Dip Pens.......history And Nostalgia

[UK forester]

I have been perusing this site for 12 to 15months and a member since August 2014 and felt I needed to add my five pence worth to the chit chat that takes place here. I want to throw some bones in the yard to get you all chatting and protesting sprinkled with humour and satire of course, but have not entirely satisfied myself that the dreaded censure would negate the content. I will see how this goes down first.

 

PART The First....History and Nostalgia.

 

My first memory of pens goes back a long long way, not quite Quill pens but wooden Dip pens. Yes, it is nearly 70 years ago that I sat at my desk in a small rural country school enfolded in the South Downs. The desks were the standard issue with a lid that sloped up to the pristine white china inkwell set in the much stained and blotched grooved pen rest. The seat was fixed within a frame and could be lifted when standing up, this was needed to facilitate quick exits for 'comfort breaks' which in winter were icy cold outside toilets. This particular day I am recalling was a beautiful Summers day and my mind had wandered, I was watching motes rise and fall in the mellow shafts of sun that pierced the mullioned windows when suddenly the noise of the teachers chair scraping the floorboards grabbed my attention.

 

He was a tall ,young and imposing man impeccably dressed as he stood up at the front of the class and carefully unwrapped a large pack of faintly lined foolscap paper. It looked like a large white brick, its composition dense and solid. We sat in silence at our desks, eyes to the front, legs dangling above the floor, boys in short trousers girls in floral printed dresses watching as the Teacher placed two knuckles of his large right hand in the centre of the pile and pressing down slowly rotated his knuckles in a clockwise direction. The result was amazing, slowly the papers seperated and turned and in doing so moved the next sheet down by exactly the same amount. he continued the slow,slow movement until the point of the top page had reached 180 degrees and there before us on the left hand side of the block was an evenly spaced pointed fan. He called me and three others to the front of class and then continued with his turning. My eyes grew bigger in disbelief as I watched this magic in front of me, ooh's and aah's were rising in the classrooms as the others strained to watch. It was truly magical , poetry in motion, a full circle formed with even points of each page around the perimeter. The most amazing thing however, was that the distance between each point was so precise that that no variation in the measurement was discernible. INCREDIBLE.

 

In a classroom often rocked with screaming and crying from evacuated children from bomb torn cities whenever a civilian aircraft passed overhead, it was truly a golden moment to treasure. To us it was pure unadulterated MAGIC performed by our Teacher, he was a genius. It so captivated me that my respect for him and education inspired me from that day onwards. Yes, just one short moment in time .......... but Never To Be Forgotten.

 

If you want more I will post PART The Second......Of pens and Writing

[Paddler]

I have been perusing this site for 12 to 15months and a member since August 2014 and felt I needed to add my five pence worth to the chit chat that takes place here. I want to throw some bones in the yard to get you all chatting and protesting sprinkled with humour and satire of course, but have not entirely satisfied myself that the dreaded censure would negate the content. I will see how this goes down first.

 

PART The First....History and Nostalgia.

 

My first memory of pens goes back a long long way, not quite Quill pens but wooden Dip pens. Yes, it is nearly 70 years ago that I sat at my desk in a small rural country school enfolded in the South Downs. The desks were the standard issue with a lid that sloped up to the pristine white china inkwell set in the much stained and blotched grooved pen rest. The seat was fixed within a frame and could be lifted when standing up, this was needed to facilitate quick exits for 'comfort breaks' which in winter were icy cold outside toilets. This particular day I am recalling was a beautiful Summers day and my mind had wandered, I was watching motes rise and fall in the mellow shafts of sun that pierced the mullioned windows when suddenly the noise of the teachers chair scraping the floorboards grabbed my attention.

 

He was a tall ,young and imposing man impeccably dressed as he stood up at the front of the class and carefully unwrapped a large pack of faintly lined foolscap paper. It looked like a large white brick, its composition dense and solid. We sat in silence at our desks, eyes to the front, legs dangling above the floor, boys in short trousers girls in floral printed dresses watching as the Teacher placed two knuckles of his large right hand in the centre of the pile and pressing down slowly rotated his knuckles in a clockwise direction. The result was amazing, slowly the papers seperated and turned and in doing so moved the next sheet down by exactly the same amount. he continued the slow,slow movement until the point of the top page had reached 180 degrees and there before us on the left hand side of the block was an evenly spaced pointed fan. He called me and three others to the front of class and then continued with his turning. My eyes grew bigger in disbelief as I watched this magic in front of me, ooh's and aah's were rising in the classrooms as the others strained to watch. It was truly magical , poetry in motion, a full circle formed with even points of each page around the perimeter. The most amazing thing however, was that the distance between each point was so precise that that no variation in the measurement was discernible. INCREDIBLE.

 

In a classroom often rocked with screaming and crying from evacuated children from bomb torn cities whenever a civilian aircraft passed overhead, it was truly a golden moment to treasure. To us it was pure unadulterated MAGIC performed by our Teacher, he was a genius. It so captivated me that my respect for him and education inspired me from that day onwards. Yes, just one short moment in time .......... but Never To Be Forgotten.

 

If you want more I will post PART The Second......Of pens and Writing

 

Yes, please. Give us more!

 

In our small school, ours was the first class to start pen-and-ink penmanship without the dip pen. Each of us was given a Sheaffer cartridge pen instead.

[Pickwick]

Your mention of the South Downs brought back memories to me. I was born in Chichester, West Sussex, and have been living for quite a number of years in California with my American wife.

 

you must be close to my age, my first school was an infants, and all the teachers were women. One incident I vividly recall was an air raid one aftenoon. When the warning siren sounded, the teachers ushered us into the purpose built bomb shelters in the grounds of the school. We could hear the fighter planes fom Tangmere machine gunning, they were coming in low over the school.

 

After the sirens wailed the ,"All clear", we were sent home. My magical moment was coming

out of the school gate was to see the street covered in empty machine gun cases from the fighter planes. With the other boys we eagerly picked them up, stuffing our pockets. When I got home, I excitedly showed my Mother, only to find her horiffied! She grabbed me by the collar and opened the kitchen door,thentold me not to come in the house until my Grandfather disarmed me!

 

Some year later,my Mother and I was reminiscing about the war years.I mentioned the above incident, remarking that I could have been carrying live ammunition. She replied, " Your Gran and I was very concerned, because we didn't want you makintg a mess in the house! It was then I realised I was dispensible.

 

fro

[CraigR]

I would love to read more!

[UK forester]

I had dutifully replied to the first twoPosters and then clicked on your profile Craig R and the whole lot disappeared. So this time brevity is the watchword. Glad that an American has taken the time to reply to an old codger in the UK but the secret is you are also a writer. I love the power of words that flow from my pen so now with encouragement I will continue in a few days after I have undergone more chemotherapy tomorrow, I' am glad to know you.

To Paddler, thanks for your reply, keep watching as we move onto my first fountain pen.

To Pickwick also thanks for you great reply from a fellow man of Sussex . Lovely to hear your memories of Tangmere, thankfully today it has a micro Brewery producing lovely Sussex Beer, quite a dichotomy of uses but for the better. Our bomb shelters were a zig zag trench dug in our small playing field which totally negated its use , there was no room to even kick a ball around. At my tender age I could not reason how a trench could protect one from bombs descending from above The Teacher said that if we were in the right place when a bomb exploded the force would be directed away from us.......I learnt then that Life was indeed a lottery! Stay onboard as I move from Storrington to Steyning on my educational path . Hang in there it will come soon.

Mike

[CraigR]

UK Forester / Mike , it is good to know you as well. Praying for successful treatment and restoration of good health!

 

I look forward to your future posts.

 

Craig

[Water Ouzel]

Mike,

 

Definitely post your follow up when you feel up to it.

 

I'm another Californian, lately moved to Minnesota (for the climate, right?).

 

Years ago as a beginning technical writer, my supervisor was an ex-pat Brit, a veteran of the RAF, 2 TAF, 485(NZ) squadron. He served from roughly D-day on, so he wasn't one of the pilots overflying your school, but he spent some time based at Tangmere.

 

He, as so many of my father's generation, is gone now, but the memories of the past live on through written memory of them, and us, and our descendants. Which of the reasons I'm attracted to fountain pens, paper, and writing.

 

Best of luck for your health and recovery.

[Bo Bo Olson]

Times change.

Once as a kid, we read Dick Tracy with his radio 'watch' on his wrist it was 'ha ha never happen'...now a you pull out a computer, camera telephone.

 

The first TV I can remember..1951-2, my grandfather rented....at 25 Cents (min. wage 75 cents) for 15 minutes. He put two quarters in, before saying enough.

There were little round screen TV's...that you had to close the heavy drapes or leave on only the kitchen light to see.

 

We went south to Miami, '53 and TV's were not big, but see in the Day Time...and Miami only had two TV stations instead of three. I was in love with Gale Storm as Little Margi.....I had good taste as a five year old.

 

@ '60 Wald Disney forced Color TV on America, with his programs the only ones in color. One hung out at the Minister's house...in he had a color TV.......real sly of that man.

 

Now a TV is a wall wide.....more channels than you can watch....but one thing has remained constant...the length of the commercials.

 

We were allowed to use fountain pens in 4th grade ('58)...before that pencil or ball point. And ball points had to be trimmed with a knife....fiddled with....well they were school kid fountain pens...not the more expensive ones...that might have worked. Dirty fingers from ink rings building on the tip...and it did not wash out of the cloths....=PO'ed Moms.

Mom was happy, washable inks.

Edited December 9, 2014 by Bo Bo Olson

[Pickwick]

Mike,

 

Definitely post your follow up when you feel up to it.

 

I'm another Californian, lately moved to Minnesota (for the climate, right?).

 

Years ago as a beginning technical writer, my supervisor was an ex-pat Brit, a veteran of the RAF, 2 TAF, 485(NZ) squadron. He served from roughly D-day on, so he wasn't one of the pilots overflying your school, but he spent some time based at Tangmere.

 

He, as so many of my father's generation, is gone now, but the memories of the past live on through written memory of them, and us, and our descendants. Which of the reasons I'm attracted to fountain pens, paper, and writing.

 

Best of luck for your health and recovery.

Amazing how small the world becomes. My Wife's Father was a Sergeant stationed with a U.S army unit near Portsmouth 15 miles from where I lived, waiting for the D-Day Normandy invasion. When my Wife's Father died we went to the Attorney handling his estate. Whilst waiting, the Attorney had a collection of 'Life' magazines dating from 1940. Picking one up and browsing through I saw a photo of a churchyard showing an RAF funeral in progress. An American Fighter Pilot stationed at Tangmere was being buried. His name was Billy Fiske, and had been a Bob Sled champion in the inter war years.

 

It gave me a strange feeling realizing I was living during that particular time, watched the spiraling vapor trails in the sky above Tangmere, the battles raging above me.

 

Incidentally, I correspond with two FPN members in Minnesota, One in St Peter, and one in Circle Pines.

[jp3085]

Please, do continue when you feel up to it. There is far to many people listening to celebrities who have never lived a real life, and I have to ask, what can I learn from them. Nothing of any relevance. I will pray for your health and hope to hear more of your life story.

[Pickwick]

Hi Mike,

 

I've been thinking about you today, and sincerely hope you are making a recovery from your chemotherapy. Here's to looking forward to hearing from you, and your experiences.

 

Best wishes,

 

Pickwick

[Runnin_Ute]

Hope your treatments are going well, Mike. I have enjoyed reading the experiences of your youth. My parents were both born in 34, so on D-Day would have been 10 and 9 respectively. (Dad is 6 months older than Mom) I don't recall much in the way of memories from them from those days. As the US didn't enter the war until 41, they would have been about 7 years old when that happened.

 

I grew up in a neighborhood across from a cemetery. We moved into the neighborhood in 1965 when I was 7 years old. I remember watching way to many young men's lives be buried with military honors and 21 gun salutes during Vietnam. I don't think I really understood what that all meant at the time. At least until I was a little older. Me and my friends just thought that the 21 gun salutes were cool. We always watched from a distance.

 

Please continue to share with us your memories of your youth as you can.

[UK forester]

Friends this is a follow on to my previous post which finished on the first part not quite completed. I had to give the gnarly old fingers a rest from the keyboard, but I continue.

 

The four of us that were called to the front of class were then shown how to pick up the papers from that beautiful star before us and hand them out to the other pupils. That really irked me to destroy such beauty, but then again it was like removing apple pie slices from Mums delicious pies.

With clean sheets of paper in front of us we were then instructed to construct grids of boxes on both sides of the paper using rulers and pencils. Hands were raised on completion and if the page passed the teachers scrutiny he then took a pen and inserted a lovely new gold coloured nib in the holder, held it up towards the light and with some judicious fettling with his fingers on the nib then placed the pen in the desk well and told us to leave it there until the class was ready to start. First he said take up your pens and showed us how deep to dip them and then remove surplus ink. He placed his gridded blackboard on his easel and then in lovely copperplate script he wrote the letter 'A' and told us to try to do the same by almost filling the grid, then in the next box it was 'a' in low case. we kept going to complete the alphabet and then when the ink had dried we turned our pages and did numbers to fill the boxes. Like most things in life some got on better than others, but help was given throughout the days until he was satisfied each was giving of his or her best.

One poor lad I must mention as this was his nemesis, the gods had really conspired against him. He was taller than most of us in class, thick set ,short hair[ the story was the Nit-Nurse had shaved it--no validation of course], and he walked with a really pronounced rolling gait. He came from a hamlet tucked in the downs, inhabited since stone age and bronze age people had buried their dead in the tumuli of the surrounding hills, it had a large Elizabethan Manor house and farm, a huge wooden Tithe barn and a Medieval church dating back to the earliest Saxon history all now listed buildings. In this church I sometimes had to pump the organ at Sunday morning service, woe-be-tide the withering looks I got from the Organist if I let the pressure fall which was indicated by a lead plumb bob hanging in front of my sweaty brow.Sorry for having digressed yet again but it is connected.The small cluster of buildings was home to our unfortunate lad, his father was a ploughman on the Manor Farm as had been his father before him, first Horses and then the new advent of the early tractor . I decided his gait was him possibly copying his Dad or could it have been passed on genetically? His whole demeanour was sullen, a loner, clumsy and uncoordinated his hands had more ink on them than the paper and I don't think he got past the letter B before the tines of the nib splayed to such an angle that it could not be straightened . It looked like his gait, one foot in the furrow and one on top. He had to go back to using his pencil until he was satisfactory and was then given a thicker heavy duty nib to curb his undue pressure that he applied. Much coaching got him writing but the ink stains never left his hands., sadly he never made the grade of ink bottle monitor whose job it was to fill the delicate ink wells from a huge brown stoneware Stephens ink bottle with Blue/Black ink. The fear of huge Laundry bills I think was the catalyst.

 

Having followed the threads here on dip pens I believe we were ahead of the game, you see many of us hated the colour of the ink but to our rescue came another bottle, a small one, a third of a pint milk bottle which we were given at first morning break. By using the wax drinking straw as a pipette we could colour our ink to lovely lighter shades of blue. We didn't know then that the enzymes in the milk aided the ink retention on the nib and also gave great lubricity to our nib on the paper, they became super smooth, and that was full fat milk.

What we soon found out was in winter it was OK but in summer a dip of the pen yielded cottage cheese or in extremist Blue Stilton !

 

I won a Scholarship to a 400year old Grammar school and became immersed in the history and romance of the place and also to a degree in learning and seeking more. It started with Fountain pens which we had to supply ourselves, mine was an Osmiroid on which I wish to say no more. We sweep on through time examinations passed and am now in full employment as a Government Officer in Forestry. Two anecdotes You may like , whilst working at my Forest Office in Dorset about 1966 I received in the post a largish envelope which contained two Biro's, one of which I think was retractable, they came with a note on a J3 buff official paper which I had to stamp and receipt as received in "good order" and return the same to HQ. Now LOL.

The second was when the Baltic states all fractured and many more countries now free joined the European Union. I had to attend an EU conference on Forestry for delegates from all of Europe including Russia and present a paper on behalf of the UK. After I had concluded my lecture the conference stopped for coffee which we had in the dining room which adjoined the Auditorium with a large Atrium. Laid out here were many tables manned by forest companies ,Machinery, Hand tools, Paper and timber giving out information on their wares and with samples and promotional objects. I stood talking to one of the machinery Reps when a large hand pushed between us and grasped a pot full of Biros and withdrew with his catch. The Rep looked round saw who it was then quickly motioned to his coIleagues to remove the rulers and pencils. the Swedish match Companies came off the worst, there whole stock of matches were removed to bags of every description in one fleeting moment as the newly formed free countries delegates walked along.

 

That ends Part The First, the Second was to be Controversy in which I was gong to launch my many withering criticism on pens and this network. I will follow with a piece much edited to satire and humour which will be the build up to Nirvana that we pen lovers wish to find in a fountain pen I have them and there could be a lucky seven recipients of them. Could be I said.

Why the change of heart, its you fantastic warm and sincere people who have read the first part and sent me wishes that made my eyes glaze. It was uplifting but we will mention it no more. Like it or not I shall be writing the rest. Thanks and bless you all , you have lifted my feelings and love for the human race and the lives we lead by many ,many notches.

 

Mike

[Paddler]

Thanks for posting your stories, Mike. We need to store this link and use it when people ask: "Now that I have all these pens . . . what can I do with them?"

[CraigR]

Very enjoyable read Mike! Looking forward to more. I particularly enjoyed the recounting of your early experiences with dip pens and ink.

 

Craig

[Anne-Sophie]

Those are wonderful stories, do share more at whatever pace you find suitable.

 

History with a capital H is a lot more interesting when highlighted with personal histories.

 

Much healing thoughts your way.

[LeonW]

Our thoughts are with you Mike, keep the faith and may the Lord bless you with a full recovery.

 

Thanks for the inspirational story, enjoying every day reading more of your experiences.

[Pickwick]

Loved reading your anecdotes Mike. Your part of the county was truly civilized, in total contrast to the Secondary Modern School I went to. Their, dip pen anarchy was rife. Nibs were employed for making darts. Fellow pupils sitting next to me would often grab my pen whilst attempting an essay, and plunge it into the desk!

 

Certain ink monitors would bring from their Mothers' kitchens a small package of Baking Soda. After filling the inkwell drop a pinch of the stuff into it. A short while later the ink would froth over the desk. Blotting paper was a useful missile. Roll a small ball and dip it into the inkwell, place it carefully in a rubber band and aim it at the neck of the boy in front.

 

It was only later in life when I was digging a footing and laying foundations for a building I wished I'd paid more attention at school!

 

My best wishes to you.

[jp3085]

Thank you again for your life story. When I went to school it was pencils till High school and learning was a chore the teachers had to do and not treated as a responsibility. Learning was by the Book and as long as it was passably legible "Here endeth the lesson". Its nice to read of a proper teaching. Thank you again and will be awaiting further posts. Good health to you.

[Bo Bo Olson]

My mother a WAAC landed D-Day +14 in Normandy.

She had had a wonderful handwriting.....from hand beating nuns...metal edged rulers beating until the palm swelled.

My handwriting proves I was never a captive of the 'Samurai' nuns.

 

I never saw a dip pen in use in real life, until I got some myself.

Edited December 12, 2014 by Bo Bo Olson