Having no particular project in mind, the Stuart range of stationary engines took my fancy at the M.E. Exhibition of the University of Birmingham. I settled for the 4A set of castings and building this model was a very enjoyable venture. I eventually set the single cylinder vertical engine up on a plinth and added a boiler, L.B.S.C. type lubricator, injector, and water pump. In later years this engine was to give my grandson and I many hours of pleasure steaming it.
The Stuart No. 4A Stationary Engine.
The cheap mill/drills from Taiwan began to come on the market and I realised what a useful asset this would be to my workshop. I went across the city on a Friday afternoon to West Bromwich, not an ideal time to do such a journey due to traffic problems. By this time I had changed my car for my first and only new car, a Mini Estate. After buying the mill/drill I asked about delivery, whereby I was asked what car I had. When I said what my vehicle was, the salesman immediately replied, “Oh, you will be fine with that, a fellow took one to Scotland in one of those last week!” Within a few minutes a forklift truck came from nowhere with the miller balanced on the forks. I opened the back doors and in it went. The drive home in dense traffic was a bit hairy as I don’t think the front wheels were quite on the road at all. And, it had yet to occur to me how I was going to get the machine out!
I put the car in the garage and shortly after my wife arrived home from school, questioning, “What is that boat engine doing in your car?” I do have to admit, it did look rather like an outboard marine engine.
It did take me two days to get the machine out of the car; I did finally have to get help. Even so, I had to dismantle it. Plus, it took four of us to get the upper part onto the column, as someone had to thread the rack through. Whilst the machine is now thirty years old and looking a bit the worse for wear, it was a wonderful investment. The jobs that I have done on it have been extremely diverse and with care, quite accurate work can be forthcoming. It certainly beats a swivelling vertical slid on the Myford!
Just after I had purchased the machine, I had to replace one of the house window frames; plastic windows, as yet unheard of. I decided to make the window frame myself, as I realised that I could achieve accurate mortise and tenon joints on the miller quite quickly. I could also do much of the rebate work on this machine and so opted to make the frame out of hard wood. This job seemed to take little time at all, so delighted was I with the result that I set to and did the whole house. I beaded the glass in from the inside with small brass screws and used the very minimum of putty as a seal. Thirty years on and they are still there without a blemish, the only drawback, sawdust and engineering are not very compatible! Cleaning up after this kind of work can seemingly take as long as the actual job.
My Taiwanese ‘Alpine’ mill/drill. It could be mistaken for an outboard marine engine!
I eventually secondary glazed the inside of all the windows; this has since given us excellent sound insulation, but four sides of glass do have to be cleaned at intervals. And, they do have to be painted, a job that I keep up with by doing a little annually.
My ‘Mini’ Estate. It took two days to get the mill/drill out!
Looking towards retirement, I wanted another project which would not be expensive. I imagine at this point in our lives we all are a bit apprehensive as to how we will survive with less income.
This problem was unwittingly solved, as a friend of mine, David Grainger, and member of the Bromsgrove Society of Model Engineers, colluded with my wife. The result was my next birthday present, a book by Alan Timmins – ‘How to Make a Long Case Clock’.
In actual fact, I had never seen the inside of a long case clock. Whilst David had hinted to me on a number of occasions that I should attempt to make a clock, my reply had always been that I would find it impossible. Yet he always impressed on me that these clocks were made three hundred years ago, often in poor light with basic tools, much of the work done with files. Any reasonable modern workshop should therefore bring this work within the remit of anyone with sufficient enthusiasm.
However, a few minutes into reading this publication I was absorbed; half an hour and I was hooked! Thirty pounds’ worth of engraving brass was now to give me nine months of special interest and I enjoyed this challenge immensely. I did have to start by making the few simple clock maker’s tools described in the book. After that, the author’s step by step instructions really got down to a beginner’s level.
As with most drawings, there are some very minor anomalies, but these were not enough to cause anyone to waste time, or to be discouraged.
I did also decide to buy a BS0 Dividing Head and mount a three-jaw self-centring chuck on it, a tool which I have since found to be one of the most useful additions that I have ever bought for my workshop – its uses are boundless.
My main drawback was that my early ML7 with a top speed of 650 R.P.M. was not really fast enough for turning the small-diameter silver steel for the spindles. I therefore often had to result to small files and oilstones to achieve a good finish on these components. Grinding up small fly cutters to cut the gear teeth was also time consuming, as was getting used to the dividing head. I found that it took all my concentration to be sure that the holes in the dividing plate were counted correctly. Any distractions and you are soon up the proverbial ‘gum tree’. Again, when turning the handle to cut the next gear tooth there was no passing the hole and going back, otherwise any backlash in the dividing head worm caused uneven gaps in the work. All these new skills needed to be conquered; getting it right was a learning curve that was to bring great satisfaction.
Twelve months’ work – my oak long case clock.
Then there was the skill of bluing and polishing the steel screws and hands, pouring molten lead into the weights and the pendulum bob, the latter needing prior forming. Then there was the challenge of filing up the anchor escapement and setting it up to get your first beats from the movement, this work taking many hours. But when I at last awoke the following day and found the heavy three-foot long pendulum had been swinging all night, it did all become worthwhile.
A clock movement under construction.
After continually listening to the escapement working, you seem to eventually develop an ear for knowing when it is right and ticking evenly. I have since repaired many clocks for other folk, which have just been ‘off beat’, the repair taking just minutes to correct. I also similarly wonder how many people have paid through the nose for this simple repair to a cherished family heirloom. In the old days, everyone relied on mechanical clocks and people got used to the quirks of these devices through necessity to keep them going. Often in homes you would see a pendulum clock askew on the wall to keep the movement ‘in beat’. It was also common to see bits of card, etc., put under one side of a mantle clock, similarly to keep it running. I now find it baffling as to why most folk seem to be in awe of this simple technology.
Having succeeded with what is termed the ‘going train’ of the clock, my attention turned to ‘strike train’ of gears. I made all the parts for this section having no idea whatsoever of how it would eventually work. After final assembly and setting it up, I watched in wonder when each hour was faithfully recognised as the hammer struck the bell. When the clock was running on the test stand, I often used to run just to see it strike the hour and wonder who on earth thought of this intricate idea in the first instance.
A further skill now had to be accomplished and that was engraving the dial chapter ring and numerals. This was achieved by turning the dividing head to the vertical position, attaching a face plate and then screwing a thick, circular, wooden disc to the face plate. The brass plate for the chapter ring was then screwed to the wooden disc in a place where the material would be eventually cut away. It then took more than a week to engrave the numerals, etc. This was achieved by having the cutting tool in the mill/drill chuck and locking it by some method so that it did not turn. It is essential that the plate is held flat on the wooden disc as the tool will cut deeper in som
e places rather than others, particularly on the outer minute circle.
The numerals were then cut by planing them out, moving the cross slides of the miller in and out. However, you only get one chance doing this; only minor mistakes here will be noticed by all! The engraving was then filled with molten black wax, as was the practice in the old days. When the wax was hard the whole thing was polished and lacquered.
Engraving the chapter ring; no room for errors here.
The only things I bought for the clock commercially, other than the brass plate and timber for the case, were some cast brass spandrels to enhance the dial, the gut lines for the weights, and the bell. All the other oddments, hinges and door handles etc., were handmade.
A further three months and a hundred pounds’ worth of English oak and the clock was finished. Much of the woodwork was done outside where possible, but again, doing the rebates and making the mouldings had to be done on the miller. This again resulted in hours of work clearing up the sawdust and chippings, but this was a small price to pay compared with the great satisfaction that I got from this project.
This clock has now run since 1989 in our spare bedroom, but I do have to stop it if any of the family stay overnight. The striking is something that doesn’t register after a while for my wife and I, but for the occasional visitor it is not conducive to a good night’s sleep!
I can only congratulate Alan Timmins, if someone like me, with absolutely no knowledge of clocks, can build a clock movement from his written instructions; he has indeed struck all the right chords and I gladly recommend this project.
It was only a short time after, when word had got around that I had made a clock, I was asked to repair an antique long case clock. This I found a bit daunting, as any amateur dabbling can unwittingly take great value off such a costly timepiece. When I went to see the clock I was really impressed, it was somewhat larger than mine with a painted dial, yet the actual movement proved almost identical.
The strike rack had broken and it now became very apparent to me as to what David Grainger had said about some old clocks. The rack teeth had been filed quite haphazardly and I was to wonder how it had ever worked in the first place. Nonetheless, I explained to the owner that I could make a new rack and fit it, as the old one, I felt, was beyond repair. Whilst the clock would then work again, it would regrettably have lost some of its originality; therefore, did he want me to continue?
The owner agreed and wanted the repair made. I did, however, eventually tape the old part inside with a note explaining what had been done, this seemed to be the least I could have done and the owner was delighted.
The antique clock strike rack teeth, somewhat haphazardly filed many years ago yet had worked for at least 100 years.
So impressed was I by this mahogany clock that I decided to make a second clock for myself. Well it does say in the first part of Alan Timmins’ book that clock making can be addictive!
With my love of railways, I wanted to make my mahogany clock with a painted dial and I therefore asked my lifelong friend Dick Potts, who is a member of the ‘Guild of Railway Artists’, to decorate the dial with a Great Western Railway theme. He agreed, and after doing some preliminary trials on metal, a second clock was then made in a rather shorter time.
The numerals on the dial were done with a permanent marker pen, but initially the method of holding the work on a rotary table didn’t work, as I could not hold the steel plate dead flat without drilling the dial. I therefore had to make a jig to hold the pen and allow it to float under its own weight. This did give consistent lines on the chapter ring.
Dick Potts, my lifelong friend, painted the dial in G.W.R. style and the clock is still keeping excellent time today.
The clock has taken pride of place in my living room since 1990 and as the room temperature varies little it has always kept excellent time. Before I retired I used to take great pride and satisfaction in it striking for the whole week simultaneously with the Greenwich Time signal.
Our garden was never neglected for my hobby.
CHAPTER FIVE
Retirement came in the early summer of 1993 and I set about tasks around the home with some vigour. I have always loved my garden and these were blissful days without an alarm clock after forty-four years on shift work. I am sure I had the shortest grass in Birmingham for a while. It took the milk deliveryman, of all people, to make me realise that I was getting perhaps a little obsessive. He called out to his assistant one morning, “Only one at ‘Do-it-all’ this morning.” I am not sure who was the most embarrassed when our eyes met, but I did then realise that I was perhaps getting a bit obsessive!
My wife and I went out on long country walks and also Iris worked as a volunteer at the Citizens Advice Bureau. I needed a diversion from the house and workshop; I had now been warned about making yet another striking clock!
I started to get an influx of clocks to repair. I did begin to think that this was an opportunity to supplement my income, but whilst most folk were grateful for my work, I could never have made clock repairing worthwhile financially. I had no business sense whatsoever.
Westminster chime clocks were an enigma and one came to me one day which was apparently a retirement present to a late parent and therefore of great sentimental value. Because I had taken a bottle of ‘Lambrusco’ in payment, I did have the clock back four times, as it was claimed it wasn’t right. I had explained how to take care of the clock by getting into the habit of winding it every week on the same day, therefore not letting it stop. In addition, if the clock did stop, because you had forgotten to wind it, I explained in detail how to advance the time so that the strike train did not get out of sequence. Regrettably, after a long period of exasperation, I discovered that none of this advice had been adhered to. This was despite me also putting it down in writing. Apparently, when the owner had forgotten to wind the clock and it did stop, he just moved the hands on the dial, including the hour hand, to whatever time it was, and then wondered why it was striking mid-day at four thirty in the afternoon!
A very ornate French clock also came to me for repair in three plastic carrier bags, less some essential parts – including a pendulum and hands!
Nevertheless, it did actually look very attractive when reassembled and working. Then again, there was the elderly lady who, with some regularity, brought me a lot of work in this field. The clocks she brought were always family heirlooms, or were of great sentimental value to an aged uncle, etc. She came so often that it did eventually dawn on me that she was likely to be buying the clocks at jumble sales, and then selling them on when repaired for profit.
An article appeared in the Birmingham Mail that the Elmdon Model Engineering Society had recently been forced off their site near Birmingham Airport by repeated theft and vandalism. Their new venue was now at Tyseley Railway Museum.
A few days later I went into my old place of work and met some of the small band of men who were the Elmdon Model Engineering Society. I was also introduced to Bob Court, who was the long-standing chairman and founder member of the society. Bob kindly gave me a tour of the site and I was surprised at the amount of redundant machinery around, as yet uninstalled. It was explained to me that these machines had been donated to the museum after the closure of Bournville Engineering College. Yet another one of those government criminal acts at this period of time when much of this country’s engineering heritage was being obliterated in favour of the financial sector.
The French clock that came to me in three plastic carriers with essential parts missing.
It is a small world and I was soon to learn that I had worked with Bob’s younger brother some years earlier, who had also been locomotive fireman at Tyseley. I met Barrie Chalmers, who was a member of the society, and I had again worked with him as a fireman during earlier times. Barrie’s father Albert was also a driver. I was introduced to Stan Alderman, a highly skilled engineer who had worked all his life in production engineering; again, I had worked with Stan’s father in my
younger days, as he was also a driver. There were other brilliant time-served engineers, like Ron Scott and Len Perks; little did I know then, how much I was eventually going to learn from such lovely people. I was unaware at the time, but this was to be the start of a new chapter in my life amongst likeminded male company.
Barrie Chalmers, engineer with Lucas Verity and society member. An Ex B.R. fireman he revels in nostalgia on the footplate of 6000 King George V at Swindon Museum.
The society was comparatively new and the membership quite small. Despite the disappointments to the membership regarding issues at the society’s previous site, there was still remaining a great deal of enthusiasm. The members had earlier built a 7¼" Gauge large ‘Hunslet’ at Sandwell Engineering College night school; this engine was already the mainstay of the society. The engine gave rides to visitors on the few yards of track that had very quickly been laid. I was to spend so many very happy hours at Tyseley during the remaining warm weather of 1994.
Ron Scott became an apprentice with the B.S.A. and served on the North West Frontier of India. A lifetime engineer, he became Managing Director of n engineering company and could quote thread pitches and angles without reference.
Regretfully, work on the track came to a standstill, as there was some dispute over an access gate for railway personnel to cross the museum area from the maintenance depot to the carriage sidings. This problem dragged on over the following summer, members became discouraged at the lack of any progress and society numbers dwindled. Most Wednesday club working days, Bob Court and I were the only ones in attendance. ‘Sandwell Lady’, the society’s ‘Hunslet’, now stood out in all weathers and struggled to make the short trip of a few yards. The engine sadly lacked maintenance and interest, as the opinion of most members was that we should make a move to another site. A number of sites were an option, but all of these were wide open to the curse of vandalism.
The Mettle for Metal Page 4