I have always loved knives, for as long as I can remember. Even as a wee nipper...
===wavey lines===
I was 7 or 8, it was maybe 2 or 3 years after we moved house.
So that'll make it getting on for 35 years ago.
I had an Opinel pocket knife my dad had let me buy on holiday in france that summer, I spent my days throwing it and sticking it into trees in the woods behind our house. Pure bliss.
In the september of that year my dad's elder brother, an alcoholic and shadow of his former self came to visit with his wife. Andrew was his name. He'd been in the army, a PT instructor. As fit as buggery in his day. Sadly that day was long gone, he'd been medicalled out of the army after being stabbed in the belly during the riots that engulfed Delhi in the period following the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi.
Anyway, Andrew took a shine to me, he'd seen me throwing my knife and was impressed by the skill I showed. He could see how my dad was really critical of me all the time, hard on me for no reason. Andrew didn't like that and made sure his wee brother knew it. Sadly that only served to cause friction between them and generally made things difficult.
Just before Andrew and Elsie left to head back to Ardrossan Andrew took me aside and told me he had something for me, something secret. He reached into his suitcase and handed me a roll of soft beige leather, about 11 inches long, tied with an old black boot lace. I can still remember how the weight of it felt in my young hand. He told me to open it and as I did so he told me to be careful with it and to treasure it forever. It was a knife, but unlike any knife I had seen before. Or since, for that matter. A heavy, finely stitched leather sheath, worn with age and use. A black leather handle, wrapped with plaited silver wire, a large silver pommel. The blade of dark steel, seven inches in length, hollow ground on both edges and inlaid with fine gold detail of foreign lettering.
It was, he told me quietly and lifting his shirt to reveal the scar, the knife he had been stabbed with.
Little else was said, just a few looks between us before they left.
I can feel the goosebumps as i type this.
Can you imagine how this felt? I was in hog-heaven. I was the envy of my gang of wee pals. The knife was perfectly balanced for throwing and in my expert delinquent hand it was a thing of wonder.
I could (and still can) stick it in the shed door from 30 feet, under or over-hand throw. I was obsessed and would practice throwing it for hours on end.
Until one day...
I had just been given an utter bollocking for no reason I could perceive, as often happened. I was "playing" with the knife, torturing my action man probably. When all at once, in a fit of childish rebellion I threw the knife and stuck it into the kitchen floor. Oh, that was satisfying. The beautiful "thunk" as it stuck through the lino and into the boards beneath. I couldn't resist and did it again. And again. And again. Just as I was letting the knife slip for the fifth or sixth time I heard a noise, my dad approaching from through the house with a "what the fuck's that noise you little bastard" and I flinched, momentarily afraid of the secret being blown.
And in that moment I pinned my slipper clad right foot to the floor.
Dad stomped into the room demanding an explanation just as I dropped to my left knee, right foot still skewered, my back to him. I made some excuse about dropping something I think, but I can't really remember. He harrumphed and left the room and that was pretty much that.
It didn't bleed much thankfully, I guess it could have been quite serious but all I got was a small scar and a knackered slipper.
I'm glad nobody saw, especially my dad, he would have killed me.
I only saw Andrew once after that before he died.
I still have the knife.
Length? Like I said, the blade's 7 inches long.
( blaireau69 , the Cumbrian Travis Bickle., Fri 28 Jan 2011, 22:25, 6 replies)

I like shiny things.
Knives are the shiniest thing I know. *clicks*
(Dante licked your nipple on, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 0:16, closed)

Pure gold.
Lovely! Lots to like here:-)
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 7:50, closed)

let's have a look!!

(Wagane, Sat 29 Jan 2011, 12:15, closed)

pics?

(Avnas dosh!, Sun 30 Jan 2011, 14:35, closed)

I had the pleasure of being a Boner/Slaughterman for ten years
So i got to play with razor sharp knives every day for a job. Cutting up freshly dead deer. The feeling of a super sharp knives cutting through flesh is something that still gives me shivers.

Sigh, The good old days.
( jakedamusss I understand, and dont care., Mon 31 Jan 2011, 2:02, closed)

"Dead Deer"
Is that a euphemism for "abducted prostitute" by any chance?
(Vinnie Strokes Got bummed on, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 2:20, closed)

Well told Sir.


Have a click.
( bane, Mon 31 Jan 2011, 16:18, closed)