C*A*L*I*C*O
(Concerned
About Living in Consumer Overdrive)
My Father was an upholsterer – a species of
tradesman that has almost disappeared. It’s tempting to say that they have
become nearly extinct due to consumer over-indulgence in cheap mass-produced furniture.
That of course is a gross exaggeration; but…this is my essay. And as the lawyer said to another in a Japanese
restaurant – sosumi! Indeed, in these litigation frenzied times, that is
precisely what might happen; but I digress...
Back in the days when most
middle-to-upper-class families owned a ‘three piece suite’, it was a major and
treasured part of a family’s possessions; right up there with the Holden and
the Kelvinator ‘fridge’. It was customary that families would elect to have
their three piece suites re-upholstered once the fabric had become worn and
faded and/or the springs had given way. Calico was often used as lining cloth
and as the material for covering the bottoms of chairs. Better quality calico
(with printed designs) was used also as the main covering on chairs where a
less luxurious fabric was required; more of a ‘budget’ fabric. Calico, of
course, is also used to produce clothing such as shirts, trousers, skirts,
curtains and tents; (actually tents nowadays are made more from plastics) and
much more.
Actually, it’s irrelevant whether calico,
chaff bag or cheesecloth was used to cover chair bottoms. The interesting thing
is that these days, people are more likely to abandon the furniture rather than
have it repaired. Opp-shops are full of shoddily made furniture – usually
compressed pine board filled with cheap foam and stapled together and covered
with plasticised artificial fabric. The rationale would appear to be: why have a lounge suite repaired when brand
new flat-packs are readily obtainable from Ikea? This mass-produced cheaply
made furniture is also to be found at places like Freedom and Fantastic. But
they are hardly free and far from fantastic. I think Dad realised that his days
were numbered. Foam rubber replaced flock and springs and hessian straps were
replaced by a plasticised substitute.
I can still see my father patiently taking
an old worn-out chair apart in his ramshackle old workshop and producing
something beautiful and functional in its place. After the repair work was
completed and it was time to reattach the new fabric to the frame, he would
empty about a handful of small upholstery blue-metal tacks into his mouth. Then
taking a small hammer with a magnetic head, he would insert the end into his
mouth and bring it out again with a tack on the end with the spike pointed
outwards. He would immediately drive this tack through the fabric and into the
wooden frame. He would simultaneously position the next tack in his mouth,
using tongue and lips, so as to keep up a constant momentum. Bang...went the
hammer against the frame; barely a second would elapse from one single hammer
blow to the next. The sheet of calico was attached to the bottom of the chair
in similar fashion.
I never saw him swallow a tack or have one
stick into his mouth. He did say, however, that it took quite a lot of practise
to be able to do this at speed. It is probably another of the myriad techniques
(some obviously eccentric) that have disappeared over the past half century
that tradesmen utilised to carry out their particular skill. I did attempt to
do this several times myself but I found the ‘Houdini’ like skill of
manipulating tacks in my mouth to be almost impossible. Dad discouraged me from
following in his footsteps. He wisely foresaw that I lacked the physical
strength that was required at various times for moving furniture. And of
course, like all fathers, he wanted a better standard of living for his son.
Hence better education equated to less physical labour. Little did he know that
I too would bang things for a living.
He banged nails into furniture and carpets to floors and I bang drums and other
percussion. Incidentally, music is one of the most labour intensive
occupations; ironic wouldn’t you say?
Interestingly, some of my drum gear used to
be wrapped in calico when transporting from one place to another and I’ve still
got his little magnetic hammer stored in the garage somewhere...
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