One day in 1953 my dad was working as a joiner on a new housing estate being built by the NCB. For some reason there were some special panels to be fitted, the like of which Dad had never seen. The clerk of works came along and complained that the cut edges were ragged. Dad said that he had nothing that would cut the boards any better. Three weeks later the C of W turned up with a cardboard box. In it was a strange tool, brand new and made by Stanley. It was not unlike a plane, but with a large razor-type blade mounted at 90 deg to the sole. There were several spare blades. Dad accepted this device gratefully, but never used it because by then the job was finished. I still have it. It's in one of his two massive toolboxes, which are in my shed.
I'm getting increasingly worried about all his stuff. What's going to happen to it when I'm gone? I have a lot of his WWII memorabilia. I've got home-made fishing tackle that belonged to his grandad. No-one is going to recognise this sort of thing for what it is.
Bill