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To begin, a thirty
kilo' roll of fabric required a solid table and powerful
scissors - until we discovered a cunning tool: an upright
mini circular-saw, which cuts through several layers
simultaneously ...) Sewing:
The first prototypes were made with a simple domestic machine
- though it did have a reverse gear, and zig-zag,
which we used for preventing the canvas from fraying.
It still is a superb tool, but then we began to suspect we
needed some advice... Professional
advice...
 Form
of specialists in the 'rag trade' in London's
East End - dealers in a bewildering array of exceedingly
useful equipment.
(In particular a legendary establishment, which wasn't
difficult to find: a Rolls Royce on the forecourt, its licence
plate emblazoned "Singer 1", the MD presiding from
behind his cigar with the abstract monumentality of a famous
tenor.)
A very persuasive salesman: "You must have one of these"
he said pointing to an old 'walking-foot' machine,
and explaining that this miraculous feature ensured regular
stitches, even when sewing through several layers of fabric.
Curiously, several layers of fabric had begun to pose
problems - we went away
happily to use this machine almost exclusively...
Until on each subsequent visit we learnt about yet more specialised
machines, and fittings that adapted them for different purposes:
seam-binding, leather edging ...
(We had done all of these processes by hand, improvising,
straining, refracturing a thumb ...)
It would have been wise, at the beginning, to spend a week
in the machine shop
but we were too busy making camera bags...
(We still believe that the sewing machine is the most
important invention aftre writing, the wheel, paper, and
sweetened condensed milk in a tube, but sixteen years on
we like to claim that the intelligence operating the machine
- any machine, for that matter - is crucial.)
Still, that salesman got to us before wisdom
set in, and we have three or four splendidly redundant sewing
machines to prove it.
We manage with only three, and all are relatively unsophisticated.  The
leather components?
To begin we used to cut long strips of leather, by
hand in different widths, from which each
little individual piece was then lopped-off. We thought this resulted
in an interesting shape, and, most important, very little
waste.
(Voila incidentally the origin of the 'pointy' leather
bits...)
Eventually we learnt that
these leather pieces could be stamped-out ...
Stamping
We paid a visit to a family of engineers in Manchester, Polish
immigrants, who were wizards in the recycling
of old tools and equipment for small workshops ...
They showed us a "fly-press", a cast-iron variation
of a book-binder's press, with a weighted handle, mounted
on a stand. (Apt for a Victoriana museum)
 Used
with custom-made dies - called stamping 'knives' - it
was simply a forceful kind of cookie cutter.
This was impressive, even heavily convincing, so we struggled
to load the mammoth into the boot and drove back to London
with the rear bumper gouging its SOS in the tarmac.
(Later the salesman in the East End showed us the hydraulic
successor - VERY heavy, three-phase, noisy and expensive!)
"No thanks" we said, "we don’t need one
of those at all!"
Skiving
In fact the most sophisticated piece of equipment in the atelier
is an electric skiving machine
(after the computer, but that's over in the office anyway,
so it doesn't count...)
"You absolutely have to have one" he said.
We soon learnt that skiving machines are expensive, very difficult
to set, erratic and time-consuming... in fact, for our purposes,
hugely over-rated.
 Mostly
we rely on a tapering length of Sheffield steel, with a broad,
slanting blade, hollow-ground, and a handle bound in leather
- no more costly than a good kitchen knife.
("We’ll take two," we said, "and a Carborundum
stone in its oil box"...)
Knowing how to use it, this knife does better than its expensive
counterpart, and is more versatile because with skill its
use can be adapted to every piece of leather ...each one unique.
 Other
tools?
Originally our logo was literally branded into the leather
- a brass branding iron poised on a gas flame. (Too little
heat meant the brand was pale, while too much produced a
charcoal logo and scalded fingers)
Down in Stoke Newington the salesman showed us a 'hot-press'
- electrically heated, foolproof, precise.
(We absolutely had to have one)
Not long after we learnt about other small hand-operated
presses which 'up-staged'
the primitive tools which we'd used to fit press-studs and
rivets: these were quicker and more regular - more reliable
and... undeniably mechanical.
We began to learn about mechanisation, efficiency and speed
(purely in self-defence)
Self
defence rhymes with innovation: we found a hand-made
roller-mill - a kind of mangle - designed to emboss decorative
lines in belts, and with some persuasion we adapted it
for making a long and even fold in our fabric: handy
when stitching-in zips, and for various other processes...
In
sum, in sixteen years we seem to have traversed our own personally-tailored
Industrial Revolution, to emerge relatively unharmed and resolutely
unconverted...
Well,
hand tools then?
 We
have a cobblers hammer and anvil which have been in our lives
for more than thirty years (extraordinary, since our most
consistent talent is for losing things...);
a sculptor's mallet and stamping block, and two metal
punches with shining shanks; a small French cordonnier's
hammer and an engraved metal ruler (gifts from our tanner...);
a nylon cutting board, scarred and cracked (a perfect battlefield
for a collection of lead soldiers)
We have broad and fine awls, and beautiful edge-bevelers
with hardwood handles; then there are smooth bone
folders, burnished engravers and marking burins, and ancient
tailor's scissors, carpenter's pencils...
A folding rule from early last century...French chalk, felt
pads for staining the edges of leather; bulldog clips for
pattern pieces, elastic bands...
 Concoctions
and aprons
Untidy bottles of dye, and dishevelled paintbrushes; home-made
concoctions of mink oil and Dubbin, and glass jars filled
with potions of lanolin, Neat's foot
oil and beeswax;
...a Toulouse butchers apron, slung diagonally from one
shoulder, ankle length, with wrap-around pockets (comforting,
having never witnessed the slightest violence)
Equipment?
We have work benches as handsome
as old school desks; stackable stools seconded from the
French army, and small folding tables which we set-up in
the garden, to work in the long summer evenings...
Tools...
Are handled carefully, using methods and processes
that are really quite simple, requiring skills that could
be acquired by anyone reasonably patient and adept.
The only imperative is concentration since the secret
is in the sequencing, and forgetfulness is fatal.
The
complexity is cumulative: our simplest bag - a
small pouch for a lens - has thirty four different
components, excluding the five-year guarantee card.
At the last counting, the most complex bag had three-hundred
and sixty-five pieces.
(We tell ourselves that each piece improves the design, the
construction and most especially the function and durability...
Quality
control?
The air turns blue, we start again; there are no seconds
...
 Accompaniment?
An old radio, tuned 'classical', but suffering interference
from every electrical appliance in the hamlet.
Stoppages?
Temporary electrical wipe-out in frequent summer storms ...
Distraction?
Coffee, often ... And a clear view of the bird table, and
the garden ... |
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