The Good. These are the ones you get to buy. They're the machines that are either technically excellent and make superb machines to use every day, or the unusual and beautiful collectors machines. They're usually old dating up to the mid-20th century. A few might even date up to the 1980s. A few examples:
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| Frister & Rossmann 35, in mint condition |
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| Willcox & Gibbs 'Silent' |
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| Singer 28k in near-perfect condition |
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| Vickers, complete with all accessories |
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| Frister Star 60, upgraded by me to hand crank |
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| Singer 201k, a real beauty |
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| Jones Family, c1870s-1880s |
The Bad. These are the machines that are either junk or machines that would take too much time to fettle back to life. The junk are generally late 20th and early 21st century machines full of plastic mechanicals, are not designed to be serviced, and are, frankly, a waste of the plastic they're made of. The others are the once-excellent machines that have been neglected. A machine kept in an attic or shed for decades will frequently have rusted itself into an ugly mess, or one that's been oiled regularly in a former life but never ever de-fluffed and cleaned. The time required to deep-clean those machines exceeds by a large margin their commercial value. Exceptions are made for very rare or unusual machines. But generally speaking, once they reach that stage they become organ donors. These are the machines that sacrifice themselves in order that others may live.
The Ugly. Oh the ugly. These are the ones that are technically superb and still have a lifetime of service to give. But nobody wants them because they're aesthetic monsters. There's a general rule of thumb that if you love a machine, you will look after it and use it. But the ugly ones are hard to love. I seem to be fairly alone in that I can see their inner beauty. I judge a machine on how well it works, and often they do so as well as the best and most beautiful machine. They fill me with an inner glow. So what happens to them?
They get adopted - by me, usually. Much as I'd like to retain a collection of stunning and rare machines, I can't because I have a house full of mongrels. Some examples of the little darlings that have ended up staying here:
Jones Popular
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| Jones Popular |
Anyone who has ever used a Jones will tell you what a thrilling machine it is to use. It's mechanical simplicity, it's accuracy and the overall 'feel' is just superb. I've never met a Guide Bridge-made Jones that I didn't like to sew with.
Mechanically identical to the Jones Family CS machines, this machine differs only in that the machine bed is extended downwards to form the base.
But it's the finish people dislike. It was available in two finishes, hammered enamel grey and a dull textured black.
After being on sale for six months, it became plain that this would become another adoption. It's too good to strip for parts (I will never willingly kill a perfectly good machine!) and sews so beautifully that it deserves to live. And live it does. It's my go-to machine for when the machine needs to go to the work, and for summer sewing sessions in the garden and will sometimes feature in my 'how to' videos.
Singer 328k
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| Singer 328k |
Quite possibly (and probably) one of the most useful sewing machines I have ever owned. Out of the box it's straight stitch and zigzag, but via interchangable cams it can do a whole range of decorative stitches. It will take two single needles for twin needle sewing, has a positionable needle and stitches button holes (and buttons!) superbly. When it arrived with me it was electrically unsafe, but I detest electric machines and so converted it for treadle use. It's become my main man for any work that requires more than just a straight stitch.
Again, a machine that was on sale forever and nobody wanted it. But secretly, I'm quite pleased about that.
PMZ M-100
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| PMZ M-100 |
This one fascinated me. Imported and badged by Chapman Sewing Machines in the mid-late 1960s, it's the model M-100 made at the Podolsk Sewing Machine factory. Podolsk is an industrial city about 35 miles south of Moscow.
The factory was built in the late 19th century by Singer and manufactured the usual range of Singer machines of the day. But then the Bolsheviks came along shortly followed by the birth of the Soviet state, and by the 1920s the factory was state owned.
On my travels I frequently come across the Soviet version of the Singer 15 and it's a good machine and quite common across most of Europe. One of these days I hope to find one in the UK and add it to my collection. But I was always curious as to what other machines they made.
Despite some being a bit "sniffy" about Soviet engineering, there's absolutely nothing about this machine that can be considered bad. The quality of the mechanicals is up there with some of the better machines in the world, and it's a dream to sew with. It was some time between acquiring and using the machine that I even uncovered it's origins.
But of course nobody wants it! The brown hammered enamel finish upsets the aesthetic sensibilities of most people, and so it was destined to stay on the shelf. Rather than subject it to the misery, I've adopted it. It will form the starting point of a collection of Soviet-era Eastern Bloc made sewing machines. Well if I'm to champion the down-trodden, I might as well go in up to my neck!
So there's three examples of what happens to the Ugly. There are others that I'll no doubt write about in the future.
Until next time, cheerio.
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