Leatherworking: Viking Turnshoes

My first turnshoe, stitched in
August 2014 and languishing 
ever since.

After making our archery bracers over the holidays, I was still in a leatherworking mood, so I decided to resurrect one of my very old unfinished  projects. Sometime in 2013, I started making a pair of Viking style turnshoes. At the time, I got the pattern made, assembled the uppers, attached the soles, turned them right side out, and then... became paralyzed with indecision.

All that remained was to stain the leather a more palatable color than its veg-tanned fleshy pink, make toggles and loops to fasten them, and attachp the aforementioned toggles and loops.

As you've probably noticed by now, I have an unhealthy number of unfinished projects. In an attempt to counter my tendency to start things without finishing them, I've developed a set of restrictions and rewards for myself. Mostly, they follow the theme of not buying more supplies for a particular craft until I finish all of my old projects in that particular craft. In the case of my turnshoes, I inadvertently put myself into a catch-22. I thought it would be easier to get better coverage with the leather stain if I applied it before making the toggles and loops, but I didn't own any leather stain and I wasn't allowed to order any more leatherworking supplies until I finished the turnshoes. (I know it's a bit silly, but it's the only way I can keep myself from spending my life savings on more craft supplies than our house can hold.)
On top of that, placing the toggles and loops meant making a final decision that would affect the fit of the shoes, and I just couldn't bring myself to commit to the placement of the loops. (Again, silly, but it's how my brain works.)

Luckily, a number of things came together this month to give me the motivation to finally finish the shoes.

First, I spent Christmas with a friend who is quite good at making turnshoes. While I worked on my archery bracers, he was repairing some of his turnshoes. Seeing him work on his shoes gave me a bit of a nudge to finish mine. He also showed me a technique for tunnel stitching (which has always completely intimidated me) that doesn't require a curved awl (which I don't have). Instead of using a curved awl to make a curved hole through a straight piece of leather, he bent the leather and stuck a straight awl through the fold. (Obviously, this only works for leather up to a certain thickness.) He even demonstrated it on a scrap of my cheap, dry leather, which I thought was much too weak and thin to hold the stitching. Watching him make a single stitch and pull on it with all his might without breaking it convinced me that it might be worth trying it out myself.

[photo of straight awl through folded leather, and hair side of leather without markings]

Once back at home, as part of the process of working up the momentum to get back to work on my shoes, I revisited Marc Carlson's site on Footwear of the Middle Ages. As the final step in finishing his shoes, he mentioned greasing them with tallow, which preserves and helps to waterproof the leather. It also darkens the color.

After sitting in various warm closets for around 5 years without any care, my turnshoes were fairly dry and stiff. I'd intended to apply a leather dressing, but since applying oil or fat would prevent them from soaking up the stain, I was waiting for that mythical day when I got around to staining them. On remembering that greasing the leather would change its color, I decided to try greasing a few scraps to see what it did to the color. I didn't have any tallow in the house, but tallow is just rendered animal fat, usually beef. I didn't have rendered beef fat in the house, but I did have rendered pig fat--namely, lard. So I cut a small slice of lard and tentatively rubbed it into my scrap of leather. For purposes of comparison, I greased some scraps with sunflower, peanut, and coconut oil as well. I found that the sunflower and peanut oils soaked completely through the leather to the inside, which wouldn't do my socks any favors. The lard and coconut oil tended to sit on the surface of the leather until you rubbed it in with warm hands. Coconut oil has a lower melting temperature (20 degrees C) so it soaked in more than the lard but less than the other oils, making it easier to apply, but it's significantly more expensive than lard. The lower melting point also wouldn't necessarily be a good thing in warmer weather, so I decided that lard was my best option. In order to help the grease to soak into the leather, Marc Carlson recommends leaving the shoes near the fire (or in my case, on top of the radiator).

In all cases, the leather changed from an unpleasantly fleshy pink to a light but pleasant shade of brown, getting slightly darker as more of the grease soaked in. I decided that this was a color I could live with, so I no longer needed to buy stain before finishing the shoes.

I cut out my toggles and straps, greased everything, and then found myself paralyzed by indecision again. What if I cut the holes for the straps and they ended up fitting badly? I could re-position them, but then I'd have holes in the sides of my shoes. What if the leather stretches over time and the straps get too loose?

Freshly-made toggles, all cut from the same hide and greased
with lard. Different parts of the hide seem to soak up different
amounts of grease, resulting in different colors.

In the end, it was a deadline that came to my rescue. My local SCA group was hosting a small gathering, and with my turnshoes so close to being finished, I decided it would be silly not to just bite the bullet and get them done. If they became so badly stretched as to become unwearable, well, I'd just have to make another pair of shoes. Each pair is supposed to get a little easier, right?

After much positioning, marking, re-positioning and re-marking, I cut slits in the shoes, threaded the ends of my toggles and loops through, and after a bit of practice on scraps, used my newly acquired tunnel-stitching skills to tack them in place on the inside.

The tails of the toggles were laced through three slits, and then
secured with three tunnel stitches on the inside of the shoe.

From the outside, the tunnel stitching is invisible, except as a
slight pucker on the top tab.

So, five years later, I finally have historically accurate shoes to wear to events. Not only is it a huge relief not to have this unfinished project hanging over my head anymore, I'm actually quite pleased with how they came out. The fit isn't perfect; there are some gaps at the opening where there is supposed to be an overlap, and the front part of the foot is wider than it needs to be. However, since I have extremely wide feet with bunions that make it painful for me to wear shoes that restrict my toes in any way, I'm actually really happy about the extra width. Right now, they're the only shoes I own that don't hurt even a little, and they're tight enough around the ankles that they don't flop around. Besides, the extra room means I can wear them with thick nalebound socks (as soon as I get around to making them).

The finished product; they'll darken over time with more
applications of grease.

I'm already thinking about making my next pair, this time in a more modern style that I can wear every day. And now that my first pair is finished, I'm allowed to treat myself to some new leatherworking tools and supplies which will hopefully make my next pair go a bit faster!