Otley is a small market town in West Yorkshire, it is among a few other things, the birthplace of Thomas Chippendale – the furniture man rather than the male stripper. There is in fact a fish and chip shop called ‘Chips-In-Dales’ (a double reference, since Otley is also a gateway town to the Yorkshire Dales) – the chips (fries) I’m afraid are rather bad, but at least the proprieters have a sense of humour, something that probably comes in handy living in Otley. It has a pub where Oliver Cromwell’s troops sank a few pints during the English Civil War, and a lot of other horrible pubs, as well as at least one decent one, ‘The Old Cock’, where I had a pint myself.
While I was able to find plenty of photos of ‘The Old Cock’ on the internet, it says a great deal that I wasn’t able to find one decent image of the town itself. If anyone has ever seen the darkly twisted British comedy series ‘The League of Gentlemen’, they would feel slightly uncomfortable in Otley, and I was reminded of the show when I returned there today to have a closer look at the pocket-knife I spied yesterday. The junk shop, or “collectors’ shop” as it styles itself, is in a small, roofed arcade of shops adjacent to the parish church. The arcade includes a fly-fishing shop, an antique shop, a tool and hardware shop, a small cafe, an old-fashioned sweet (candy) shop, and a couple of junk shops, one being the target of my trip.
The shop in question is staffed by a friendly, but eccentric woman, who later told me she specialises in old packaging. She sits behind a desk, wearing a crocheted cardigan, listening to Beatles records, and noting down any purchases in great detail in a ledger. She looks quite frighteningly like one of the characters from ‘The League of Gentlemen’.
A lot of the display cabinets seem to be filled with the assistant’s (and part owner as it turned out) private collection of English packaging from the 1950’s and 60’s. These items are not for sale. The remainder of the shop is filled with everything from old toy cars to wrist-watches, with a few old tools, and a lot of costume jewellery and crochet-hooks. When I remarked upon just how many crochet hooks they had, the lady in the crocheted cardigan seemed to think it a rather odd and foolish remark.
Having spotted that the object of my interest was still on display, I asked if I might have a look at it. The lady seemed to think this was something of an inconvenience, but eventually lumbered out of her seat and unlocked the cabinet in which the pocket-knife lay. She then held it out to me, but retained it in her grasp. When I asked if I might inspect it more closely, she looked a bit concerned, disturbed even, but did relinquish the object into my possession, while moving alarmingly close to me. Possibly she had a crochet hook or two about her person.
The knife was a slip-joint with three carbon-steel blades; a main blade and two others, which were in fact a can opener and bottle opener. It had white faux-pearl scales, which were almost certainly hollow and a silver-coloured shield and bolsters. Under the close gaze of the knife’s keeper, I opened the main blade with some difficulty, as it was quite heavily rusted. Just as I suspected however, I eventually made out, through the brown scale, the unillustrious lamppost of Richards.
My father worked for Richards as a machine-tool fitter, briefly, twice. This was in the 1950’s and early 60’s, when there was plenty of work in Sheffield, and he was a well-respected local tradesman, who Richards had to poach with what was then considered a high wage. Nonetheless, he disliked working for a firm, who in the eyes of many, were busy ruining the reputation of Sheffield cutlers, and he quickly left on both occasions. One of my very earliest memories is standing outside the factory gate waiting for my father to give him the sandwiches he had forgotten for his lunch, and my very first knife was a Richards ‘Little Chief’, but in spite of this I have no affection for the company.
The knife was priced at only £5, which to put it in context, won’t even buy you two pints of beer in ‘The Old Cock’, but I decided to pass on it. While somewhat put out that I wasn’t buying it, the elderly matriarch seemed glad to re-take possession of it. She clearly hadn’t enjoyed witnessing an outsider touching ‘the precious things’.
I noticed that there were one or two other small knives, but the proprietress was more than a little reluctant to allow me to handle them. I did manage to briefly inspect a small pipe tool, which I noticed had a carbon-steel blade and a very sharp edge, as well as diminutive £2 price-tag. Since it was so inexpensive, I decided to purchase it anyway, along with another small slipjoint at the same price. For another £2 I also bought a pickle fork, I can’t imagine how I have ever previously managed without one!
Escaping from the odd emporium, only 6 quid lighter, I settled onto a bench outside the church in order to inspect my purchases more closely. Unfortunately, I quickly realised that the small slip-joint, with its strange stainless blade/bottle opener and a corkscrew too small to be of use was a Richards. The blade had been clumsily sharpened either at the factory or post-purchase, but it nonetheless had a sharp edge.
The carbon blade on the pipe tool had seen a lot of wear, and was older and dirtier, it was still very sharp though. Perhaps these knives had even shared an owner once before. I was unable to read the mark until I got home, and it is also a Richards, though older than the previous knife.
This company flooded the British market with cheap knives for decades, always blaming ‘The Japanese’ for constantly cutting quality in order to keep prices low, and having swallowed up Sheffield firms with nobler traditions, eventually sank with all hands lost to the dole queue.
After a pint at ‘The Old Cock’ (which just happens to be next to a forge) to consider these things and look at my purchases, and a bit of patter about beer and pork pies with the landlord and a local farmer, I set out to see if there were any other knives to be had in Otley. As the search progressed, my bag filled with bargain-priced crockery, old books and maps, and something I bought called ‘A snake in a box’, which I’ll show you later, but which was accurately described on the small card tag that accompanied it in the shop window.
My search eventually bought me to a a shop which sold an odd mixture of boiled sweets, books, and curiosities. Among the latter I found half a dozen small slip-joints, with prices somewhat higher than the shop I’d been in earlier. Several, I could see instantly, were Richards knives, one in fact was the same as the ‘dum waiter’ I’d bought before, at three times the price. The assistant was also a little reluctant for me to handle the knives, but when I did so, I opened them with disappointment, immediately spotting the lacklustre lamp-post. There was an older knife though, carbon-steel and with bone handles, and made, not by Richards, but by John Watts. Despite the wear and a main blade that sits slightly proud when folded, I purchased it for £6 – two pints of draught ale.
My apologies for the poor quality photographs, my old decent cameras are pre-digital. I’ll try to get better. Any advice on these knives, particularly the Watts, would be appreciated. I’ll no doubt peruse the junk shops of Otley again, so if anyone wants me to look out for anything, please let me know, and I’ll try to get my hands on some ‘precious things’ for you, while hopefully evading the bad end of any crochet-hooks that come my way.
Jack
