Click the picture for a full slideshow of the delivery
Another slideshow for fellow phone box geeks! Carl at redtelephonebox.com is now putting on the paint;
“I’ve degreased the whole of your K6 shell & applied etch primer to the bare ironwork & filler. Once it had flashed off I applied 2 direct coats of Post Office Red to the notorious & fiddly glazing bars & other intricate places I cannot get with a brush!”
Here’s a full slideshow of the current phase of Carl’s hard work.
“I’ve now sprayed etch-primed the door & 2K (twin packed) the wooden teakwood outer frame in Post Office Red. This will seal the wood prior to rubbing gently down & repainting again – once hung!”
Click the images for slideshows.
“I’ve rehung the door on new hinges & re-aligned all ready for a final light sand before adding more colour! I’ve also masked off the outer roof dome ready for further primer & top coat…”
Carl at redtelephonebox.com is back on the case with my K6 (for those of you catching up on this extraordinarily geeky story, select the Red Telephone Box category, or go back to the original post for the history). Here’s a slideshow of the latest pics. Carl’s commentary is;
“I’ve sanded back the inner floor/sill & outer roof dome, de-greased & applied two coats of acid etch primer to the transport primer & cast iron with paint brush & mini roller. After a duration I carefully applied two generous coats of BS538 Post Office Red to both of these surfaces.”
Fortunately the broken section of transom rail was with the kiosk when ‘Kelly the Crane’ brought it over [from Derbyshire] to Norfolk. It was the missing piece of the jigsaw & fit perfectly; however it had to be thoroughly stripped of paint & rust before I could could ‘operate’!After buzzing a ’36’ pad over the broken section & grinding a ‘V’ in both this & the structural transom rail I was ready to re-align. In order to aid perfect alignment of the section when welding, I drilled a hole through the broken section & the corner pillar. The broken section’s hole was enlarged & countersunk. The hole in the corner pillar’s top was threaded with a 5/16 Whitworth ‘taper tap’. A countersunk steel screw was nipped tight between the sections prior to welding. This screw will remain in situ & be coated with body filler creating the correct aesthetics.After welding, the ’36’ pad was used to ‘dress’ the weld; this ensures the weld trail is flush to the surrounding surfaces.
Kerris (one of Carl’s phone box restoration team at Remember When UK) has been back filling all of the casting imperfections. She has also begun ‘prepping’ the roof for paintwork pre-installation (you may recall the roof is actually a replacement one – see previous post). Carl has now loaded the K6 back on to the GPO trailer (an authentic 1930s antique itself) getting it ready for welding. It’s easier welding a horizontal surface, he tells me.
You’ll recall that the roof was damaged. Carl has found a replacement unit – here’s an excerpt from his latest email;
…with the old damaged roof free from the K6 it was an ideal time to ensure the replacement was exact. This replacement salvaged roof was from an old K6 that was originally located at a local racecourse (Fakenham).The last picture shows both ‘lids’ being compared.
With the hole now drilled in the roof it was necessary to remove the 2 ton clasp on the block & tackle to expose the chain link. This granted additional height to remove the domed roof. The chain was then bolted to the roof. Making sure the old bolts securing the dome were free, I carefully positioned the kiosk directly under the gantry, thanks to my ‘dolly skids’. These ‘skids’ allow me to move a K6, weighing 750 kgs, with ease on flat smooth ground. With a few grasps at the load chain the damaged roof was lifted clear of the transom rails, to which the roof section was pulled clear of the K6 on the gantry. The K6 was then pushed clear of the beamed gantry.
Back to the phone box story. Carl at Remember When UK has started work again on my K6 (for the full story click the ‘Red Telephone Box‘ category on the right, or go back to the first post. Helpfully, Carl’s emails are practically a blog entry in themselves, so I’m going to paste some of his commentary in here.
[Carl wrote] The roof section is heavy & awkward & as the old GPO papers stipulate, two to three persons, tressles & scaffolding are required for fitting or removal of the dome panel. Fortunately the aid of the kiosk gantry eliminated [the need for] all but one person (me!) and no scaffolding in sight – by boring an 8 mm hole in the centre of the damaged roof.
My K6 is still in progress at Carl’s workshop (click the red telephone box category on the right or read the original blog post about this). Here’s a new product from Remember When UK that caught my eye. There are so many levels of postmodernism in this phone that it makes my head hurt…
Excerpt from Remember When website below.
Modelled on our classic K6 Red Telephone Box, this impressive fully functional mobile phone is a real winner. It features a 65k colour TFT screen, camera, full SMS and MMS functionality, polyphonic ringtones, and GPRS/WAP 2.0. You can set your wallpaper to display one of fifteen different iconic images from old Blighty, plus you can select from Rule Brittania, God Save the Queen, or one of twenty other ringtone melodies. London Calling measures 102mm by 43mm by 21 mm, and weighs approximately 100 grams. As an unlocked GSM phone, all you have to do is plug in your current Orange, T-Mobile, Virgin or Cingular SIM card and start talking.
The London Calling mobile phone comes with the phone, travel charger, battery and the Getting Started guide. Additional accessories will also become available include a serial data cable, handsfree headset, and additional batteries and chargers. The London Calling mobile phone comes with a 90 day manufacturer’s limited warranty against defects.
Features of the phone include:
It is an unlocked tri-band GSM phone which will work in the UK, US and throughout Europe. Comes with pre-programmed ringtones including Rule Britannia and God Save the Queen.
Additional features include assorted wallpaper images of noted British landmarks. Perfect if you are traveling abroad to different countries.
For more information, or how to place an order, please contact us.
Just a quick post today from the phone, to try out the excellent wordpress for iPhone app. I had a meeting on Wednesday in London at the Institute of Musical Research. It’s a group called the UK Popular Musicologists’ Collocquium and represents an all-too-rare chance for (popular) music staff from different universities to get together and discuss academic articles and analysis relating to popular musicology. There are about eight of us the meetings, which are chaired/organised by Allan Moore (editor of Popular Music Journal), and we get together every six months or so in Guildford or at the IMR (any musicologists reading this, do feel free to get in touch with Allan if you’re interested in becoming involved). I’ve made a basic WordPress/edublogs site so we can collect together study materials and YouTube links – UKPMC site.
This meeting’s theme was discussion and analysis relating to a particular track – Prince’s ‘When Doves Cry’. It is a fascinating song (noted for its lack of bass line) in that it appears to be based on one eight-bar chord loop – Am | G | G | Am | Am | G | G | E7 Am | – but is actually based on a four-bar loop that is only actually stated halfway through the track – | Am | Dm/A | G | E7+5/G# E7/G# | (hey, this stuff keeps me awake at night).
Like any multi-million-selling song, it’s always interesting to note just how well-constructed it is – and to make inferences about why it was so successful. It seems to obey most of the general ‘rules’ of songwriting (lots of primary and secondary hooks, lots of monosyllables, effective lyric imagery, economical use of language, clear meaning, unusual title) while deliberately challenging them in other ways (relentless/repetitive chord loop, quirky rock-funk guitar solo intro followed by guitar-less arrangement, slightly mad lyric lines “animals strike curious poses”, classical extended mono-synth outro). Prince, for me, is like Bono or Sting – however smug or irritating they might seem as people, you have to admire the sheer talent at work.
And, as a bonus, while walking past Hyde Park I got to see five K6s all together. If you’re unsure why I have become such a phonebox geek you need to read this previous post. After which you may still be unsure.
Carl has now sandblasted the phone box, removing all the paint and returning it to its original casting state. I learn that this K6 was cast in 1935 at the Saracen Foundry in Glasgow – as shown in the casting lettering on the back. The lid is cracked and is going to be replaced, but in every other respect it’s come up good as new – take a look at the way the sandblasting has revealed the crisp detail of the casting on the Tudor crown.
The phone box arrived in Norfolk at Carl’s kiosk hospital last week. First step – take the door off fully, and drill out the concrete floor, exposing the whole of the cast iron frame ready for sandblasting. Apparently they come up good as new, even down to the detail of the original symbolic Tudor crown (replaced in 1952 at the Queen’s behest with a more contemporary one). The domed roof is probably past saving, so Carl is planning on replacing it with a reclaimed one from another K6.
In a previous post I marveled at the detail of the original 1950s K6 install instructions (and the devotion of whoever typed it in to get it online). But Carl was, of course, way ahead of me – I feel very much like an ‘apprentice anorak’ in this world. He has a huge archive of K6-related documentation, some of scanned from the original 50-year-old paperwork. It’s an impressive archive. http://www.redtelephonebox.com/archive/
Blogging editorial note – I’m blogging four concurrent stories at the moment – the phone box, the studio build, the guitar book and the Widcombe song. To follow these as individual threads, use the ‘categories’ on the right hand sidebar – here they are as links.
Here’s the phone box in its pre-loved state in Derbyshire, before a chap called Laurence aka ‘Kelly the Crane’ arrived to transport it to ‘kiosk hospital’ in Norfolk. My K6 is a Mark I (i.e. from the first batch, cast in 1935) and is a model ‘D’, meaning that the door is on the right hand side panel with its hinge on the right (I actually remember this from 1979 – it stood on a steep lane called Birches Avenue, and the door opened uphill).
There were four models back in 1935;
”Kiosk No. 6 (Mk. 2)”is available in four assemblies, for use under various conditions as follows:-
“Kiosks No. 6A”; door fitted opposite back panel and hinged left
“Kiosks No. 6B”; door fitted opposite back panel and hinged right
“Kiosks No. 6C”; door fitted on the left side panel and hinged left
“Kiosks No. 6D”; door fitted on the right side panel and hinged right
(From the GPO ‘erection instructions’ dated 1955. Stop giggling at the back, there!)
Yes it’s true – more Googling has unearthed a copy of the original Post Office engineering notes on K6 installation, dated 11th March 1955. Here is the text of the original document in full (and you thought IKEA instructions were complicated!). And this file comes from a website where someone’s collected decades’ worth of phone installation instructions. Can you believe that anyone typed all these in?!
Download the full K6 installation instructions (pdf). All hail to thee, Internet.
See below for a gallery of the K6 in its garden setting, prior to being transported to Carl’s workshop.
I’ve inherited a phone box from my late father. It stood, between 1935 and around 1983, in the Derbyshire village of South Wingfield where I grew up in the 1970s and 1980s. When the Post Office became British Telecom in the early 1980s, lots of the cast iron red phone boxes in the UK were decommissioned and replaced with the more spartan plastic & metal BT booths (coincidentially, Bath is one of the few cities that has maintained a few red phone boxes in public places – there were a few near the railway station very recently, I recall.)
Some of the rural phone boxes were sold off privately by local authorities (in this case Amber Valley Borough Council) in the mid-80s. My parents didn’t want to see the old phone box leave the village, so they decided to buy it. It then stood in their back garden for 25 years. In that time they didn’t do anything with it (ummm… not sure what you would do with a non-functioning phone box…?), so now I find myself owning three-quarters of a ton of 1930s cast iron.
Unsure of what to do, I Googled ‘Red Telephone Box’ and found, er, http://www.redtelephonebox.com/. This is a company, based in Norfolk, called Remember When UK – and restoring red phone boxes is what they do. I got in touch with them and spoke to a chap called Carl, who runs the business. He’s a self-confessed ‘phone box anorak’ who just loves his job, and he told me lots of interesting stuff about the history of the English red phone box. The business restores phone boxes pretty much exclusively – there are, apparently, enough phone boxes, and enough interested customers, to keep the business going – they usually even have a backlog of work.
The classic red phone box is called a K6. They were launched in 1935 to celebrate the silver jubilee of George V, though weren’t produced in large numbers until 1936. This particular one is, according to Carl, a ‘Mark I’ – shown by the casting stamp on the back. It was cast, as were most of them, in a foundry in Glasgow. The design was found all over the UK, but also, interestingly, used in Malta, Bermuda and Gibraltar (i.e parts of the Empire/Commonwealth). I won’t go on much more about the history of the K6 – there’s an excellent Wikipedia page with more detail.
Being more than 700 kilos, and being set in concrete, they take a fair bit of transporting. I’ll start the saga of the restoration – and the dilemma of what to do with the phone box when it’s completed – in a future entry. For now, here’s a photo of a 1930s GPO phone box installer. And you thought the Nokia 3310 was clunky…