No. 53 Wood p129
New — The Dementia Diaries
For those who might be interested, I have a new substack publication which has just launched. It’s called The Dementia Diaries, and it charts the progression of my mum’s Alzheimer’s journey. It’s a place for people undergoing similar issues to come together and support each other. Take a look if you think you might be interested. Thank you.
When I was about 12, 13 my dad started building a boat in the back garden in his spare time. A dumpy thing at 24 feet long that would have a mast and sails, which must have seemed tiny on the raging sea, but which filled our vegetable plot, about a quarter of the whole garden. He built it from paper plans, using mostly hand tools. I was his apprentice, his assistant, his underling.
We had an old garage just to the side of the house, a defacto workshop, where the real magic took place. My dad, an engineer by training and inclination, could turn his hand to most practical pursuits, and I was often by his side in the garden, in the garage, under the bonnet while he did it. Woodworking was the most delightful among his trades, because wood is such a fabulous material. This is problematic for me, one who loves woodland so deeply, but also loves wood and things made out of wood. Gulp. I’m sure I won’t be alone in this dissonance.
While the boat hull was built from marine plywood formed around a frame, the ribs and beams and fittings and things were of solid wood. Such joy and delight at watching my dad shape the thick beams with the long beechwood plane, the spokeshave, the chisels. Endless curls of fragrant shavings floating to the floor. I’d hold them up to the sun, see the grain and colour shine out. The sweet-scented sawdust drifting into snowy piles as he cut small details with the frame-saw. The smooth profile of finely sanded cleats.
Priestley suggested of wood that ‘into this patient material have passed rain and sun, steely mornings in March, the glow of October’, and that it ‘somehow remains alive’.
I think he may be onto something there. How delightful.
Thank you for reading.
Question for you — Wood, metal, stone; what’s your preferred medium? Share if you’d like in the comments.
Summary of Priestley’s Original Wood: Priestley extols the delights of wood as a material, in a way he thinks that stone, metal or plastic don’t have.
For more about JB Priestley’s book Delight, from which I take these cues, please take a look here
I love the feel of wood. It has a strength to it that feels timeless. It also displays gentleness, once living, once a tiny plant now made into beams, boats and objects of beauty. I have always wanted to take a wood turning course, maybe one day.