When I started practicing Historical European Martial Arts (HEMA) three years ago I learned very quickly that practitioners of the hobby tend to modify their own gear and, if they have the skill, make things themselves. I saw those who were making bags, gloves, jackets, etc. had started out as regular HEMA-ists like me, and when they saw a need they used their skills to produce amazing equipment which they bestowed upon the community. It seemed as though there were enough handy people around to create quality equipment for me to purchase. Whether I was 100% happy with something or not didn’t seem to matter since I could never have made those things myself—in essence, “be happy with what is available because you yourself cannot do better”.
There was just one small problem: we did not have any scabbards for our messers. We simulated “drawing” by using the heel of the hand to press the messer to our hips, or making a ring with the left hand around the blade, or pinching the blade with the fingers. Those with a loop on their fencing trousers tried to draw the messer from that loop, and a few purchased leather frogs to hold the messer onto a belt (neither was a good solution). Some students even squeezed their messers into foam tubes akin to pool noodles to simulate a scabbard.
This is not a problem exclusive to messer students as most longsword sharps do not come with a scabbard (a concept which still shocks my friends who study in Japanese sword traditions). There are several scabbard makers out there who will make jaw-droppingly gorgeous scabbards for your longsword, but the scabbard itself may cost the same or more than the sword. Few, if any, of these makers do scabbards for messers, and even if they did, who would want to pay hundreds of dollars for a scabbard which will contain a blunt training messer and get used repeatedly in a class setting?
As I looked around for a scabbard solution for our messer class, I realized someone would need to step up and make the darn things for us. We needed something durable and preferably cheap. Surely there was someone who had the know-how to make these for us. Someone would step up and do it, and we could hand them our hard-earned cash in exchange for scabbards with which to practice our art. Someone, anyone. Bueller?
I have never considered myself to be a particularly “handy” person. My father, a mechanic and lifelong car enthusiast, and my brother, the metal fabricator, were my family’s handypeople. There were never many opportunities for me to use the treasure trove of tools in the garage. An exception was one time I can remember crafting a bike ramp out of old leftover boards and rusty nails, but it was not exactly a feat of engineering, and it fell apart almost immediately. The only “real” woodworking I ever did was a small corner shelf I made in woodshop circa 1998, and I had never done any leather working.
So, of course, I decided to make a scabbard.
The idea to make my own scabbard did not strike me all at once. I had toyed with the idea even before starting messer training, mainly to replace my husband’s sub-par leather scabbard which he uses to carry an arming sword to Renaissance faires. If it turned out badly, he could just go back to using the scabbard the sword came with. No harm, no foul. But as it became clear the messer group could not progress without some kind of scabbard, I knew I had to step up and just do it myself.
This is the most daunting part of the task for someone like me, someone who doesn’t believe they have the kind of crafting knowledge required for this kind of task. What did I know about power tools, woodworking, leather? It seemed impossible until I realized I could use my existing skills to acquire the expertise necessary for this particular task. I crocheted enough blankets/hats/bags to know how to design something, even if it’s just a rough idea or sketch. I knew the basics of sewing, and leatherworking is just sewing thicker material, right? But the most important skill I used as leverage, one which I firmly believe is in everyone’s wheelhouse, is finding sources for new information (read: research).
I found a tutorial online and read through it many times before I actually made a move. I decided on a method and purchased materials from the hardware store and Tandy Leather, both of which have customer service “ask me anything” functions on their websites. I asked for advice from friends who knew about woodworking and leatherworking. I Googled “how to use a bandsaw”—no really, I did. My first time firing up the power tools at the workshop was completely on my own, with only Google to keep me company. It was terrifying, but also exhilarating.
My first complete scabbard, which I still use in messer class, is rough. The rolled tip of my messer doesn’t draw as smoothly as I’d like (should have spent more time Googling “how to use a Dremel”), and the stitching of the leather wrap is reminiscent of something from “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, but it’s completely mine. As imperfect as it may be, just looking at it makes my heart swell with pride. The thing which makes me proudest isn’t the creation of the scabbard itself; it is the courage I managed to find in myself to try.
After making the first one, each subsequent scabbard has been relatively easy. Recently I completed my first scabbard for a sharp messer, and I have another scabbard in progress for a longsword sharp as well as a waiting list of people who need scabbards for their swords. I was also able to make a batch of relatively inexpensive lacquered scabbards for my messer class, which was what I had set out to do in the first place. Nothing could have prepared me for the feelings I had the very first time my classmates were experimenting with the scabbards—joy, excitement, terror, anguish—making all the struggle leading up to it worth every second.
It took me a full year from conception to making my first sharp scabbard. Maybe someone with more experience could have done things better, or quicker, or prettier, but there was no one else willing or able to step up when we needed them, so I did it. The process was full of challenges, from sifting through tutorials online to difficulties sourcing materials. I actually broke my first scabbard attempt twice, first when I was cutting one of the pieces on the bandsaw and snapped the fragile wood, and again when I slid the sword in too hard and cracked the tip. The learning curve on this project was at times very frustrating, but I kept at it and learned so much (like the lesson about wood
glue and leather solving all problems).
When people see my scabbards, their first reaction is usually to say “I could never do that”. My dear friends, I am here to tell you that you can! As I pointed out earlier in this piece, I have never considered myself a craftsperson, and I knew literally nothing about woodworking or leatherworking at the start. It may sound a tad cliche and self-deprecating, but if I can do it, anyone can do it. I don’t just mean scabbard-making—I acknowledge that part of my success is having access to the tools, work space, materials, and time necessary for this specific project, and not everyone will happen to have a bandsaw or slackbelt grinder at their disposal. However, I believe a lesson can be learned from this which can apply to everyone.
It’s easy to identify needs in our fledgling community. We all do it as we talk about “what if these gloves were like this” and “imagine if we had that”. The trick is being able to identify a need and summoning all the courage and gumption to address that need, not just for yourself but for the good of the community. Examine the skills you have currently (and yes, you do have skills!) and exploring how you can leverage that. If you notice something needed, look to your left and right, and if there is no one else contributing in that way, perhaps you’ve found your niche. Be brave and try. You might surprise yourself as much as I did.