PHOTOS: TIM CRONSHAW A 76-year-old blacksmith is keeping the forge alive for the rural community. He talks to Tim Cronshaw about forging ahead with centuries-old art. In the dim light, blacksmith Leo Schenkel shapes a knife handle.
Cluttered around him are farming relics vying for space with metal cast-offs, parts from old gigs and other wall-hangings casting shadows on the clay floor. A blazing pot-belly stove takes the chill off, with his aged companion, Australian kelpie Anzac, contentedly watching in the corner. Normally, the metal work is carried out on a coal-fired forge with its double-acting leather bellows.
Three times a week the smithy fires up the old hand forge in the workshop at Teddington, a small community on Banks Peninsula at the head of Lyttelton Harbour. Wrought iron or steel is heated until it’s glowing hot. Over to the anvil it goes to be crafted by hammer and tong, and then back into the fire again.
The steps are repeated before it is turned into the desired shape in one of the oldest forms of metal working. Or it might be he’s called to make running repairs to machinery at the request of local farmers and contractors. It’s harder than it looks, with the blacksmith knowing when to strike next or reheat.
Metals get harder when a smith hammers or bends them, and if it is already hardened it will crack and break, so must be annealed. This takes a fine eye. Today the forge won’t be fired up.
Blades from a drum mower gifted to him have already been sh.