This small box of carving chisels were given to me this week by the widow of one of the three people who set me on the path to train as a woodworker. His name was John and he moved into the house opposite my childhood home. John ran a modest joinery shop in the local town, where he specialised in making widows and doors. Over the seven summers I spent hanging out with his two sons, I watched as he slowly transformed his house. First came new windows, then a beautifully proportioned staircase and after the house had been filled with tables chairs and cabinets a well appointed conservatory was built. However as a boy of twelve I was most in awe of the sailing dingy to be found taking up most of the space in the garage workshop. This was John's two year pet project. The boat was made of a rich dark Teak, the aroma of which would migrate over to me as I sat on our front lawn watching him sanding. After being finished in coats and coats of faultless gloss varnish, the boat was ready for its maiden voyage. John knew how we boys had patiently watched as the craft had taken shape, helping out with small tasks that were trusted to us. So when the bows cut a path through a cold November sea for the first time, it was with us boys, excitedly taking turns with the tiller.
John passed away last year. He was content with calling himself a carpenter, the term designer/maker or master craftsman did not sit well with him. To me John was a man who loved his craft, and the simple joy that came from making to the best of his abillitys. There could be no better inspiration.
