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The Story behind That Knife

Oct 20, 2000
When I was born my grandpa (mother's dad) had already passed away. Several years ago, my auntie, on discovering that I have a penchant for knives, asked me if I wanted a penknife which belonged to my grandpa.
Apparently, it was stashed away among some old belongings that everybody had forgotten about.
Of course, I was more than delighted to receive such a rare and old gift. It turned out that my grandpa was a hunter of sorts.
During his off-days, he and his close friends would go hunting in the jungle. They would hunt monkeys, wild boar, squirrel and other edible creatures. My mother's family were no strangers to all kinds of exotic meat on the dinner table.
According to my mum (she too is no longer around), meat from the jungle create a strong physical constitution.
Anyway, the penknife which I received turned out to be well-worn. It had obviously seen better days.
Holding it and feeling the scattered rust spots along the blade and the various unidentified scratches along the handle, I couldn't help wondering how many miles of adventure the knife has travelled.
If only the knife could talk. Even though, the knife is no longer in pristine condition, I did what I could to salvage it from the mechanical graveyard. Afterall, it does hold special memories.
I didn't have the opportunity to know my grandpa in any way like all other normal kids. I guess the knife was, in a small way, of getting to know him.
All I know is grandpa must have been quite a man. Alas, destiny deemed that our paths did not cross. Even as I look at the knife sometimes I can't help wondering what stories he could have told me, if he were alive.
The knife, by itself, is not worth much but the story behind the knife is priceless.

I am sure there must be wonderful stories waiting to be told about other knives, too. Perhaps, a knife that had helped save a family, or maybe even a knife that brought a family together.
Somewhere out there yonder, may be a story waiting to be told of how a knife that sealed a friendship for life, a broken heart healed, or a life's course altered for the better.
What's your story?

Make Love your strongest weapon. Compassion your shield and forgiveness your armour.
Gear Golok,
Greetings Brother of Steel!
I lent a Spyderco to a good friend in the military. Over the course of several years it was as much a part of his kit as anything else. A few months ago he opted for a different blade and mine was returned with not only great solemnity but true honor and pride.
He paused as he returned it and in the moments that followed he relayed quite a tale of the places he and his "companion" had been about. Deserts, rivers, oceans, camps, several sides of one "Curtain" or another. He went on at some length, in fact.
That simple piece of steel had become as much a part of himself as his own heart beat.
I never asked if it was "used", for that would have cheapened the Spirit of the Steel.
As the moment passed it was replaced with a sigh and some degree of relief. Apprehension? Yes. One does not part with a friend lightly.
His new friend? Ah! It is a spirit unto itself and serves him well.
We must be thankful for these simple pleasures. Things remembered, recall pleasures savored. In the case of your Grandfather's knife...Literally!
Lance Gothic
I too have received both my grandfathers and fathers knives.My time with my grandfather was limited to about 5 years or so however,my memory of what my fathers knives went through are still quite fresh.I believe my grandfather carried his gentlemans folders more for fashion than purpose as they are all in very good condition.My father on the other hand got full use of his knives but they would seem to slowly travel from his dresser,to the work bench,to the garage,and then at his side on the kitchen table.I felt bad the day I cleaned years of dirt off them but then realized all the history was still intact.
This post has got me thinking that it would be a good idea for all of us to take time to jot down a brief summary of what our knives mean to us,what we've done with them,etc.The day will come when we are no longer around to tell the stories and whoever gets the knives
would probably be greatful.

"Just me and my multi-tools."
Great story,
I never met either of my Grandfathers. My Father's Dad was a chef, and my Dad still has a bunch of his Dad's knives. I get to use them when I go over and help with dinner


I was lucky enough to know my Grandfather well. He was a neat ol' fella. When he passed away, I inherited a few curios. One was his well seasoned meerschaum pipe. Also, two knives.

One is a gentleman's knife, a gift from his employer (Hal Bartlett, the movie director.) It is a sterling silver lobster knife. The other is quite unusual, a pipe smoker's knife made by Schrade. It has a small tanto-like blade, and a most unusual feature - a tongue on the other end for cleaning out the pipe bowl. The tongue looks like ivory.

A quick family legend. My Grandfather always bought his pipe tobacco from "The Tinder Box." My Mother told me that the local shop made a custom mix for him, and called it "Pete's Blend." Now, some 40+ years later, whenever I go to a mall that has a "Tinder Box." I take a look, and they usually have "Pete's Blend." I'd like to think that the Santa Monica shop shared the recipe with the corporate office, and it caught on. Coincidence? Who knows? But I'm convinced.

Glen AKA Centaur
"I'll be your Huckleberry."
- Doc Holiday
I'll try to post a photo of the pipe smoker's knife. Here goes my first try at posting on this forum:


Glen AKA Centaur

"I'll be your Huckleberry."
- Doc Holiday

Gollygeewillikers! Sorry about that, folks! Next time I'll scan at a lower resolution!

[This message has been edited by Centaur (edited 01-14-2001).]

[This message has been edited by Centaur (edited 01-14-2001).]
Great stories.

"one life, one knife"

[This message has been edited by bteel (edited 01-14-2001).]
When I was in my teens, I read an article in the Reader's Digest about the Swiss Army Knife.

Years passed. One day, I found myself holidaying in Switzerland. What came to mind was the Swiss army knife. I told myself what better place to buy a knife than in a place that made famous THE Swiss knife.

I went from shop to shop looking for the ideal SAK. Being a person of great procastination, I found myself wandering from one corner of the Swiss town to another but still no knife.

The journey seemed endless and fruitless until I walked into one shop which had an employee with great salesmanship. After what seemed like a long time at the shop, I still couldn't make up my mind.
The shop assistant said: "Well, don't you want to own a Swiss knife." "Very much so," I told him. "It's the price that is holding me back," I added.

The shop assistant looked deep into my eyes and replied: "Look, it's only 54 Swiss francs. Where else can you get such a bargain?"

It was then it struck me. I may never crossed this way again. Afterall, Switzerland is not exactly in the neighbourhood. So I fished out my wallet and planted 54 Swiss francs for that knife called the Swiss Champ.

The first thing I did when I went back to the hotel was to give the knife a closer examination. I opened the big blade. It slipped and nicked my forefinger. Thus, its official opening was a baptism of blood.

I love that knife. I still carry it with me whenever I can. It brings back great memories of my travels, especially the shop assistant who managed to persuade me to buy it. I know now if I had not bought it then, I would have regretted it today.

The Swiss champ is still one of my favourite knives and it is in almost mint condition.

Make Love your strongest weapon. Compassion your shield and forgiveness your armour.

[This message has been edited by golok (edited 01-17-2001).]

[This message has been edited by golok (edited 01-17-2001).]