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- Dec 2, 2005
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I had some business in the beautiful ancient City of York yesterday afternoon, and after concluding it early, I was left with an hour or two to go knife hunting. York is a marvellous city to visit, and many do, but this has pushed prices up, and also made it a snobbish town unfortunately. Therefore, I did not expect to find any great bargains and I knew that there would be no junk shops, though certainly there are shops full of junk. I know the centre well from numerous previous visits, so I reckoned I could make full use of a couple of hours there. Unfortunately, I had no sooner set out, than it began to rain heavily, and as this photo taken from my last visit shows, York is a place best avoided in the wet!
The market was lacklustre and disappointing, York has a market almost every day of the year, but a flea-market is apparently beneath its recently-acquired grandeur, so all that exists are a few fruit and veg stalls and suchlike, even the stall that sells cloth caps wasnt there yesterday.
York does have a great and labyrinthine independent hardware store, which Ive never been able to get all the way round without running out of money. On my last visit theyd had some Swiss Army knives, and as Im still after an alox model, I thought it would be worth looking in. On entering the tool section, I was surprised to see a display cabinet holding a range of Arthur Wright knives, which must have been out of stock when I last looked round. Ive been meaning to buy a Sheffield-made lambsfoot pattern for a while, but quality is so inconsistent, Ive been reluctant to do so via the internet. While the prices were a little higher here, I would at least have the chance to examine a knife prior to purchasing it, or not.
The display case contained about twenty knives, with half a dozen different patterns. The handles were about half dark wood, with one or two in buffalo horn, and the rest in an unsightly plastic material. They had a lambsfoot left with wooden scales, so I asked one of the two assistants if I could have a look at it. We chatted briefly about the knives, and I referred to the quality control issues as I inspected the knife thoroughly. After telling the man Id take the knife, I was therefore surprised when he told me hed get me one out of the back, returning the one Id just looked at to the display cabinet.
I went and stood by the till, passing the time of day with the older assistant, until his colleague returned with my knife. When I asked if I could have a look at the knife however, both reacted as if Id insulted them. The older assistant told me that in thirty years at the store, hed never seen an Arthur Wright knife returned. I dont doubt what I was told was true, but there could be any number of reasons for it; the well-known preference of the English to make-do (and grumble) rather than to complain; the fact that many of the knives would have been bought by tourists who would not have been in the city for long; the low-expectancy many users have of Sheffield knives; and perhaps the fact that Mr Wright (who still works in his nineties) has better quality control when it comes to a long-established wholesale customer. They may also have been just plain lucky. Certainly, I have seen many knives from this firm, and other Sheffield cutlers, which were badly made, and as always, its worth checking. As the assistant eventually conceded, we all sometimes put in a Friday job now and again.
Despite these comments, I am extremely impressed with my Arthur Wright knife, and will buy more from the store in York (assuming I am allowed to inspect them first). Its nothing fancy, just a good, honest old Sheffield pattern, but the fit and finish is great, it locks up like the proverbial bank vault, and even the factory edge was reasonably sharp. So feeling quite pleased with myself, I slipped the knife into my pocket, and headed on.
There is a shop that sells poor-quality reproduction swords and daggers to teenage boys and tourists, along with some overpriced skean dhus. Its sometimes worth a laugh, but on this occasion an elderly man, who was clearly a regular customer (if irregular demographically) was arguing with an exasperated proprietor about some purchase or other. Since the disgruntled gentleman insisted on conducting the conversation while jammed squarely in the door-frame of the shop entrance, I decided to give it a miss.
Sandwiched between a vegetarian cafe and Ye Olde...something or other, sits an unsavoury militaria/weapons shop, which might be By appointment to the armchair psychopaths and chocolate soldiers of northern England. I went in with some reluctance. Inside a rotund couple were perusing a rotten-looking selection of gas-masks. Have you heard of Preppers? the female of the titanic twosome asked the yawning skinhead behind the counter. Were prepared for everything, she went on (and on). I wondered if theyd be prepared for some thearapy, or at least some diet/exercise, but thought it best not to broach the subject in the unlikely event that they turned out to be Mr & Mrs Smith gone to seed. They went on to gawk at air pistols and imitation handguns, while asking stupid questions, of the grunting proprietor, and I eventually managed to negotiate my way round them. My proffered Excuse me brought a frightened squeal from the large lady. Im with him! she shrieked, pointing a porcine finger at her fellow Prepper. She clearly wasnt too prepared for encounters with politely spoken middle-aged gentlemen, or perhaps it was just something she wasnt used to.
Among a selection of cheap and nasty offensive weapons and fake Nazi daggers, I spotted a clasp knife similar in appearance to the one my grandfather had carried in World War 2 and which Id beat the hell out of as a boy (with it always bouncing back for more). I was unable to open the blades, but nostalgia led me to hand over the sum requested by the lump behind the counter. There are a few differences between this knife and the one I had as a kid, but its solidly built, in Belgium rather than Sheffield. The springs on the knife are no less brutal, and I pity the unwary or unwise who handle one of these knives carelessly. That tin-opener looks like its capable of dealing with a tank!
A little further out of the centre, without the city walls in fact, I came across a shop filled with contemporary tat and a few bits of old junk, which pretentiously masquerades as an antique shop. There was nothing worth buying, but a camp snob, with a southern English accent, treated me to a lecture on how little money he personally makes from Yorks rich tourist industry. In no uncertain terms, he told me, and without seemingly wishing to be offensive: In the past, only the rich could travel, now anyone can, so we get all sorts of riff-raff coming in. I couldnt be bothered to remind him of some of the past visitors to the city, William Wallace or Erik Bloodaxe for example, who might perhaps have given him reason to moan, and been less tolerant of his effete whining. Hopefully his tatty shop will soon close down from lack of custom or be washed away by the cleansing waters of the River Ouse when York next floods.
The market was lacklustre and disappointing, York has a market almost every day of the year, but a flea-market is apparently beneath its recently-acquired grandeur, so all that exists are a few fruit and veg stalls and suchlike, even the stall that sells cloth caps wasnt there yesterday.
York does have a great and labyrinthine independent hardware store, which Ive never been able to get all the way round without running out of money. On my last visit theyd had some Swiss Army knives, and as Im still after an alox model, I thought it would be worth looking in. On entering the tool section, I was surprised to see a display cabinet holding a range of Arthur Wright knives, which must have been out of stock when I last looked round. Ive been meaning to buy a Sheffield-made lambsfoot pattern for a while, but quality is so inconsistent, Ive been reluctant to do so via the internet. While the prices were a little higher here, I would at least have the chance to examine a knife prior to purchasing it, or not.
The display case contained about twenty knives, with half a dozen different patterns. The handles were about half dark wood, with one or two in buffalo horn, and the rest in an unsightly plastic material. They had a lambsfoot left with wooden scales, so I asked one of the two assistants if I could have a look at it. We chatted briefly about the knives, and I referred to the quality control issues as I inspected the knife thoroughly. After telling the man Id take the knife, I was therefore surprised when he told me hed get me one out of the back, returning the one Id just looked at to the display cabinet.
I went and stood by the till, passing the time of day with the older assistant, until his colleague returned with my knife. When I asked if I could have a look at the knife however, both reacted as if Id insulted them. The older assistant told me that in thirty years at the store, hed never seen an Arthur Wright knife returned. I dont doubt what I was told was true, but there could be any number of reasons for it; the well-known preference of the English to make-do (and grumble) rather than to complain; the fact that many of the knives would have been bought by tourists who would not have been in the city for long; the low-expectancy many users have of Sheffield knives; and perhaps the fact that Mr Wright (who still works in his nineties) has better quality control when it comes to a long-established wholesale customer. They may also have been just plain lucky. Certainly, I have seen many knives from this firm, and other Sheffield cutlers, which were badly made, and as always, its worth checking. As the assistant eventually conceded, we all sometimes put in a Friday job now and again.
Despite these comments, I am extremely impressed with my Arthur Wright knife, and will buy more from the store in York (assuming I am allowed to inspect them first). Its nothing fancy, just a good, honest old Sheffield pattern, but the fit and finish is great, it locks up like the proverbial bank vault, and even the factory edge was reasonably sharp. So feeling quite pleased with myself, I slipped the knife into my pocket, and headed on.
There is a shop that sells poor-quality reproduction swords and daggers to teenage boys and tourists, along with some overpriced skean dhus. Its sometimes worth a laugh, but on this occasion an elderly man, who was clearly a regular customer (if irregular demographically) was arguing with an exasperated proprietor about some purchase or other. Since the disgruntled gentleman insisted on conducting the conversation while jammed squarely in the door-frame of the shop entrance, I decided to give it a miss.
Sandwiched between a vegetarian cafe and Ye Olde...something or other, sits an unsavoury militaria/weapons shop, which might be By appointment to the armchair psychopaths and chocolate soldiers of northern England. I went in with some reluctance. Inside a rotund couple were perusing a rotten-looking selection of gas-masks. Have you heard of Preppers? the female of the titanic twosome asked the yawning skinhead behind the counter. Were prepared for everything, she went on (and on). I wondered if theyd be prepared for some thearapy, or at least some diet/exercise, but thought it best not to broach the subject in the unlikely event that they turned out to be Mr & Mrs Smith gone to seed. They went on to gawk at air pistols and imitation handguns, while asking stupid questions, of the grunting proprietor, and I eventually managed to negotiate my way round them. My proffered Excuse me brought a frightened squeal from the large lady. Im with him! she shrieked, pointing a porcine finger at her fellow Prepper. She clearly wasnt too prepared for encounters with politely spoken middle-aged gentlemen, or perhaps it was just something she wasnt used to.
Among a selection of cheap and nasty offensive weapons and fake Nazi daggers, I spotted a clasp knife similar in appearance to the one my grandfather had carried in World War 2 and which Id beat the hell out of as a boy (with it always bouncing back for more). I was unable to open the blades, but nostalgia led me to hand over the sum requested by the lump behind the counter. There are a few differences between this knife and the one I had as a kid, but its solidly built, in Belgium rather than Sheffield. The springs on the knife are no less brutal, and I pity the unwary or unwise who handle one of these knives carelessly. That tin-opener looks like its capable of dealing with a tank!
A little further out of the centre, without the city walls in fact, I came across a shop filled with contemporary tat and a few bits of old junk, which pretentiously masquerades as an antique shop. There was nothing worth buying, but a camp snob, with a southern English accent, treated me to a lecture on how little money he personally makes from Yorks rich tourist industry. In no uncertain terms, he told me, and without seemingly wishing to be offensive: In the past, only the rich could travel, now anyone can, so we get all sorts of riff-raff coming in. I couldnt be bothered to remind him of some of the past visitors to the city, William Wallace or Erik Bloodaxe for example, who might perhaps have given him reason to moan, and been less tolerant of his effete whining. Hopefully his tatty shop will soon close down from lack of custom or be washed away by the cleansing waters of the River Ouse when York next floods.
The knife is just under 3 1/2 inches closed, with a cutting edge of 2 1/2". None of your fake or pretend Lamb Foots, it's the genuine article! Maybe Case are missing a trick there (that's a lovely knife BTW)! 
Anyway, it was an internet sale, I returned the first as the quality was dreadful, the replacement was WORSE! Sharp pins sticking out of the Buffalo handles, gaps you could fall through, tip touching the liner making for difficult opening, a blade whose spine is bent! Terrible shrink back/curling of the horn handles (improper curing) It cost as much as my Queen Cutlery D2 Sodbuster, a knife light years ahead in construction and finish and vastly more than an RR whose quality is also unquestionably superior. Such a terrible pity as this is a very good authentic pattern, would feel good in the hand and nice simple elegance. A Lamb Foot with a curved handle or Sheepfoot with Swell End and Barehead are the epitome of a desirable English knife. If they bothered a bit more (a lot more) got some decent machinery then I'm convinced people would pay well for a nicely finished knife.:thumbup: