Sunday, July 16, 2017

Gremlins

Admit it. We all do it. Every time you board an airplane you check for gremlins on the wing, don't you? I bet even pilots do this.

You're not alone. Gremlins have a long history in the air force. They are mentioned in RAF accounts dating back to WWI, and exist in folklore before then.

Gremlins pester a spitfire.  [Source A]
These malicious little creatures have been blamed for "sucking the gas out of tanks through hoses, jamming radio frequencies, mucking up landing gear, blowing dust or sand into fuel pipes or sensitive electrical equipment, cutting wires, removing bolts or screws, tinkering with dials, knobs or switches, jostling controls, slashing wings or tires, poking or pinching gunners or pilots, banging incessantly on the fuselage, breaking windows, and a wide variety of other prankish acts." [B]
Wings magazine illustrated several types of gremlins.
[C]
The physical appearance of gremlins varied tremendously, from imps with little hats and colourful waistcoats to creepy reptilian-like little demons with glowing red, beady eyes. They could be anywhere from 6 inches to 3 feet high. "In some cases, they were said to have large feet with suction cups or even leather shoes with hooks, both of which enabled them to walk about on the outside of aircraft or to hang upside down. One common trait in all reports is that through whatever means, gremlins were known to be able to adhere to the outer fuselage of planes and to withstand incredible temperature extremes, high altitudes, and violent winds." [D] 
Gremlins could be Looney Tunes cute, creepy, or downright repulsive.
[E]
Reports of gremlins were common, and there were several kinds of imps [A]: 
As stories spread among military units, the varieties of gremlins expanded exponentially. In a 1943 story in the Philadelphia Inquirer, journalist Chester R. Hope reviewed the variants as follows: “Jockeys” were able to sit cross-legged between the wings of a wayward seagull or pigeon and guide the bird into the windscreen of a fighter plane in flight. “Cavity types” had shovel-shaped noses that they used to dig runway holes in the paths of fighters or bombers coming in for landings, while “Incisors” chewed mercilessly on strut wires. “Puffs” used their big stomachs to suck air out from under wings, causing turbulence just as gunners took aim at their targets, spoiling their shots; similarly, “Optics” loved to hide in bomb sights, turning on the optic glow of their red or green eyes just as a bombardier was lining up his sights on a target. Above 10,000 feet, “Strato-gremlins” took over for the others. The members of this genus, Hope wrote, were “lined inside and out with fur in such a frosty blue tint that it creates virtual invisibility, and they carry oxygen tanks on their backs.”
Gremlins plagued all air forces, but reports were especially prolific among WWII Royal Air Force units, especially among the high-altitude Photographic Reconnaissance Units (PRUs) that flew Spitfires and Mosquitoes over enemy territory. 

The Royal Air Force Journal of April 18, 1942 [F] published a light-hearted article entitled "The Gremlin Question" that stated that gremlins are encountered in the flying history of nearly every RAF pilot. The story included the following poem:

When you're seven miles up in the heavens,
(That's a hell of a lonely spot)
And it's fifty degrees below zero
Which isn't exactly hot.

When you're frozen blue like your Spitfire
And you're scared a Mosquito pink,
When you're thousands of miles from nowhere
And there's nothing below but the drink

It's then you will see the Gremlins,
Green and gamboge and gold,
Male and female and neuter
Gremlins both young and old.

It's no good trying to dodge them,
The lessons you learned on the Link
Won't help you evade a Gremlin,
Though you boost and you dive and you fink.

White ones will wiggle your wingtips,
Male ones will muddle your maps,
Green ones will guzzle your Glycol,
Females will flutter your flaps.

Pink ones will perch on your perspex,
And dance pirouettes on your prop;
There's a spherical, middle-aged Gremlin
Who'll spin on your stick like a top.

They'll freeze up your camera shutters,
They'll bite through your aileron wires,
They'll bend and they'll break and they'll batter,
They'll insert toasting forks in your tyres.

That's the tale of the Gremlins,
Told by the P.R.U.,
(P)retty (R)uddy (U)nlikely to many
But fact, none the less, to the few.

Gremlin stories abound and became common lore for airmen everywhere, but especially during WWII. Some swore they were real. No doubt the high altitudes, thin air, stress, fatigue, and amphetamines (called "wakey-wakey" or "go" pills) used by airmen [G] account for the prevalence of gremlin sightings. However, some historians explain that blaming gremlins was preferred over criticizing other crew members, because team morale was crucial in the stress of wartime. 


Ice gremlins were especially wicked in high altitudes.
[H]
Gremlins were blamed for glitches and mistakes, which made the creatures useful in safety campaigns. The best way to counter their evil meddling was to be especially diligent and attentive in all duties, in flight and on the ground. 

Safety campaigns featured gremlins.
[I, J]
Tee Emm, an RAF training memorandum publication, featured the cartoon character Pilot Officer Prune, but was a serious, legitimate training and safety manual. The monthly publication included all kinds of warnings, instructions, and examples of unsafe practices.

Keeping a wary lookout for gremlins [K] was noted in Tee Emm in October 1943. 


AN ADJUTANT'S WARNING

When dicing in the upper air
At night, my son, I pray take care;
And ere you leave the flarepath's glow
Recite this charm before you go:

Keep out of clouds, watch out for ice,
Mark well the circuit as you dice;
Rely implicitly, O tyro*,
Upon the reading of your gyro.

Remember this and other lore
Drummed into your head before;
Apply with care all 'gen' you know,
Land her safe, then taxy slow.

Guard your precious life, my son,
For once the damage has been done
Your worry is o'er: You leave life's clangour --
But my work starts from there, O Pranger!

* Small, immature Gremlins, usually born out of wedlock, found almost exclusively in the North of Scotland.
-- * -- * --

Some felt that gremlins could actually be good little creatures, and would be helpful if treated well. More than one superstitious crew flew with a gremlin mascot as a good luck charm. Others had gremlins on their squadron patches or bomber nose art.


Nose Art, Squadron 426 [L]

Mascot and good luck charm of the 482nd Bomb Group. He rode along on bombing missions with the crew.
[M]
Gremlins soon entered popular culture. In the 1940s RAF fighter pilot Roald Dahl brought the gremlin idea to Walt Disney, and an animated film was planned. Disney artists created cute, fuzzy little gremlins, but the studio was hard-pressed to make their antics lovable, and exclusive rights to the gremlin concept were never settled. Dahl did publish a children's book with Disney illustrations, but the film production was shelved.


Walt Disney and RAF Flight Lieutenant Roald Dahl explored the gremlin idea.
[N]
Disney aside, gremlins became a popular curiosity in the 1940s, and were featured in both military and civilian publications, including Cosmopolitan, Time, and Life. A very patriotic Bugs Bunny battled cute but evil gremlins in the 1943 cartoon Falling Hare. [O] It opens with Bugs making fun of the Life magazine article on gremlins.

Life devoted three and a half pages to gremlins in their November 16, 1942 issue. The article explained that the pixies are only visible to airmen. Although they look cute, gremlins wreak havoc for fliers in many different ways, as the article explained and illustrated (below):
Life magazine, November 16, 1942
[P]
"Sometimes gremlins gang up to do a complicated job. This trio is after the nose gunner of a bomber. One is knocking the machine-gun sight out of line. Another is chiseling at the edge of the glass so cold drafts will get in. Gremlin at the top wears typical bemused look of gremlin thinking up something really good to do."
"A gremlin's happiest moments are spent dancing in the slipstream of a wide and comfortable transport wing. Gremlins work only on combat planes and those here are simply hitching a ride to their destination. With no jobs to do, they can relax. Some cavort while others lie down and think poetic thoughts. They hang from ailerons, jiggling them to unbalance the plane. They bore holes in the skin. They damage the rubber de-icing boot on leading edge of wing so that the wing will ice up."
"Tickling the navigator is done only at a crucial moment. This navigator with the distressed look on his face is being tickled while trying to steady himself to take a celestial sight. Instrument boards (as at left) make fine playgrounds for the gremlins. They like to seesaw on the artificial horizon and make a merry-go-round of the gyroscopic compass."
"Young gremlins are called widgets. This is a sextet of widgets learning their way around a training plane, which, of course, is used not only for training pilots but also for training gremlins. All young pixies must learn the complex rigmarole of plane control mechanism in order to raise hob with it. Widget at the top is pulling out some wiring. One at bottom, still teething, is chewing on a control cable. He will later learn other ways of fraying the strands. Others are testing and probing except for the dull widget (top right) who has fallen asleep."
"Kidding the pilot is important. This oaf is making noises that sound like a sputtering motor. The pilot looks worried. Another stunt is to say: 'You're flying upside down, you idiot!' The pilot promptly turns the plane over, really flies upside down. Gremlins consider this great stuff."
"Usually gremlins work alone. This gremlin was invited inside by front gunner of a British patrol bomber who, like all fliers, is very cordial to gremlins. But, like all gremlins, this one has no sense of gratitude, repays the hospitality by doing a job on the front gunner's rear."
-- * -- * --

Not all accounts of gremlins were so frivolous. Charles Lindbergh claimed in his 1953 book to have been visited by ghostly gremlins on his historic 1927 non-stop solo flight from New York to Paris. 

Lindbergh related what happened to him during the most critical period of the crossing—the 21st and 22nd hour just before dawn, when he had been without sleep for nearly 48 hours. “The fuselage behind me becomes filled with ghostly presences…transparent, moving, riding weightless in the plane,” Lindbergh wrote. “I feel no surprise.…Without turning my head, I see them…clearly.” 
He goes on: “These phantoms speak with human voices—friendly, vapor-like shapes, able to vanish or appear at will, to pass in and out through the walls of the fuselage as though no walls were there.” [A]
Magazine articles, cartoons, and Dahl's kids' book popularized the gremlin phenomenon. Stories about them did not disappear after the end of the war in 1945. A horror movie was produced in 1984 called, what else, Gremlins, and a sequel followed in 1990. In 1998 the fuzzy Furby electronic toy was the must-have Christmas toy. Millions have been sold, and several versions have been introduced since then, including "Gizmo" from the Gremlins movie, and Star Wars versions.

To baby boomers, though, the word "gremlins" conjures up a 1963 episode of The Twilight Zone entitled "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet." The episode, starring William Shatner, first aired on October 11, 1963, in the TV show's fifth season. [Q] Perhaps a 16-year-old Steven Spielberg was watching; he included the story in his Twilight Zone: the Movie of 1983. A more hysterical John Lithgow was tormented by a slimy, uglier gremlin. [R]


As Ace Ventura, Jim Carrey paid tribute to Shatner as only he can [S]:


Likewise, the Simpsons tipped their hat to The Twilight Zone in an episode entitled, "Terror at 5-1/2 Feet" in which a gremlin starts to dismantle Bart's schoolbus.

Trenton Air Force Base was no exception to the plague of wartime gremlins. A story [T] by Stan Helleur in their Contact publication of November 1942 quotes an artist who insists he knows what a gremlin looks like. Excerpts from Aircraftman Helleur's story are copied below:




 "Contact" presents the first Canadian version of the flying pixies, with LAC. Norm Loranger of Vancouver as our authority. 

If I had seen a Gremlin I was to be considered a privileged character according to Loranger, for, as he explained "They normally do not make themselves visible to anyone with less than 100 hours logged."

"Gremlins," he continued, "are of the species Genus Yehudi Ubiquitous, first discovered in India (1923-27) by fliers of the Royal Air Force. One was once seen emerging from a bottle of Fremlin beer, Fremlin being the beer supplied the R.A.F. in India, and the flier, assuming they all came from Fremlin bottles, called them Gremlins . . . Goblin-Fremlin-Gremlin . . . Get it?



"At their prime of life, the males are known as just Gremlins but when they become old and bearded they are called 'Spandules.' Females are known as 'Finellas' while young Gremlins are called 'Widgets.' These drawings I have here," he pointed to those appearing with the story, "are the McCoy as far as their physical appearance is concerned. All other Gremlins I have seen have been sad-looking little guys. As I know them, Gremlins invariably have red cheeks and large noses, though some female Gremlins are quite pretty. They seem to get a tremendous kick out of life consequently always have big grins on their faces. The Air Force version of the Gremlin's size is 'knee-high to a tail-gunner,' but recent evidence would indicate they are really quite small, the average adult being around 5-1/2" tall . . . but then again some are strapping six-inchers.

"Most Gremlins," Loranger continued, given impetus by the sizeable audience now assembled, "are phenomenally strong for their size, which probably is accountable to their electrically charged bodies. And by the way, this electricity gives them a very magnetic personality, enabling them to cling to an object from the oddest angles. It also is suspected that they communicate with each other over long distances by means of a personal wireless transmitted from the knobs on their heads."

Standard equipment of any respectable Gremlin, Loranger claims, is a little red umbrella, used for transporting them about and as a parachute when necessary. "It is thought," he said, "that the lines of electrical force emanating from the Gremlin are caught by the umbrella and thus lift its owner. Most Gremlins," he went on, "wear little red jackets, but their britches can be any color. You see, Gremlins are a progressive race and are not tied down to tradition, so they may wear anything that suits them.

"Gremlin grads (those having attained their degrees as magicians) are distinguished by top-hats and spats. They also receive their wings on graduating, giving them superior manoeuverability, flying power and leaving their hands free for mischief.

"They are indefatigably industrious, no trick being too mean for them to play. They dedicate their lives to harassing Air Force personnel. Why? . . . Well, because when they were first discovered, Airmen laughed at them as being unreal. This piqued their vanity and so they swore revenge upon the Air Force. They may be anywhere but are particularly 'agin' the Air Force. Their personalities are unpredictable, however, (hence 'Yehudi Ubiquitous') and they often turn their mischief to good -- but rarely for careless people. Their usual policy is to exaggerate the victim's traits, whether good or bad."

Gremlins have a multitude of tricks. Loranger maintains, but among the more popular are using a pilot's compass as a merry-go-round, or riding up and down on his artificial horizon, or kicking the ball of the bank indicator around.

"They also have a nasty habit," Loranger said, "of sitting on the tail plane of an aircraft and suddenly jumping off, making the air speed change. Often they sleep in cockpits and have been known to throw the plane into a spin by suddenly grabbing the control column for support when thrown off balance and awakened by the pilot attempting some aerobatics. Then too, they delight in riding under the hood with the pilot and telling him he is flying upside down when he is flying perfectly level.

"And I ask you. What Airman has not had the stick pushed suddenly forward just as he was bouncing into a landing?"

"Sure," Loranger concluded, "Gremlins 'dood' it."

-- * -- * --

Stan Helleur, December 1942 Contact magazine [U]


Aircraftman Helleur's story was published in 1942 and he probably thought little more about it. The war was only half over, and as a journalist, there was always another story to file. (Perhaps he was familiar with Titivillus, a printer's devil who loved to mess with typesetters.)


But Helleur should have been wary of gremlins for years yet. Gremlins plagued the elevator in his Imperial Place apartment block at 246 Roslyn Road, Winnipeg, and on April 23, 1979, they claimed their aircraftman. He was found dead at the bottom of an elevator shaft.


Sources

[A]  Gremlins pester a spitfire 
https://www.historynet.com/gremlins/ 

[B]  Brent Swancer, "The Real Gremlins of WWII"

http://mysteriousuniverse.org/2015/07/the-real-gremlins-of-wwii

[C]  Types of gremlins -- WINGS magazine, February 1943

http://saafww2pilots.yolasite.com/ian-sturgeon.php 

[D]  Physical appearance

Royal Air Force Journal, April 18, 1942. Number 13
http://www.angelfire.com/id/100sqn/gremlins.html

[E]  Three looks

Left:  http://looneytunes.wikia.com/wiki/The_Gremlin 
Middle:  http://warriorsofmyth.wikia.com/wiki/File:Gremlin_Mechanic_(separated-_courtesy_of_www.fadingray.com).jpg
Right:  http://villains.wikia.com/wiki/Gremlins_(folklore)

[F]  Poem

http://www.angelfire.com/id/100sqn/gremlins.html

[G]  Use of drugs

http://www.rafcommands.com/archive/09618.php 

[H]  Gremlins on a spitfire
[L]  Nose Art, RCAF Squadron 426 (Linton-on-Ouse), Bomber Command

[M]  Mascot
http://ddaymemorial.blogspot.ca/2013/08/its-then-youll-see-gremlins.html

[N]  Disney and Dahl

https://disneyparkhistory.wordpress.com/tag/world-war-2

[O]  Bugs Bunny, "Falling Hare"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GuX0NEfxiw 

[P]  Life magazine, November 15, 1942

https://books.google.ca/books?id=JEAEAAAAMBAJ&pg=PA93&dq=Gremlins&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi9l_2l0IHVAhVH4D4KHbvEAh8Q6AEIKjAB#v=onepage&q&f=false 

[Q]  The Twilight Zone, "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dar2HKImK-0&index=2&list=RDxVxuHqmNpbI

[R]  Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983)

https://www.youtube.com/w(tch?v=ctHltBauGc8

[S]  Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (1994)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1FFjpx89Ao

[T]  Stan Helleur, "Gremlin Gen," CONTACT, November 1942
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1vhbd_3T7b34TgV1ogIYN24T5Pjl6PLew/view

[U]  
Stan Helleur, CONTACT, December 1942

See also:

"City newsman dies in elevator shaft"
Winnipeg Free Press -- Tuesday, April 24, 1979

"Shaft in which man died had history of elevator malfunctions"

Winnipeg Free Press -- Saturday, May 26, 1979

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Sunday, July 9, 2017

RAF lingo and banter

Cabbages, cookies, fruit salad, and scrambled eggs.

No, it's not a grocery list. If you use these terms, you might be in the Royal Air Force, where eggs, cookies, and cabbages mean bombs, scrambled eggs are the gold braid on officers' hats, and fruit salad refers to the medal ribbons on uniforms. 

Sir Winston Churchill's spectacles frame impressive fruit salad in this 1946 portrait by Douglas Chandor.
[Source: Flickr]
Royal Air Force lingo can be colourful in other ways. Some jargon is quite official (e.g., angels 20 means a flying altitude of 20,000 feet), but much is just informal slang. A bomber pilot was always called Skipper, while rear gunners were Arse End Charlies. A Leading Aircraftman like Dad was called an Erk (from the Cockney pronunciation erkcraft). Being an airframe specialist, Dad referred to himself as a rigger, a throwback to the control cables in biplanes.

Even airplanes had nicknames. The Vickers Wellington Bomber was called Wimpy after J. Wellington Wimpy, the hamburger-begging character in Popeye cartoons. The Miles M.14 Magister was a a British two-seat basic trainer more commonly called a Maggie. Officers sometimes used them to hustle between air bases. The tough Avro Anson was affectionately known as Faithful Annie

Dad sometimes spoke an RCAF version around the house. It didn't occur to us that our neighbours didn't call cutlery irons, and only Dad referenced ablutions (the area in barracks where airmen go to wash or use the toilet). File 13 meant a garbage can. His cursing was limited to the very British-sounding bloody hell! but Mom would take a dim view of such language. Idiots were clots (or twits) who warranted a clout to the side of the head.

Murray Fraser in Britain with chum Nobby Clark, 1945. "Nobby" was an all-purpose nickname for any "Clark" or "Clarke." Originally "clarks" (or "clerks") wore top hats as a sign of their trade, thus they were "nobs" because of their posh hats. Others think "nob" refers to the callouses and arthritic knuckles on clerks' hands.
I imagine ex-servicemen at Bristol Aerospace knew many such RAF and RCAF terms. Dad's job must have entailed a lot of bumph (useless paperwork) at times, but I hope that cockups (disorganized situations, as with a cocked hat) didn't surface often. These would be similar to the American SNAFUs (situation normal, all f***ed up). 

In the air force, you might come to grief if you screwed up too often and risked having a superior tear a strip off you. In extreme cases, that meant being demoted and having your rank stripes literally ripped from your uniform.

Air force lingo often stemmed from abbreviations and nicknames, but it could also mask harsh realities. Heaven forbid you should be an anchor by waiting too long to drop by parachute after your bus or kite (airplane) is shot up by bandits (enemy aircraft). You might be taken away by body-snatchers (stretcher bearers) via their blood-wagon (ambulance). Airmen in their Mae Wests (life jackets) who baled out into the drink (sea) were given Caterpillar Club pins by the manufacturer of their silk parachutes. If you were badly burned, you faced reconstructive surgery as part of the Guinea Pig Club of the Queen Victoria Hospital in Sussex. 

If, however, you were killed in action, you bought it, were gone for six, or went for a Burton (after a Burton Ale commercial). Hedge-hopping or crabbing along was low flying, but in Canada hop the twig meant a fatal prang (crash).
[Source: Glossary of WWII R.A.F. Slang & Terminology]

Some terms were descriptive and creative, if not complimentary. A penguin was a ground officer with no operational experience -- a bird with wings that can't fly. They had mahogany spitfires (desks). The chain gang were aircraft hands given general duties, while the chairborne division were office personnel, or pencil pushers. Fish heads were in the navy, and brown jobs in the army. A half-pint hero liked to boast. Silly buggers fooled around and did not take their work seriously. 

Plonk could refer to cheap Italian wine, but was also a fictional RAF character, A.C.2 Plonk, the lowest rank in the RAF. Don't confuse him with Pilot Officer Prune, the fellow in RAF safety manuals who demonstrated what can go wrong when instructions aren't followed.

You would not want A.C.2 Plonk working on your plane, lest it wind up with hairy legs (aircraft undercarriage which fails to retract after take-off). A troublesome plane might become a hangar queen (un-serviceable) only good as a Christmas tree (airframe used for parts). Plonk might blame a gremlin (a mythical creature that lived on certain aircraft and caused mechanical failures at the most inconvenient times and then could not be located as the source of the problem).

Plonk, Aircraftman, 2nd Class, RAF
[Source: Nice Types, by Anthony Armstrong, 1943]
Not surprisingly, RAF banter remains rich fodder for comedians. A Monty Python sketch captured it remarkably well: "Top hole. Bally Jerry pranged his kite right in the how's your father. Hairy blighter, dicky-birded, feathered back on his Sammy, took a waspy, flipped over on his Betty Harper's and caught his can in the Bertie." Some of it is genuine, but it's really sheer nonsense meant to ridicule the upper-class RAF slang and stereotypes. Nevertheless, some have tried to translate it!



More recently, British comedians Armstrong and Miller have added a twist to RAF-speak in a series of sketches featuring two dim-witted WWII spitfire pilots who speak like today's inane teenage girls. Hilarious!

RAF Pilots Armstrong (right) and Miller in another tight spot. "And I'm not even lying!"


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Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Tools of the trade

We know that Dad trained as an aircraft machinist, but he might just as well have been a carpenter or cabinetmaker, because he also mastered those skills and more. (Do you know anyone else who had his own welder, cement mixer, and metal lathe?) He was the owner that our old house at 400 St. Charles Street certainly needed. Tradesmen were never hired; Dad tackled plumbing, masonry, shingling, electrical and carpentry work himself. Add car repair and maintenance to that skill set (in the garage he designed and built himself, of course).

Woodworking would have been part of farm life, as necessity dictates. Pete Fraser was skilled enough to build grain wagons to earn extra money, and you can bet that young Murray would be right at his father's elbow, watching and learning.

Later, Dad would have learned precise woodworking skills as part of his RCAF training, since many planes, like the Avro Anson, were made largely of wood. Having earned his Leading Aircraftman credentials, a rigger like Dad at No. 6 Repair Depot, Trenton would be responsible for airframes, and the many damaged trainers would need repairs of all sorts. He also took a home building course in Britain while waiting to return home post-war. I'll bet he aced it.

An old photo in Dad's albums features the toolbox he built specifically for his hand tools. It made sense that his machinist's toolbox would be built of aircraft aluminum, and his woodworking toolbox would be made of plywood.

Dad's hand-built toolbox
I wondered when the toolbox was built. The old linoleum suggests it was built in the late 1940s, when Mom and Dad lived in their first home on Parkhill Street. The toolbox itself holds the answer:  an October 20, 1948 invoice from MacDonald Bros. Aircraft listing the materials needed to build it: one 4x8 ft. sheet of 3/8" plywood, nails, two clasps, lock, and the original leather handle. 

The Stores Dept. was well equipped, and Dad often bought materials there.
The toolbox today. Dad eventually replaced the worn-out leather handle with metal ones on each end (not shown).
Dad had a good collection of tools by 1948. His toolbox dimensions were determined by the trio of handsaws that lock into place in the hinged front.
Interior fittings for specific tools hold them securely in place.
Canvas rolls keep chisels and files safely stowed. Mom sewed the light one, I suspect. The blue one is too rough to be her work. Perhaps it's from Trenton. Mom made pockets like this for Dad's wrenches, too, but that's another tool collection.
Not surprisingly, Dad loved tools, the more specialized, the better. I'm not sure if that's what really drove his woodworking hobby, but he certainly was productive. 

Cabinetmaking is a specific trade that requires a fine eye, a careful, patient hand, and much precision. Dad had the attention to detail it required, and built a lot of furniture, custom designed and built to fit particular spaces. Projects ranged from medicine cabinets, tables, bookcases, to a full kitchen, as well as fences and a two-car garage. 

While Dad enjoyed this hobby, his perfectionist tendencies could make working with wood frustrating. Occasionally a "bloody hell!" would escape tight lips when a piece of wood split or did not behave. We called this the "milkshake stage" and knew a break was needed.

Dad was a fastidious cabinetmaker, but said he far preferred to work with metal, which he felt was more predictable and allowed even greater precision. 

The basement was his domain, and he spent many evenings down there. When our parents moved from St. Charles to St. James, Dad's first priority was to pack and move his workshop. In fact, he added a drill press and machinist's lathe to his new basement. 

Now, if you're a Fraser, you ought to know a thing about tools. Let's see if you can identify a few of the cabinetmaker's hand tools from Dad's collection. 

I'll start with an easy set. The three tools shown below are among Dad's oldest, and were likely his father's or grandfather's.

Old tools still do the job.
Give yourself three points if you identified a drawknife, the blade with two handles, used to shave wood. The marking gauge at right was featured in an earlier blog posting and its name explains its use. The bar is ruled in inches, the thumb screw tightens the movable fence, and a nail at the end scores the wood you are marking. It is a useful, obvious tool still used and little changed today. The hand drill in the centre was a gift to Dad on his 10th birthday, in 1929. I use it often.

The hand tools below are two of the many drills in Dad's collection, which included a regular electric drill, standing drill press, and a monstrous wall-mounted hand-cranked iron drill press. In fact, Dad's long work bench was an old drill table from MacDonald Bros. Aircraft, as evidenced by the many holes in its surface. 

The two drills below have specific names. Two points if you know them.

There is a proper tool for every job.
Kudos if you recognized a bit brace (top) and a push drill (bottom). The chuck at the end of the bit brace tightens to hold different auger bits. The round top allows you to lean into the drilling and apply pressure. You need room for flying elbows when you crank this brace.

A push drill, on the other hand, is a great tool for small holes in tight spaces. It can be used with one hand. As the name implies, you install a bit in the end and just push to operate it. The bit digs in when you push down, and then reverses to clear the sawdust. A push drill uses special "double flute" bits rather than "twist" bits and they are conveniently stored in the handle. 

Still thinking in terms of drills, can you identify this next item? It's unique, so I'll give you two points for this one. 

Hint: recall the shape of a wood screw.
Yes, this is a countersink bit. Drill a pilot hole with it, and it allows a wood screw to sit perfectly flush with the wood. (A typical machine screw, on the other hand, has a domed top that sits above the surface.)

A deal at $1.95 from Macleod's. Perhaps these didn't work too well; other bits remain in the package.
Now you're starting to think like a pro. While we're still drilling, consider the next item, for one point.

Dad engraved his valuable tools -- with his engraving tool, of course.
Hmm, it has a square shank that would fit the brace bit. It looks like it drills holes, so it's an auger bit of sorts. But what's that funny extra piece?

Well, that makes this an expansive bit. (Expensive, too, perhaps.) The little cutter attachment allows you to drill holes from 7/8 to 3" in diameter. Think doorknob holes, or finger holes for sliding cupboard doors.

The "genuine and original" Irwin expansive bit
We're on a roll. You stand a good chance of identifying the two items below. Two points.

Essential tools for cabinetmakers
Yes, that top piece looks like another bit, but what's with that strange tip? Well, think of the hole it would leave -- a nice clean cone shape, kind of like a wood screw. You're right. This is another countersink bit, which can be used atop a regular drill hole. 

The second tool? That's a nail set, a 1/32" one, to be precise. Think of finishing nails rather than screws this time. A finishing nail (unlike, say, a roofing or drywall nail), has a small head so that it is unobtrusive in cabinet work. As Dad taught me, a finishing nail also has a "grain" -- a fine seam that should be across the wood's grain to avoid splitting.

You do not want to hit a finishing nail with a hammer to make it flush with the wood, only to leave a big hammer dent. That's what the nail set is for. Carefully position the nail set over the nail to finish tapping it into the wood carefully, so that the nail head is just below the wood's surface. A little swipe of wood putty and presto, the nail is nicely hidden.

On to the next. You're starting to think like a cabinetmaker now.

One point if you know what this is.
No, it's not another bit. Yes, it is struck with a hammer. 

This is a center punch. Position it and smack it with a hammer to make a tiny hole that can precisely guide your drill and prevent it from veering off-course. Very handy if you are aligning hinges and such.

We're almost done. How this next pair is used is not as evident, so I'll assign it two  points.  

These are used as a pair.
Look closely. They screw on to something like -- a carpenter's square! These angle gauges are also called stair gauges. Set them and you can mark a series of stair tread notches in a stringer. No master carpenter would be without them.
Stair gauges make marking stringers accurate and fast.
[Source: DIY Network]
Building stairs, early 1980s.
Two more items in the cabinetmaker's arsenal. This first one explains itself, so one point.


Henry Disston & Sons of Philadelphia dates back to the mid 1800s and became the largest handsaw manufacturer in the world. 
What is this scraper used for? Well, even planed wood could have some raised grain. If you are a very fussy cabinetmaker, you would use this to scrape that down. The edge of this steel is honed very finely to leave a slight, yet sharp burr that will scrape a flat piece of wood very finely. (We'll dispense with a discussion of sandpaper.)

Lastly, one more tiny item from Dad's toolbox. It is used by cabinetmakers (and their helpers like me), but how?


No, it's not a gummy bear.
Award yourself one point if you knew it is a stub of cabinetmakers' wax. My job was to coat the threads of screws with it, so the screw would go into the wood more easily and hold tight. Cabinetmakers say that a wax toilet ring seal works really well for this and will last years and years.

There you have it -- a sampling of some of the items in Dad's 1948 toolbox. How did you do? Don't feel bad if you didn't score 14/14 -- these are unique tools.

This was only one of Dad's tool collections, of course. I was honored that Dad wanted me to have the toolbox. I keep it tucked behind my couch, and it brings back plenty of memories as Dad's "helper." He was a born teacher and I learned a lot, including where each and every tool belonged.


Tightening spokes on the tandem bike Dad built, St. Charles, 1970. The toolbox is on the left side of the MacDonald Bros. workbench behind him. I asked Karen to offer Dad a nut so he'd look up for the photo.
Before heading to the basement, Dad would change into his shop clothes (often an old Harris tweed sports jacket) and announce, "I need a kid." I was happy to keep him company and fetch tools.

I suspect Mom appreciated having a helper around for safety's sake. Dad was working in the garage alone one time when the Cadillac's heavy hood fell on his finger. Luckily, he could still reach the hood release with his other hand to free himself. 


Dad taking a break in the St. Charles kitchen, 1972. His machinist's toolbox is just visible on the floor behind him.
And too bad Grandpa Fred Stevens isn't around to give us a tour of his toolbox, below. It was donated to the Dufferin Historical Museum in Carman by Uncle Charlie and his son Fred, both master carpenters in their own right. The toolbox contains many specialized and mysterious tools I would be hard-pressed to identify.

Like Dad, I suspect Grandpa Stevens was a jack of all trades. Too bad they never met.

Fred Stevens' toolbox at the Dufferin Historical Museum.
[Photo courtesy Ina Bramadat]

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