove-tailed tenons”. So it is possible that these methods were used in Roman Britain. But while we have this information, it’s a gargantuan leap from the ancient world to the more widespread use of dovetails in England starting circa 1600. Were the “Dark Ages” so dark woodworking didn’t evolve? We do know that much of the technology introduced by the Romans in Britain was lost in the years after their decampment. There is some evidence of the existence of dovetailed chests in England from early times. A monk present when the tomb of St Cuthbert (who died 687, but was reburied numerous times) was opened in 1104 observed that one of the chests containing the remains was “joined and united by the toothed tenons of the boards which come from this side and from that to meet one another, and by long iron nails” [2].

Fig.1: Dovetail joint from [3]

In Old Oak Furniture, also by Fred Roe [4], he talks about chests during the Gothic period (12th C-mid 16th C)- “they were always fastened together with wooden pegs or trenails, iron only being used for hinges, clamps, and locks.”. He goes on to say that dovetailing when practised at all, in the 13th and 14th centuries was done so in a secret form – it was carried out in a singular manner, being worked perpendicularly down the inner part of the uprights (stiles), so as to be invisible from the front (see Figure 1). This is basically a vertical sliding dovetail, with curved dovetails, seemingly a lot of work for a joint that was hidden (never mind the curves!). A series of small fan-tailed mortises interlocking with each other at the corners may be sometimes seen on late Gothic coffers, such as that in the church at Evesham [4] (see Figure 2). In England it was unlikely this form of dovetailing was practised before the start of the 16th century.

Fig.2: Visible dovetail joint ca. 16th century [4, p.137]

There is an excellent example of a barber-surgeon’s chest from the wreck of Tudor ship Mary Rose which sank on July 19th, 1545. Constructed of walnut, it has multiple dovetailed corners reinforced with nails. Other dovetailed chests were constructed of elm, oak, walnut and poplar. What is interesting here is that most of the chests on board the Mary Rose were of boarded construction, either butted or rebated and either nailed or pegged together [1]. During this period, dovetail construction was generally the purvey of continental furniture. Author David Knell makes the point that dovetail chests were imported into into England from places such as Germany and northern Italy during the Tudor and early Stuart period, although he also points out that there is no evidence the chests weren’t made in England (perhaps by immigrant craftsmen) [1].

The reality is that we really don’t know much about the history or evolution of dovetails. Was the English dovetail an offshoot of the sliding dovetail used in making early chests or did it evolve from the use of dovetails in English house construction? Was it integrated into British woodworking from the woodworking practices of immigrants craftspeople from the continent? A large scale study of the history of woodworking joints has never been undertaken. The only way to begin to understand the history of dovetails would be to investigate furniture joints throughout history. This doesn’t really tell us how or why, but it would give a picture of when. But it is also fraught with issues related to finding wooden furniture pieces from relevant periods.

Regardless of all these unknowns, the use of dovetails from 1600 onward had repercussions in the cabinetmaking industry. For instance the mortise and tenon joints used in building carcasses required lumber to be a minimum of 25mm thick, whereas dovetails would reduce this, likely to something more like 18mm. By the late 17th century, dovetails were a common feature in drawers, and by the mid 1700s, the broad dovetails sometimes hidden by mouldings had narrowed into finer ones.

P.S. The German word for a dovetail joint is Schwalbenschwanzverbindung, quite a tongue-twister! It is actually the German for a swallowtail joint, as on the continent there are various names including culvertail and fantail joint.

References

1. David Knell, “Tudor Furniture from the Mary Rose“, Regional Furniture, XI, pp.61-79 (1997)
2. Penelope Eames, Furniture in England France and the Netherlands from the Twelfth to the Fifteenth century, Furniture History Society (1977)
3. Fred Roe, Ancient Coffers and Cupboards Their History and Description from the Earliest Times to the Middle of the Sixteenth Century, Methuen & Co. (London) 1902
4. Fred Roe, Old Oak Furniture, Methuen & Co. (London) 1905
   

Did the ancient Egyptian’s use dovetails?

Dovetails are likely the most talked about woodworking joint. They are interesting because they exist in both metal and wood working realms. In metalworking they are mostly used in scenarios like joining the sides to the sole of infill planes. Many people seem to think that they have only been around since the mid-1800s, but they have been around for much longer. There is evidence from surviving pieces of furniture entombed with mummies that the ancient Egyptian’s used dovetails. This is hardly surprising, wood furniture would have been the purvey of the rich, as wood would have been scarce, and expensive if imported.

It has been suggested that a “dovetail mitre housing” came into use in the period from the Third to the Fifth Dynasty (ca. 2670-mid 24th century BC) [1]. The true dovetail has no exact date, but it is suggested that by the 12th Dynasty (ca. 1991–1778 BC) “double-ended dovetail dowels were inserted to joins planks end-to-end, that is pieces of wood tapering like a wedge from each end into a waist at the centre inserted in correspondingly shaped recesses” [1]. An exceptional example of dove-tailing is a gable-topped linen chest from the New Kingdom, 1492–1473 B.C. (see Figure 1). Each end board in the chest has three small tails per side, with the side-boards using with two long pins in between the tails. The boards are 1cm thick, and the entire chest is only 69.5cm (L) by 36cm by 44cm in size.

Fig.1: Gable-topped linen chest from the New Kingdom (The MET)

None of this explains whether the Egyptians originated the use of dovetails, or adapted them from another culture. What is certain is that “flat” dovetails were used in both Egyptian ship-building, and masonry. During the New Kingdom the stones used in constructing monuments were often kept close together using dovetails [2], what we would today call a butterfly joint used to prevent wood splitting.

We know about Egyptian woodworking because of the preserved artifacts. Egypt had a dry climate, and because these types of artifacts were often buried with the people that owned them, they were well preserved in tombs which lay undisturbed for thousands of years. In other ancient cultures such as Greece, there is less woodwork, due to both climate, warfare, and differing belief with respect to burials (our knowledge of Greek furniture is derived almost entirely from paintings and sculptures). Coffins actually tell us a lot about ancient Egyptian woodworking, at least from the perspective of joints: plain butt joints, mitre joints secured by dowels, shoulder-mitres and double shoulder-mitres, dovetails, dovetail-mitre-housings and halving joints.

References

1. Eric Marx, “Ancient Egyptian Woodworking”, Antiquity, 20, pp.127-133 (1946)
2. Demortier, Guy, “Revisiting the construction of the Egyptian pyramids.” Europhysics News, 40(1) pp.27-31 (2009)
   

Pop the bubble wrap – let kids play with tools

If you grew up in the 1980s, or before, you likely remember a time when kids were allowed to take risks, I mean our whole childhood seemed to involve a risk of one sort or another. I remember being able to buy potassium permanganate (from a chemist in Australia, the equivalent of a pharmacy), and adding a second ingredient to make it spontaneously combust. We use to carry knives when camping, and learned very early the dangers of fire. Yet we played with all these things and survived. I don’t ever remember anyone getting majorly injured, and if they did, they lived with whatever scars they had… most of which we patched up with some disinfectant and a band-aid. If someone broke their arm acting stupid on a play structure, they didn’t seal off the play structure. People that grew up in the atomic era of the 1950s had it even riskier – dangerous toys like chemistry sets, physics sets with real uranium samples, and rocket kits.

Fun and dangerous toys?

A recent article on this subject talked about letting kids take risks… including “supervised play involving tools, like using an axe and hammer to build a fort”. But instead some parents continue to dump their kids in front of a screen of some sort – I mean it’s easy right? Kids use to be outside, building forts, climbing trees, and damming creeks. These days when you walk through a neighbourhood there are few if any kids outside. There are ravines close by to where I live, which in the 1970s I imagine would have been filled with kids in the summer… today they are mostly empty. Sure the difference is that anyone born before 1980 had to amuse themselves as kids. The adage “children should be seen and not heard” rang true, although I kinda believe it was more “children should be neither seen nor heard”, at least until dinner time (when they could be seen).

Stanley Tool Chest No.904½

Children’s play-tools from Bonumwerke Tigges & Winckel (Germany, 1935)

Look, I’m not advocating for dangerous toys, but iPads and gaming platforms likely do more damage to young people than any of the 1950s toys ever did. What we have managed to do is raise a couple of generations of kids that have no perceived skills with tools, few ideas about building things – whether that be tools in the kitchen, in the workshop, or outdoors (Lego sets are not really that imaginative these days, they really are just follow-the-instruction type toys), and little in the way of problem solving skills. Hammers are not dangerous, if kids are taught to use them properly, and that’s the key here, learning to use them properly. Already in the 1930s it wasn’t unusual for tool companies to sell “children’s tool kits”.

Building models from scratch or using building kits?

But it isn’t even woodworking tools. Kids from bygone eras built models, like ships, or aircraft, and whole model railroad systems, from scratch. There were magazines dedicated to building things, like the British magazine (and store) Hobbies, and systems of building like Meccano, Minibrix, or Fischer-Technik. That is to say there were also methods of learning to build things that didn’t involve axes and chisels. Meccano Magazine for instance included articles on building things with Meccano, but also articles on engineering things, and new concepts in transportation, aircraft, building.

You had to teach yourself basic tool skills, because if you wanted a go-cart, you had to build one yourself. Maybe you got hold of some lawnmower wheels, and salvaged some lumber from the neighbourhood somewhere, but basically you had to build the thing yourself. All these skills, often self-taught boosted your problem-solving abilities, and likely had an impact on developing fine motor skills as well.

The bottom line is that we have somehow concluded that all these skills can be learned in a virtual digital realm, and that just isn’t true. Because what we end up with is people who grow up with few if any real skills, i.e. they can’t even use a hammer, all because parents (and schools) feel like everything is too dangerous. Again, I’m not advocating for kids to walk around with pocket-knives, and whittling branches in the school yard, sadly those days are gone. But what about advocating for more summer camps where kids can learn some basic tool skills? It is time to pop the bubble-wrap and let kids actually learn to play with tools and build things.

Weird German metal handplanes

The Germans really were never into metal planes, although it seems that some companies did flirt with the idea, more for hobbyists than real woodworkers though. These planes came from the 1935 catalog of German tool company Bonumwerke, Tigges & Winckel K.-G.. Founded in 1860 by Robert Tigges in Dörfchen Cronenberg, it primarily produced steel stamps. In 1869 the company moved to Remscheid-Hölterfeld and production was expanded to include tools for plasterers, sculptors and gold workers. The Bonumwerke had been based in Langenberg since around 1920.

The BONUM planes

The “Amerikanischer art” metal plane was meant to mimic American metal planes. It came in three variants: the 2100 (120mm long), the 2101 (160mm) and the 2102 (210mm). This is basically a pressed metal plane with wooden blocks for handles, almost like a poor-man’s infill plane – like super cheap to make for those who wanted to “experience” the American plane. The second plane was made for hobbyists, and also came in three variants: No.805 (100mm without nose), No.806 (100mm), and No.807 (140mm). This is essentially a type of block plane, but made entirely of pressed steel. It almost has the feeling of a modern RALI.

Is there a future for dowels in furniture making?

Let’s talk about dowels. For years they have been the lesser cousins when it comes to joinery for furniture. They are often as maligned as butt-joints, but is the “dislike” warranted?

There are of course many ways to join two pieces of wood. For joining corners the most popular method is often dovetails – for aesthetics alone. Are dovetails always practical? You can make them by hand, or use a jig and router to speed things up, but they aren’t the be-all-and-end-all. Hidden joints are done in many ways – some people like using the tenons of Festool’s Domino system (the system is nice, bit pricey for the home user), others sliding dovetails (nice looking, but a lot of work for being mostly hidden), and still others use dowels.

The Stanley No.59 dowelling jig

Plain old dowels. The word dowel is an old English word analogous to “doule” which simply means a part of a wheel. It can also be traced its history in the Middle German language “dovel” which meant to plug. Now dowels have been around for quite a while. Viking longboats used trunnels (tree-nails or big dowels) to hold ribs together, and dowels were used to pin structural members joints together in buildings. However the use of dowels in furniture construction came as a late development, appearing in the early 19th century as an alternative to mortise-and-tenon joints.

For many years many woodworkers have shied away from them. This may be in part because of poor experiences with dowels in a certain self-assembly flat-packed furniture. But dowels are actually ideally suited to building with plywood, especially Baltic-birch. The multi-layered form of plywood is not well suited to the likes of dovetails, or mortise and tenon joints. It is also an ideal way of joining solid wood.

It also may be because the old-type dowel-jigs have always been somewhat mediocre. They weren’t really designed for placing dowels along the edges of large cabinet carcasses, or on mitre joints. The early ones, like the Stanley No.59 were versatile in application, but suffered from only being able to drill one hole at a time. The newer ones include the Veritas Dowelling Jig, which is good at some tasks, but not the most optimal solution , and the Woodpeckers Ultimate Dowelling Jig 2.0, one of their OneTIMETools… too short lived to form any sort of opinion on. But then there are what some consider the game-changers, the DOWELMAX and JessEm jigs. These tools let you put dowels in just about any configuration (each has its own pros and cons).

The Dowelmax…

or the JessEm?

Then there is the dowel pins – spiral-grooved or multi-groove. The grooves, or flutes allow air to escape and glue to fill the voids as the dowels are inserted. Without them, it is possible that the dowels would not be able to be inserted completely into the hole. There is no real definitive answer as to which has the better holding power, but both are infinitely better than smooth dowels (unless the dowels are to be used in through-dowel situations where they are exposed). The dowels are generally like pressed-beech biscuits, with the compressed wood in a ⅜” dowel expanding about 1/32″ (0.8mm) on contact with moisture in the glue, creating a tight fit.

Dowels offer a convenient, inexpensive way to make a robust joint. They can give incredible strength to mitre-joints, and make carcass joinery quite efficient. Whether you choose to use them is really up to you, but they offer a method of joinery that is both inexpensive and sturdy. But how strong are they really? Well we will tackle the concept of dowel strength in the next post.

Identifying old wood (iv): a case study on old drawers

Sometimes it is possible to narrow down a wood based on a time period. For instance if a house was built in the late 1940’s, and speculation is that the trim is chestnut, this is unlikely to be the case, as chestnut blight all but wiped out chestnut trees by the 1940s. If the house is from before 1930, this might be more plausible. In Toronto in the 1920s many of the ads for houses contained phrases like: “kitchen finished in Georgia pine”, “downstairs is trimmed in chestnut”, and “oak floors of best quality throughout”. Georgia pine is actually Longleaf pine (Pinus palustris), but I guess it sounded cooler in an advert then “longleaf”.

Is this Longleaf pine?

In our semi-detached house there was a built-in hallway closet that had three large drawers at the bottom, and a large two-door cabinet at the top. Not really practical from a storage point of view, so years ago I pulled it apart, and made it a recessed closet. I like retaining the feel of the old house, but some things need to move on. I kept the wood from the drawers, and the doors (which will be upcycled sometime in the future). The trick is identifying the wood. I would imagine as it was used for both the drawers, and the shelves inside the cabinet, that it was something like a pine, or maybe a Douglas fir? The lack of pores implies a softwood. The wood itself has fairly tight growth rings, signifying older growth lumber, with very few knots.

Might it be Georgia pine? There are numerous publications from the period, like “The Canadian Builder-Carpenter”, that discuss the use of Georgia pine for cupboards, trim, and doors. Before European settlement it dominated eastern North America, covering 360,000 km². By the early 1930’s most of the “limitless” virgin Georgia pine forests were gone. In 1928 botanist Roland Harper described the Longleaf Pine as a tree with “probably more uses than any other tree in North America if not in the whole world…”.

Another 16th Century Dutch workbench

Hans Vredeman de Vries (1527-1607) was a Dutch Renaissance polymath – architect, painter, and engineer. In 1572 he designed a series of ornamental engravings, titled Four Vertical Ornaments, “Panoplia seu armamentarium ac ornamenta…”. The engraving depicted tools from four different trades – painters, woodworkers, blacksmiths and bricklayers. It was engraved by the brothers Lucas van Doetecum and Joannes van Doetecum.

Panoplia sev armamentarium

The woodworker’s panel contains a workbench. The bench is a pretty simple affair, four legs held together with simple stretchers, and a series of hold-fast holes in both the top and legs. To hold work down there is a planing stop in the centre of the left end of the bench, and a holdfast on the right.

An enlargement of the workbench (rotated)

Tinkering with wood – tool kits for kids

There was a time when some tool catalogs sold tool chests, brimming with tools – some of these were aimed at the youth market. Where are these tool chests today? True, Lie Nielsen sells “The Works Joinery Tool Set”, and Dictum sells the “Tool Carrier” – but they pale in comparison to what was available once, and are not really aimed at the youth market. The set shown below is a small youths tool set. It was likely kits like this that got youth interested in woodworking. Nowadays though society is more concerned about wrapping them in bubble-wrap than letting them experience making something.

An early Workmate?

Did the Workmate exist half a millennium ago? The concept of using the double screw vise likely predated the works of Félibien or Moxon, but perhaps in a different form? A version appears in “Defensorium inviolatae virginitatis beatae Mariae“, a late medieval typological work which, with images of extraordinary events in history, legend and nature. It was made by Johann Eysenhut in Regensburg in 1471 (from the University of Heidelberg, digital collection). The picture shows two workmen cutting a stone, in which there is the effigy of a king. The workbench has a double screw vise where the screws look to be fixed to the rear jaw. Also, the legs are attached to the vise, making it a medieval version of the ‘Workmate’ as we know it today.

The original image

The bench of Hieronymous Wierix (< 1619)

Hieronymous Wierix (1553-1619) was a Flemish engraver, draughtsman and publisher who lived in Antwerp. Wierix is best known for his religious prints, including the series The Life of the Infant which was created sometime before 1619. On the title page of this work, is a bench. The legs and stretchers are all square stock, yet there only seem to be stretchers along the front and back. This implies square joints. The most visible feature is the fact that the front two legs are sloped outward. This design is similar to the bench found in the 1628 Vasa shipwreck. The Swedish warship was built over the period 1626-1628. The ship sank on August 10 1628 just 1300 metres into her maiden voyage. Vasa was raised in 1961, and now can be viewed at the Vasa Museum in Stockholm. A rebuild of the bench can be found on the Hyvelbenk website.

These types of benches might have been quite common in the northern portions of Europe. From the picture one can surmise that the wooden planes are about 3 to 3.5 inches in width (making the chisels 9-10.5” in length). Therefore the height of the bench is likely in the range 24-28 inches (61-71cm), and a length of 50-60 inches (127-152cm).