Early in my working life as a maker I was asked to build a rectangular Italian virginal, to a silly deadline. I had few little equipment, a small workshop, and mostly hand-tools. I made the whole instrument in three weeks, somehow... less time than I would take today, thirty years later, with a workshop full of machinery to help. I have always preferred to take my time, however, and needn’t comment on the improvement in finish! I don’t overrun on delivery-dates, but usually make several instruments at once.

Today my workshop produces about half a dozen instruments per year. I work on my own, but sub-contract to a trained stand-maker / turner. Like other English makers, I experienced a boom in the 1980s; employed two full-time assistants, and produced at least a dozen per year. But I spent so much time scratching my head, deciding what the assistants were to do next, that sometimes it seemed impossible to concentrate on much real work myself. I’m much happier with the consistent quality of my work today, and feel that they really are the product of a single pair of hands. Also, not having to do a regular 9 to 5 day unless I choose, means that harpsichord-practicing gets less neglected!

For many years I concentrated on Italian instruments, but in recent times the demand has been more for German models, often for large 2-manuals. Although the construction of both types is closely related, this leads to a rather different style of working. Long ago I got into the habit of preparing parts for several instruments at once, and then finishing them individually. This makes sense for small Italian instruments, and still saves time for a lot of operations; but today I find that larger German harpsichords take so long from start to finish ( often more than a year ), that the workshop seems permanently crammed with uncompleted work. As I write, there are 9 instruments there, mostly part-made. At home I house my main personal instruments for playing...two at present, plus another being played-in for a customer. This is important: a harpsichord needs proper playing-in after completion, like a car used to require running-in. Then it gets regulated again before delivery. Even then it will not sound the way it will a year or two later. As with all instruments made of wood, there is a slow and little-understood development of tone which only time and playing can achieve.

When asked question (1), my usual response is too long. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

2) What wood is it made of?

Different harpsichords are made from different timbers, and there are always several incorporated in any instrument. Italian harpsichords were traditionally usually made from Cypress, which was a durable and plentiful local timber there. It had the virtues of being resonant enough for use as a soundboard, but tough enough to use, cut thinly, for light-weight cases too. I use triple-dried Cedar of Lebanon: this is grown in England, where it was widely planted in parkland. When force-dried, it has very similar characteristics to Cypress, even down to the aromatic smell. I like the idea of using timber grown in the area where the instrument is made, when this doesn’t conflict with the instrument’s musical personality. Some Italian harpsichords had cases of Poplar, and I use local Poplar too. Smaller quantities of other English timbers are used for certain parts: Oak for the wrestplank, and Beech for bridges, for example. I use imported Pine for bottoms and lids.

German harpsichords were eclectic in design and materials: all these timbers were used, with the exception of Cedar or Cypress. Hardwoods like Walnut were used for part of the cases, and Pine for other parts, like the spine. Some parts were sometimes laminated! The 1728 Zell harpsichord in Hamburg has a laminated cheekpiece, but the curved bentside was, surprisingly, still kept solid.

Twenty years ago Michael Thomas pointed out that just using the same wood as the original is not enough. It may even be counter-productive if you are aiming to imitate the sound of an original closely. Over the years a maker gets to know almost intuitively, the kind of sound a piece of wood will give when incorporated. This is not just when he traditionally listens to the ring of a piece of soundboard-wood when he taps it. Case-wood can also have a great effect on the tone of an instrument. Very old wood is often much lighter in weight than new wood, even when this has been force-dried. There is a lot of mystery about wood still, thank heaven!

3) How did you become a harpsichord-maker? Which came first - making or playing?

I usually answer, that on leaving university I did not know what to do with my Classics degree ( that’s Latin and Greek, by the way. ) This is unfair to my former lecturers, since I had made up my mind to try to be a maker long before the end of the course. I had always played early music, but an added stimulus was being frequently ejected from the room in the university music department where their harpsichord lay, because I was not a music student. I made my first crude spinet over one summer vacation, and that was it.

In many cases, harpsichord-makers have begun by making accurate copies of original instruments, and then in later years have felt freer to inject their personal creativity into the design . This is a very sensible approach, but looking back, I find I have done the reverse. I cannot really say why, but, although I always based my instruments on originals, and was told quite early on that I was someone who could produce something of the elusive quality of an original, I find myself working today more closely with the original designs than ever before. Today compromise is increasingly unimportant, since we have, in general, finally thrown off the idea that it might be possible to make an all-purpose harpsichord. Even customers who will need to use their instrument flexibly, to play music from the English virginalists through to Bach, recognise that it is going to be best for one of these and not the other; they will take particular pleasure in the response the instrument can provide, when the most suitable music is being played on it.

There are a lot of instruments claiming to be copies, which an experienced eye could discover to be something rather different. There is even one English maker whose brochure offers copies after original models: a nice verbal fudge. A maker knows the points at which his product has not strictly copied an original, and should be willing to reveal these to a client, if asked! Fortunately ( since we are all fallible ) it is generally recognised now, that a copy can really mean no more than an conscious imitation of an original. Things are freer, though, for a maker who does want to express himself; it is valid for makers today also to aim to imitate the instruments which they can clearly see only in their own heads.