What "Traditional Knife" are ya totin' today?

Going through the bonding phase with this Gunboat Canoe that arrived today.
Pre-1985, Produced by Graham Clayton - House of Coutel, Kelham Island Industrial Museum, Sheffield England.

Clayton had entered the trade in 1959, aged 15, as an apprentice spring-knife cutler at George Wostenholm.
During the latter stages of his career his workshop was at Kelham, where he worked alongside one of the last grinders, Rowland Swinden.
However, by the early 1990s Swinden had retired and Graham Clayton had abandoned knifemaking.
His workshop at Kelham Island Museum was later occupied by Stan Shaw. Graham Clayton passed away on 16 November 2020, aged 76.

The blades are polished, but in trying to adjust lighting this evening to emphasize the Mother of Pearl, the blades appear darkened.
The number 4 is stamped on the pile side of the Spear tang. I have NO idea of the significance, nor did the seller.
Needs to be cleaned up and edges renewed.

BIG Canoe from Graham Clayton: Size closed 4 7/8 inches, open 7 3/4 inches

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Jim awoke Tuesday morning and remembered where he’d last seen his GEC #99 Wall Street pocket knife. He emptied the contents of a cookie jar onto the table, sorting through the odd mix with mild curiosity. The pocket knife caught his eye. Its Wharncliffe blade sharp, clean, and clearly still up to the task. Nearby, an aged baseball, covered in barely legible signatures, rolled to a stop. Jim gave it a glance and placed it aside. It wasn’t worth much. The local legends of a minor league club from 1941 and none of the names were famous. Jim had hung onto it only because his dad had garnered the signatures as an awestruck 11yr old.

Among the collection were curious items that sparked Jim's still groggy imagination. A worn painted wood yo-yo marked "Duncan Tournament," a leftover from a 60’s childhood, two vintage New York Transit Authority tokens, and an old Civil War bullet smoothed by time. Red plastic beads looped through the arrangement like forgotten Mardi Gras laughter and a pair of mother-of-pearl cufflinks reflecting soft light like tiny moons screaming, “I used to be fancy!” were a strange pairing, shoved into the cookie jar without much thought. A compass fittingly pointed near south, reminding Jim of his current dating life. And a U.S. Shelby Co. P-38 can opener, long unused, still with tiny bits of mystery grub crud. Time was moving on this morning and not everything old was a treasure, sometimes it was just stuff. Others might politely say, junk.

Jim shrugged, scooped up the Wall Street pocket knife and slid it into his pocket. He gave one of the New York Transit tokens a quick rub for luck, gearing up to face whatever ride the day had in store.

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BrotherJim said:
Jim awoke Tuesday morning and remembered where he’d last seen his GEC #99 Wall Street pocket knife. He emptied the contents of a cookie jar onto the table, sorting through the odd mix with mild curiosity. The pocket knife caught his eye. Its Wharncliffe blade sharp, clean, and clearly still up to the task. Nearby, an aged baseball, covered in barely legible signatures, rolled to a stop. Jim gave it a glance and placed it aside. It wasn’t worth much. The local legends of a minor league club from 1941 and none of the names were famous. Jim had hung onto it only because his dad had garnered the signatures as an awestruck 11yr old.

Among the collection were curious items that sparked Jim's still groggy imagination. A worn painted wood yo-yo marked "Duncan Tournament," a leftover from a 60’s childhood, two vintage New York Transit Authority tokens, and an old Civil War bullet smoothed by time. Red plastic beads looped through the arrangement like forgotten Mardi Gras laughter and a pair of mother-of-pearl cufflinks reflecting soft light like tiny moons screaming, “I used to be fancy!” were a strange pairing, shoved into the cookie jar without much thought. A compass fittingly pointed near south, reminding Jim of his current dating life. And a U.S. Shelby Co. P-38 can opener, long unused, still with tiny bits of mystery grub crud. Time was moving on this morning and not everything old was a treasure, sometimes it was just stuff. Others might politely say, junk.

Jim shrugged, scooped up the Wall Street pocket knife and slid it into his pocket. He gave one of the New York Transit tokens a quick rub for luck, gearing up to face whatever ride the day had in store.

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I like the 3 ring Minie ball. Must be a northern bullet.
 
ballex said:
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Wonderful antique dominoes, must have some age to them and a great sound when in use :cool: Somehow always prefer black on white dominoes -age well, irrational I know but prefer brown or coloured eggs to white :D

Douk-Douk a knife of Gallic genius and simplicity , that must be an oldy. No knife collection/accumulation/hoard/dump is complete without one 😍
 
BrotherJim said:
Jim shrugged, scooped up the Wall Street pocket knife and slid it into his pocket. He gave one of the New York Transit tokens a quick rub for luck, gearing up to face whatever ride the day had in store.
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Another wonderful slice of life essay, Jim! Love that 99, and the old subway tokens. I have some of those around too. Probably at the bottom of an old cookie jar…
 
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