On Making a Folding Table

My “On Making…” series is a growing body of instructions for Beginning level to Intermediate level woodworking projects aimed at enhancing encampments.

Folding tables for outdoor use and be economical, easy to transport and store, and add to the ambience of an encampment.  This design, although not genuinely medieval, is a good project for anyone with a little more than Beginner’s level woodworking skills.  The resulting table is suitable for a meal for two, doing on-site illumination, or keeping any number of smaller items off of the ground.

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The Shop List

For this design you will need:

  • 12″ x 24″ sheet of 1/4″ medium density fiberboard (mdf) (for the tabletop template);
  • 2″ x 24″ sheet of 1/4″ mdf (for the leg template);
  • 12″ x 48″ x 1″ board (for the tabletop);
  • 10″ x 24″ x 1 1/2″ board (for the legs);
  • 1″ x 1/4″ x 30″ board (for the stretchers);
  • 3/8″ x 30″ hardwood dowel.

The tools required are:

  • A saw (a table saw is ideal, but a handsaw will suffice);
  • A drill and bits;
  • A plane;
  • Sandpaper or a card-scraper;
  • Wood glue rated for outdoor use (I recommend Titebond III);
  • 1 1/2″ – 2″ wood screws;
  • Measuring tape or yardstick;
  • Combination square (if you don’t have one, a square piece of paper folded diagonally can be used to scribe a 45° angle);
  • Pencil;
  • C-clamps.


The Templates

For my first folding table (which the following photographs document) I stuck as close as possible to the model I was given.  The size and shape of the tabletop, as well as the length of the legs and the width of the leg assembly, can all be modified to suit your needs.  However, for your first folding table I encourage you to not experiment and stick with this design.

Lay out a template for half of the tabletop (each half is identical, so you only need a half-template) on a 12″ x 24″ sheet of mdf.  The template pictured below results in a roughly hexagonal tabletop.  Measure 8″ in from each short edge and clearly mark where the dowels/dowel holes are to go.

Templates for the tabletop (top) and six leg assembly pieces (bottom).

Lay out another template for the six leg assembly pieces.  Start by making a rectangle 24″ long by 1 3/8″ wide.  Find the center point of each short edge and trim off the corners at a 45° angle.  Set the leg assembly template aside.

The Tabletop

Select boards of a wood suitable for outdoor use.  You can use fir or pine if you are also going to seal the table with a urethane or exterior paint.  I used white oak in the table seen in these photographs.  Although this tabletop will be only 24″ long, I recommend sawing the boards a bit oversize (24 1/4″ – 24 1/2″) just in case the dowels don’t line up with their corresponding holes later on (see below).

Flatten the boards as needed.  Joint one long edge of each board to ensure that those two edges will abut without any gaps.  These edges will form the “seam” running up the middle of the tabletop.  Lay your template atop each board in turn (with the seam edge of the template lined up with the seam edge of the board) and mark out your pattern.

Laying out the pattern using a template (and, yes, that 45 degree angle is really 135 degrees)

From where you indicated the  dowels are to go, drop a line across the edge of each board and mark the center point of these lines.  Set the boards on edge in a vise and, using a 3/8″ bit, drill a 1″ deep hole at the center points just marked.

Cut two 2″ segments of 3/8″ dowel.  Bevel the edges of the dowel segments.  Drop a little wood-glue into the two freshly-bored holes in one of the tabletop halves.  Insert the two dowels, so that 1″ of each stands proud of the board.  Allow the glue to dry overnight.

Set the boards on a flat surface, line up the dowels with the corresponding holes in the other board, and gently push them together.  If the holes do not line up, re-bore one hole and try again.  If the holes are too snug (remember, you want the dowels to slide in and out with gentle pressure), you can widen them: using the same drill bit as before, gently “swirl” the bit against the side of the hole.  Avoid widening the hole more than 1/32″.  Once the dowels are lined up and can slide into -and out of- the holes, you can finish scribing and sawing the perimeter of the tabletop.  Set the tabletop aside.


Turning back to the leg template, it is time to mark where two holes are to be drilled: one in the exact center of the template (i.e. 12″ from either short side and 7/8″ from either long side); and the other at one end, right between the two angles which form the point.  Using the same 3/8″ drill bit as before, drill a hole through each of these two marks.

The legs should be made of straight-grained, stable wood.  You can use a softwood such as pine or fir, but know that the expected lifespan of your table will be less than had you used a hardwood such as oak, maple, or ash.  The legs are fairly thick, so find a 6/4 or nominal 2″ thick board from which to cut them.  Using a hand-plane or tabletop thickness planer, reduce the thickness down to 1 3/8″.  Rip saw six 24″ long, 1 3/8″ wide, 1 3/8″ thick pieces from this board.

Five of six leg assembly pieces.

Use the template to scribe both angled ends onto each piece.  Do not scribe the two holes yet; not every piece will get drilled the same way.  If using a tablesaw, set your miter gauge for a 45° angle.

Once all the ends are cut, set the six pieces into three pairs.  Mark them as ‘under’, ‘inside’, and ‘outside’ pieces.

first work with the ‘under’ pair.  Use the template again and scribe the drill hole at just one end of each piece.  Do not scribe a drill hole in the center.

Using your 3/8″ drill bit, line up with the circle you just scribed and bore a hole all the way through the leg piece.  Do the same for the scribed drill hole on the second ‘under’ piece.  Note that these two holes are the only times in this project when you will drill a hole all the way through a board.  The remaining holes will only be 1/2″ deep.  Also, because these two holes need to allow for movement, you will want to bore them a little oversize: using the same drill bit as before, gently “swirl” the bit against the side of the hole.  Do not widen these holes by more than 1/32″.

Using a ruler and masking tape or a marker, indicate the first 1/2″ of your drill bit.  This is your depth-stop.

Left: Masking tape being used as a depth-stop.  Right: A 1/2″ ‘blind’ hole and a ‘through’ hole for comparison.

Return to the template and scribe drill holes for the other end of each of the ‘under’ pair.  Bore these holes only to a depth of 1/2″.  These non-through holes we shall call ‘blind’ holes.

Lay the two ‘under’ pieces next to each other on a flat surface: one with the ‘blind’ hole facing upwards and the other facing downwards.  Measure half the length of each piece, then half the width; you have now found the exact center of each of the ‘under’ pair.  Make a mark.  Through this mark scribe a line at 45° and run it from long-edge to long-edge.  Saw each piece in half along the line you just scribed.

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You now have four ‘under’ pieces: two with through holes; one with a blind hole to the left of the bevel; and one with the blind hole to the right of the bevel.

Set the four pieces on a flat surface, beveled side up.  You are now going to drill the pilot holes through which you will later screw these pieces to the underside of the tabletop.  Measure in from the beveled end and mark at 2″ and at 3 1/2″.

Measuring from the beveled end (left) and finding the center point (right).

Find and indicate the center point of these marks.  Using the 3/8″ drill bit, bore a 1/2″ deep blind hole at each of these points.  Switch to a smaller diameter drill bit, one just thinner than the thickness of your wood-screws, and drill pilot holes through the center of these blind holes.  During the final stages of production you will be setting screws through these pilot holes and hiding them with dowel plugs.

Set the four ‘under’ pieces aside.  Pick up the ‘inside’ pair of legs.

Using the template, mark a drill hole at one end of each of the ‘inside’ legs.  Now flip the legs completely over and mark a drill hole at the center of each ‘inside’ leg.  To be clear: the marks you just made are on opposite faces of each leg.  Now bore a blind hole with your 3/8″ drill bit to a depth of 1/2″ at each of the four marks (two on each leg) just scribed.  Repeat these instructions on the ‘outside’ pair of legs.

Marking and boring holes in the ends of leg pieces.

Leg Assembly

Cut five segments of 3/8″ dowel: four at 1″ long and one at 9 1/4″ long.  Bevel the edges on all of them.  Take the two ‘under’ pieces which have through-holes bored in them and slide the long dowel through the holes, making sure that the beveled ends of the ‘under’ pieces are facing the same direction.  These pieces should move freely on the dowel.  If the through-holes are too snug, widen them ever-so-slightly.

Pick up the two ‘inner’ legs.  Drop a little wood-glue into the blind hole bored at one end of each leg.  Insert the ends of the long dowel into the end holes of the ‘inner’ legs.  Set the assembly onto a flat surface and make sure that the ‘inner’ legs are even with each other.  They should both lie flat on the surface.

The ‘under’ pieces should move freely on the long dowel, whereas the ‘inner’ legs are glued firmly to it.

Pick up the two ‘outer’ legs.  Drop a little wood-glue into the end holes and the center holes.  Insert a short dowel into each hole.  Let the glue dry overnight before continuing to the next step.

Insert the center dowels standing proud of the ‘outer’ legs into the center holes of the ‘inner’ legs.  The legs should pivot freely; if the center hole is too snug, widen it slightly.  Insert the end dowels of the ‘outer’ legs into the end holes of the two remaining ‘under’ pieces.  Again, the pieces should pivot freely.  Note: the beveled ends of the two pairs of ‘under’ pieces should face in opposite directions.  If the beveled ends of the pair attached to the long dowel are facing downwards (as seen in the photo above, left) then the pair attached to the ‘outer’ legs should face upwards.

With the assembly laying on a flat surface, measure: from outside of outer leg to outside of other outer leg; and, from outside of inner leg to the outside of the other inner leg.  Cut two boards to these lengths using 1″ x 1/4″ stock.  These are going to be stretchers.  Near the bottom of the assembly, glue the shorter stretcher to each of the inner legs.  Clamp the stretcher to the legs.  Now flip the assembly over and glue the longer stretcher to each of the outside legs and clamp.  Allow glue to dry overnight.   Remove the clamps.

Set the tabletop halves upside down on on a flat surface and set the leg assembly on top of them, with the legs running perpendicular to the seam of the tabletop.   Center the assembly.  Gently left the ends of the legs and scissors them open.


If the joints move too easily, you may find it necessary to have a friend help keep the assembly upright.  I found that a few strategically-placed weights (a hardcover book and three c-clamps) kept the assembly from sliding around.  Position the assembly so that it is centered side-to-side and end-to-end, and so that the beveled ends of the ‘under’ pieces are 4 1/2″ from the seam.

Positioning the beveled end of an ‘under’ piece to be 4 1/2″ from the seam.

Around each of the ‘under’ pieces scribe a line running from the seam, to the beveled end, across the end, and back to the seam.  Do not cross the seam, as you will be very disappointed if you accidentally glue an ‘under’ piece to both halves of the tabletop!

Lift the assembly off of the tabletop (don’t fret: the scribed lines you just made will make it very easy to set it back again).  Spread wood-glue evenly within each of the scribed areas.  Set the assembly back on the tabletop, aligning the ‘under’ pieces within their corresponding scribed lines (and atop the glue you just spread).  Screw the ‘under’ pieces to the underside of the tabletop through the previously-drilled pilot holes.


Cut eight 1/2″ plugs out of dowel. drop a little wood-glue into the previously-drilled plug holes, and cover with a plug (gently tap with a mallet or block of wood if the plug is stubborn).  Allow the glue to dry overnight.


Your folding table opens by gently pulling the two halves of the tabletop apart.  Fold the tabletop halves down and scissors the legs together.  Enjoy!


A Coffer of Oak and Gratitude

Several years ago my good friend, known in the SCA as Aelisia of Cambrewell, agreed to be my running-mate as candidates for the Baronage of Glymm Mere.  We were both ready for the job and capable for what lay ahead, but as I look back on the past three years I can confidently state that each success we had was due in great part to her wisdom, experience, and level head.

When we first learned that we had been selected to become the next Baron and Baroness, I had been planning on a personal project: a small coffer in the style of those extant examples from 14th century western Europe.  In other words, an oaken frame-and-panel coffer with linen-fold panels.  I had selected some 8/4 quarter-sawn white oak for the project, but had not gotten farther than stack-and-stickering it under my bed.  I decided that instead of making it for my own use I would give it to Aelisia at the end of our term of office.  I found plans for a coffer in Daniel Diehl and Mark Donnelly’s Constructing Medieval Furniture and promptly got to work on a lid.  Then the job started, and the project lay collecting dust for three years.

Pieces cut to rough length and width.  These had lain untouched for several years until being dusted off in March 2017.  I refreshed the notes I had written on them in willow charcoal.  Below: The dry fit lid I made in 2014.

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In March 2017 I scheduled shop time for myself to begin this project in earnest.  Although several years ago I had constructed (but not finished) the lid using a combination of hand tools and power tools, I decided at this time to complete the chest using only hand tools.  My thoughts on this were several: to produce a work more historically accurate in appearance; to improve the depth and range of my woodworking skills; and, because this was a labor of great affection, I wanted to have a more personal connection with the creation.

The Research

Although the dimensions of the coffer were already dictated by the measurements of the lid I had begun (and the method of joinery was already established in the lid as well) I still had some flexibility in how to execute the body of the coffer.  In the time permitting I researched extant pieces and images of fourteenth and fifteenth century coffers, paying particular attention to: overall design; prevalence of mortise-and-tenon (as opposed to dovetail) joints; use of nails and dowels; applied decorative arts; and hardware.  I created a series of image files categorized by current location, geographic origin, era of creation, and primary materials.  If the piece was in a museum, I also noted the accession number for ease of finding it again.

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As I did not, at that time, have the thought of presenting to others my process on this piece, my research notes were later tossed out and are unavailable for inclusion here.

The research having been completed, I divided the work ahead into three stages: the rails and stiles; the panels; and finishing (smoothing, oiling, and waxing).

The Rails and Stiles

Rails and stiles are the framing members in frame-and-panel construction.  Rails run horizontally; stiles stand vertically.  In this coffer, the corner stiles would extend below the panels in order to double as the coffer’s legs.  The stiles and rails are “joined” (connected) in a method called mortise-and-tenon.  Tenons are (usually rectangular) tabs formed by reducing an area at one end of a stile or rail.  Mortises are holes of a corresponding shape to the tenon formed by boring and chiseling an area in the opposing rail or stile.  A tenon (tab) slides into the complementary mortise (hole) joining the rail and stile together.  Ideally, the fit should be snug (to prevent a weak and wobbly join) yet still allow for seasonal wood expansion.

I began work on the tenons of the top and bottom front rails and the front muntin (the stile separating the two front panels). The rails run horizontally and were to become the upper and lower frames of the two front panels. Their tenons would then slide into mortises set into the left and right corner stiles. The left and right corner stiles would be the left and right frames of the panels. The muntin would separate the two panels; its tenons would slide into mortises set into the upper and lower rails.

As I progressed on the coffer, I took more purposeful photographs than I have on past projects and even experimented with video recording myself at work.  I found this to be not merely distracting, but inherently artificial; my body position was never optimal for the work at hand when trying to accommodate a camera’s view.  My apologies in advance for the poor cinematography to which I will be subjecting you.

As you can see, I do not have a “proper” woodworker’s bench.  By which I mean that my bench does not have hold-downs and vices for securing work.  As with most of my tools, my bench is second-hand.  It is heavy and sturdy, and it serves me well, but it is not everything I desire it to be.

As I finished the tenons of each side of the coffer, I then turned to making the corresponding mortises.  To achieve as snug a fit as practicable, I transferred the dimensions of each tenon individually to the layout of the mortise into which it would fit.

Once the area to be mortised was defined by scribed lines, I bored out the majority of the waste with an auger.  To be sure I wouldn’t inadvertently bore too deep a hole I marked the auger with a piece of masking tape one inch from the end.  After using the auger, I squared the mortises corners and flattened the sides with chisels.
Each mortise required a little fine-tuning to get the fit right.  Once done, however, the joinery is tight without being jammed.  This is important, as throughout the process I had to disassemble and reassemble the coffer numerous times.  As I finished the tenons and mortises of each side (front, back, left, and right) of the coffer I laid them out and began indicating where the panels were to be inserted.


So why “frame-and-panel” construction?  This method is much more labor-intensive than simply nailing, or even dovetailing, some boards together to make a box.  The advantage of frame-and-panel has to do with wood expansion and contraction.  All wood is subject to absorbing and releasing moisture.  This regularly occurs with the seasonal changes in moisture content of the air, and so is referred to as ‘seasonal expansion’.  Dry wood absorbs moisture from humid air; wet wood releases moisture to dry air.  As the wood absorbs moisture it swells (think of a dry sponge being dipped into water and subsequently doubling in size).  Where two pieces of wood abut each other and are each swelling they will crush their own fibers.  Conversely, as wood releases moisture it shrinks, causing joined pieces of wood to pull away from each other and rip fibers and joinery in the process.  Frame-and-panel construction makes allowances for seasonal expansion in several ways.  First, by having framing members with grain running both vertically and horizontally the overall direction of expansion (which is greater perpendicular to the grain than parallel to it) is spread more evenly across the construction.  Second, by having large sections (the panels) “float” unfixed inside grooves deep enough that the expanding wood will not crush itself, nor so shallow that shrinkage would allow the panels to fall out.  Third, by capitalizing on the simplicity and strength of the mortise-and-tenon joint; which makes allowances for seasonal expansion without sacrificing rigidity.

To insert the panels I had to rout grooves into the inside edges of the rails and stiles.  For the front and back rails, this meant the groove runs the entire length of each rail, passing through the mortises carved to house the tenons of the muntins.  For the corner stiles, this meant the groove runs only between the upper and lower mortises.  I had already laid out the scribe-lines for the grooves, so I grabbed my trusty combination plane, selected the right width of cutter, set the fence, and made quick work of the grooves on the rails and the center stiles.  When I turned to the corner stiles, however, a problem soon became apparent: as I was not cutting the grooves up the entire length of the stile, the plane’s skates quickly had trouble running off of -and onto- the uncut portions.

What to do?  I could auger out most of the waste and clean up the groove with chisels, but that seemed fraught with risk and unnecessary labor.  Digging through my tools looking for a solution I came across a hand router that had been collecting dust since I first brought it home.  The cutters were in sad shape as they apparently had been last sharpened free-hand on a grinding wheel.  I trued them on a diamond plate, then sharpened and honed them on a series of increasingly finer water stones until I got a mirror finish.

I installed a cutter of about the right width and set the depth-stop on the router.  Using it took some getting used to; it is surprisingly different than other planes.  There is a lot of freedom to move laterally (especially as mine does not have a fence) which is great for cleaning up wide expanses, but challenging for trying to groove a precise area.  The hand router doesn’t have much of a toe to speak of, so pressing down on the toe at the beginning of a pass (which is proper form for a bench plane) only serves to dig the cutter into the wood at a severe angle.  Lastly, because the sole of the router sits atop the surface not being planed, each pass requires the cutter to be dropped a little further.

If you are watching the video and thinking that I was struggling, you are correct.  After this video was shot I figured out how to fine-tune the depth-stop and avoid digging the cutter too deep.  Also, there was a knot.  Once I got the hang of the hand router, the grooves came along much easier.

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The Panels

After work on the frames was done I turned to the panels.  They had been rough-cut three years ago when I first started the project, but needed to be squared, flattened, and “raised”.  Raising a panel means to cut rabbets (called ‘rebates’ in England) along each of the sides and ends, creating a ‘step’ from a lower surface to a higher surface.

The panels were squared simply by scribing lines off of a square rule, then sawing down to the lines with a back-saw.  I flattened the panels first by using a scrub plane and following up with a jack plane and a smoothing plane.  A few minutes work with a card scraper brought the surface to a nice, smooth finish.


After rabbeting the sides and ends of each panel they slide nicely into the grooves carved into the rails and stiles.

Piece by piece the sides, front, and back of the coffer came together.

Front of coffer; dry assembled.

Many of the extant coffers I have looked at have carved panels; usually just the front panels but often the sides too and even the back on occasion.  A widespread decorative style spanning from the 14th through the 16th centuries was linen-fold, a simple style of relief carving.

A linen-fold coffer.  Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 52.53.

As this coffer was to be a gift to someone often associated with vellum, parchment, and well-draped fabric, I wanted to incorporate linen-fold into the design.   I read up on the technique in Hasluck’s Manual of Traditional Woodcarving and found helpful on-line Youtube videos made by Mary May.  I sharpened my carving gauges and purchased a piece of white oak to practice upon.

The barony of Glymm Mere’s premier arts event, Lyceum, seemed to be a good time and place to learn something new.  So I packed the white oak board, some c-clamps, a combination plane, an assortment of moulding planes, a pencil, and a straight-edge, and a plan for doing a demonstration.

I began by clamping down the board and using the combination plane to cut rabbets on all four edges of the board.  Then I laid out long lines indicating the crests and troughs of the folds.  Next I sketched in the layered, folded ends of the linen.


I turned back to the combination plane and plowed out the bottoms of the troughs and the background area along the sides.


Setting a moulding plane into the groove I had just plowed, I started to give the trough more definition and curvature.  I had not had a lot of experience using moulding planes before and found setting the depth of the iron to be a challenge.  The iron is held in the throat by a simple wedge.  If the wedge is too loose, the iron will be driven back up the throat instead of cutting the wood.  Setting the wedge firmly into the throat, however, can cause it to carry the iron along with it, resulting in too much of the iron protruding from the mouth and a too-aggressive cut.  So I learned to hold the iron at the depth I wanted it, and the plane, and the wedge all in one hand while I pounded the wedge into place with a wooden mallet.


Still, even with the iron finally satisfactorily set and the troughs plowed, the moulding plane was not as easy to use as I had anticipated.  It still tended to follow the curves of the grain when I wanted straight lines.  I also found that the sketches on the ends of the linen-folds were disappearing as I wasted out the troughs.  I re-sketched the folded ends and decided to work on those for a while (besides which, as a demo I wanted to show a variety of tools and techniques before I lost the attention of the group gathered around me).


By the end of the demo I had results to show for my efforts, but they were unsatisfactory.  The tools I had used were the right tools, but I was unpracticed.  I had enough success to be able to say “I can learn this” but I recognized that I am still a far distance from being able to say “I have learned this”.  I spoke with my friend Cristiana de Huntington and sought her advice in regards to this project.  With her counsel, I decided it is better to present a well-executed but less decorous piece to Aelisia than it would be to present a poorly-decorated piece.   I scrapped the idea of incorporating linen-fold into the project and prepared for the panels to be without decoration.

The Dowels

As I wished to make a coffer: consistent in execution with the extant examples I had found; able to last as long as the extant examples; and, able to be repaired as needed, I chose to pin the coffer together using dowels in lieu of nails.

Detail of Metropolitan Museum’s coffer 21.89.1 showing heads of dowels used to pin tenon into mortise

To make the dowels (also called “treenails” or “trenails” in many documents) I began with scrap bits of white oak cut off while making this and other projects.  I looked for pieces six or more inches in length and as close to being just over 1/2″x1/2″ in cross-section as I could find.  Please note that I failed to photograph the making of the dowels for Aelisia’s coffer; the photos which follow are of the same process but were taken on another occasion.

I clamped the stock into a vice and used flat and hollow spoke shaves to make them roughly circular in cross-section.

Using a chisel, I then bevel the end of the stock slightly, just enough to fit it inside the circumference of the hole in my dowel plate.  If the stock is still to wide, I return to the hollow spoke shave and reduce the stock further.

My dowel plate is the base of an unmounted machinist’s vice.  I set it upside down with the vice clamps open fairly wide to make a stable surface.

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Then I simply pound the stock through one of the holes in the dowel plate.  The dowel plate performs two functions: it compresses the wood fibers which pass through it and it shaves off the excess stock that fails to compress into the hole.  The fibers will expand again as they absorb moisture.  I try to make the dowels just before they are needed, so that they expand inside the holes I’ve bored and do so when absorbing oil I have applied.  More on that anon.

The Assembly

With all of the pieces cut, shaped, smoothed, and fitted I was ready to put it all together.  The coffer had been dry-fitted already a number of times by now, so I knew that all the joints were square and the tenons fit snug into the mortises.  In the final assembly, however, one wants to make sure that everything is dead square; by which I mean that all angles are at 90° and all lines have 0° of variance.  I enlisted the help of my friend Alasdair Mac Roibeirt and his many bar clamps; together we trued all of the angles and clamped the coffer into shape.  We also bored the keyhole.


Tools and Techniques

Throughout the project, from the time I decided to make this coffer for Aelisia through the final step, I endeavored to use tools and techniques which were as close as I could to those utilized in the late Middle Ages.  To determine what those tools and techniques were, I studied extant examples of coffers with an eye for their methods of construction.  I looked for indications of tool marks (the distinctive marks left behind by tools, which can be used to identify the tool used).  I researched extant woodworking tools.  I reviewed inventories and probate records of deceased cabinetmakers.  Perhaps most helpful was a library of images I collected of tools, woodshops, and tools-in-use from paintings, drawings, illuminations, and engravings.

What follows is an inventory of the tools I used with accompanying evidence of their usage in the late Middle Ages with a focus on England and France.

Johann Comenius' The Cabinetmaker
Image of The Cabinetmaker from Jan Amos Komenský’s Orbis Pictus’, 1658

Beginning at a high level, I propose that the woodshop itself should be included in this inventory.  The woodshop is a dedicated space for woodworking, with the necessary light and space for the cabinetmaker to work, shelter from the elements for the raw materials, and storage for the craftsperson’s tools to keep them on hand and safe from damage.


Martin Loffelholz's workbench
Workbench showing end- and side-vises, dog holes, and an iron dog.  From the Loffelholz Codex, 1505

Next I list the workbench, which is more than merely a table.  The workbench provides a solid and stable, flat surface on which to work.  Additionally, a workbench incorporates means to secure the work to the table, such as vises and “iron dogs”.



Detail from Standebuch, Jost Amman, 1568
Detail from the Standebuch of Jost Amman, 1568

Saws are among the most recognizable of woodworking tools.  Frame saws (pictured) made efficient use of expensive iron or steel and were used at every stage of cabinetry: from turning timber into planks to cutting delicate curves.  Carcass saws (the quintessential handsaw) for both crosscutting and for ripping could cut planks and panels to exacting dimensions.  Back saws (short saws with a reinforced spine) were used for fine joinery.



Bit-and-Brace from the Mary Rose
A brace (with illustrated bit) from the Mary Rose

    A drill to bore holes.  Drills can be in the form of a twist -or bow- drill, an auger (a T-shaped handle with a fixed bit), or a bit-and-brace (pictured).


Skokloster Castle Sweden_3
Moulding planes, smoothing planes, and bench planes from Skokloster Castle, 1663-1664. Photo credit: Andrew Young.

Planes shear the surface of a board.  They can be set to do so with finesse, reducing high spots and irregularities, or aggressively, to reduce the overall thickness of a board with relative rapidity.  Additionally, planes may have shaped irons and soles to produce grooves and ridges for artistic effect or integral function.

Mallet from the Mary Rose