The first atom-bomb was dropped the day I got married; Six months later I was de-mobbed and with a small salary I had the difficult task of setting up a home. Finances were difficult, but we all need a little luxury in life and for mine we decided that we would have solid silver spoons and forks, preferably antique, for our table. We told ourselves that it was really an investment as they woud keep their value whereas plated ware would be worthless in twenty years. Much of the little spare time I had was therefore spent chasing round the antique and junk-shops of north London where I lived and worked from 1946 to 1951.
Interest in antique silver grew from that point, so that when I eventually became a Principal in General Practice and dragged myself out of debt, I thought that it would be nice to drink from silver as well as eat with it. I bought some goblets but they were new, machine-made and not so good to use as I hoped; antique tumblers, I thought, would be much better. Such antique tumblers as I could find turned out to be thin, flimsy, repaired or far too expensive.
In the course of collecting flat-ware, I had acquired the habit of wondering how silver was worked, so it was only a short step to decide to have a go at making silver beakers, and later tumblers, myself. So I signed up for metal-working evening classes, once a week at Keswick, but that packed up after only two terms and I continued at Cockermouth for the next year. Evening classes only ran if a dozen or more "students" signed up, so progress was slow, as dividing the two-hour session by twelve meant that one only got ten minutes of tuition per session if one was lucky. At Keswick we all started by making a copper ash-tray; I still have mine, which shows clearly the change from the master's planishing marks to those of a first-timer, and graduated at Cockermouth to gilding metal before daring to put hammer to silver. It took a whole term to raise my first pair of beakers.
Having absorbed the basic theory and practice, I therefore set up my own workshop in my cellar, buying a bottom stake and a beautiful old tinsmith's T-stake for a very small sum from the closed-down workshop of a local ironmonger, part of the bottom end of a tree-trunk from the men who were cutting down an old tree from the field opposite my house, converting an old washing machine into a revolving hearth for annealing and its motor into a polisher, polishing the end of an old tack-hammer for planishing, all I needed to buy were some box-wood mallets to make into raising hammers and I was ready to go. My butane paint-stripper was easily modified as an annealing torch.
Having spent two terms in Art School immediately after retiring from full-time medical practice, (I had to give up Art School when suffering from Polymyalgia) I was aware that the approved approach to any artefact was to make a design first and then work to it. In my opinion silver beakers and tumblers could not fit in with this idea; silver, to me, was always tactile and the design was finished only when the object felt right in the hand and passed the test of being pleasing to use. This has been my criterion ever since.
After very slow work in evening classes, I enjoyed the freedom of working on my own, although , as with most crafts, I suffered frustration in the early stages when my work was not going as well as I thought it ought. Having made a few beakers, I needed to decide on a mark and register it at the Assay Office so that my products could be properly assayed and marked. I first struck my own mark in 1969 and felt very proud of myself; but soon realised that the Assay Office were much better at marking my work than I was, so I handed my punch over to them so that they could put my mark on my beakers at the same time as the neccessary assay marks.
A variety of shapes and sizes were turned out in the next year or two, some passing my tactile test better than others. It had not occurred to me until then that I was making objects which would last for many years and some would have to be given away or sold. Fortunately a friend asked if he could buy a pair so I was in business! A good friend and his wife in the catering business, owning and running a small hotel, in the heart of the Lake District used my beakers in their bar, which naturally led to enquiries and sales. I made a present of one beaker to them for every half dozen sold. That and making presents for friends kept me as busy as I wished for several years. I joined a local Guild of Lakeland Craftsmen and tried an outlet through a local Art Gallery, but neither was really successful. Not being dependent on sales for my livelihood, I could work or leave it at any time, and irregular work suited my life style.
When I achieved the status of having a little spare cash, I thought it would be nice to make a pair of tumblers in solid gold! So I rang up Johnson Matthey and asked for a pair of suitable circles. Gold was then strictly controlled to stop the odd entrepreneur from gambling against the Pound. What courses had I passed? was I running a fully commercial enterprise? Having sold a few beakers, I could honestly say that it was a commercial business, but I was unable to show any certificate. So I sent them a pair of beakers to demonstrate my ability to work in precious metals and they finally agreed to supply me with gold. I opted for their 22 carat DS alloy -- soft as butter! lovely to work. I did try working a few beakers in 9 carat gold, but found it less attractive in appearance, quite apart from being much harder and difficult to work.
My most beautiful set of tumblers was of a dozen for a special birthday; Seventy two ounces of 22 carat gold, with the family crest engraved on each tumbler, in a specially made box was quite a sight! I sometimes wonder what happened to them but am a little too shy to ask.
And so it has continued. Inevitably one or two shapes and sizes seem to sell well, but I never wanted to let my work in silver and gold become a chore. The idea of maximising my output by having dozens of small beakers spun up and hand-finishing them, I naturally rejected as not being true to my idea of the craft. As I get older, I have thought many times of giving up my metalwork; but then someone comes along and flatters me by begging for a suitable present for a birthday or a christening and I start all over again. As I write this (Sept 2000) I still have a dozen beakers and tumblers in production, but I am getting slower and lazier and when I get these marked with the Millenium and Britannia marks I may put my hammers away.
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