doublegunshop.com - home Forums General Discussion DoubleGun BBS @ doublegunshop.com Do You Ever Wonder?

Hi all, I 've had this thought for some time. Have you ever wondered about the stories that a gun could tell? Say an english or classic american SxS. The owners, the hunts, the amount of birds it killed, the places its been. To bad they can't talk. I wonder this everytime a carry a good old SxS.

All the best!!

Greg

I think that's why many of us buy them, the mystery of it all. Is it possible to not wonder why they are in our hands and where they came from? Not knowing stirs imagination; time evaporates as we wait for the birds to swing again over the tollers. "Har, har," said Long John. "It's the black spot, says I."

Wow, Winters must really be long in Nova Scotia! I have been fortunate, I actually have some history a couple of mine.

Let it start with you, these guns will be around long after we are gone. It dawned on me when I was selling a simple marlin 336. It was my first deer rifle, took my first deer. I took a lot of ribbing from gramp because "such a big guy would carry such a little gun". When I sold it I wrote the stories down, right from its beginning with me at a pawn shop. The new owners thanked me for the stories and maybe they will continue to keep a history of the gun, maybe not. There is no reason not to start the history with you.

Funny how I get those thoughts when I carry ANY of my old doubles. Always wonder about the history and the stories they could tell, but never once crosses my mind if I hold an old pump-gun or even a single shot from the same era. Ahhhh behold the mystical side by side and all its enchanted history. Makes it worth it when all my fancy autoloader buddies call me ELMER FUDD. What kind of character and provenance can you get out of a Browning BPS?

We haven't had a winter like this in 50 years, Steve. There's a foot of ice in protected waters, salt or fresh, and I'm digging out my snares from the snow almost every other day. Snowshoes de rigeur. I like it though. Today I was smelt fishing and pacing off distances over the ice from a few of my blinds to confirm my range limits. And there's coming back to my home in the woods, with a wood-fire burning brightly, and the love of a good woman.

I raise a glass of single malt as I light a fresh Cohiba to your contentment and satisfaction. My compliments, sir.

My environment?...... exactly like King Brown's. Temperature in the mid forties. Feet nestled up next to my Keroson heater. My carpet tunnel hand wrapped around my TV controller dialing back and forth between the Nickelodeon 1&2 channels. No woman around to nag at me and tell me to put on some clothes. Chips, pretzels, dip, drink filling the cluttered coffee tables on each side of my recliner. And a gun safe full of 21s. Well.......almost exactly like King Brown. Ain't life grand?

The "ghosts" is one reason I buy these old guns, when I dropped a pheasant with my 1850's Manton 9 bore for the first time you could almost hear them clapping and cheering!
I hope you guys don't think I'm nuts.
Steve

Some years ago, a Gentleman gave me a lovely LC Smith hammer gun. Well used but clean and tight. I took it to Montana on my annual, and when I paired on sharptails, I KNOW it said "I have done this before!"

I often look up at the well-worn Damascus barrelled Parker GH dating from 1903 on my wall and wonder what stories it could tell of my Grand Father and my Dad. Neither was much for telling stories of great derring-do (or much, much less) in the field, but I'm sure the gun knows. And it ain't talking. Still, I speculate..... -- Ed

Don't listen to any of my guns. They lie.


Glenn

I have a 1902 Parker VH 20 ga that I bought and had the wood redone by a special friend in his 90's. Between the stories the gun could tell and the stories Henry told me I have wonderful memories every time it goes with me.

Read the previous topic about an A.Hollis double rifle, there is a link in there to a rifle up for sale that was used by a Brit in Africa. That one British double rifle has seen more and done more then probably all the doubles ever built by any other country combined!!!
And that's just one of the many British doubles used throughout the world!!!
All the best

An old fella gave my father a broken down Remington Autoloading Shotgun (pre Model 11) a couple years ago. It had been his fathers gun and was bought new as far as he knew. He'd hunted with it a bit as a young man then it laid under the bed for years and years. Was in terrible shape, forend busted, other problems. Dad passed it along to me, I handed it off to a friend who's a wizard at getting these old humpacks in shooting shape. I shot ducks with it opening day, I think the old gun breathed a sign of relief at seeing the sky again. Turns out it was a first year of production gun, four digit serial number once it got cleaned off. So I know a little history on it, but wish I knew more.

The one I really wonder about is an old punt gun I've got in my collection. Came off the Mississippi River at Chester, IL. Was bought by a picker at an auction in the late 1980's amongst some other junk. Sold the next day to a dealer who didn't think much of it apparently and sold it to a friend of mine a day after that. Was red with rust, full of mud daubers nests, wood dried out badly. Still had a load of shot and wadding in the barrel, hot drop #6, which he saved a few of. He cleaned it up, managed to bring it back into amazingly decent shape. He kept the gun for a few years then sold it to me. I've looked at it leaning there in the corner and wondered what tales it could tell time and time again. It's been used hard for a long time by the looks of it. Started life as a flintlock and was converted to percussion with an 1863 Springfield lock. So, I assume, it was made originally in at least the 1850's as I can't imagine anybody making a punt gun as a flintlock when caplock was available. Who made it? Who used it? How many long winter nights has it spent on the big river killing ducks for the St. Louis market? How many untold thousands of fowl has it killed?



Destry

Gentlemen, this is one of the reasons we all enjoy this site so much, like minded people united in nostalgia, long may it continue.

I don't know how much one 'unknown" gun could tell you about his previuos owner and his hunts, but this is one scanned page from notebook I have bought in book store long time ago. Hunter seemed used to live in St.Petersburg/Russia and he got pointing dog, 'cause the list of games - feathered games and hare. And I hope he got nice double, probably Belgian one

An old RAC 1894 AE, prolly from a St.Louis Hardware Store - I'm from St.Louis! It came home with some ol'coot, along with a hoe 'n pitchfork and some coal oil. It don't get better than that.

Fortunately, the old records are available on some of our guns--both American and British. I was able to find out quite a bit on my Army & Navy pair, because the University of Glasgow has their record books.

And what I learned revealed several interesting coincidences. The guns were made in 1933, the year my parents were married. They were ordered by a retired British brigadier. (I retired as a colonel, and when I acquired the guns, I was within a year of the same age as the brigadier when he ordered them.) He remarried to a much younger wife, as did I--but he had 3 children from that marriage, to which my wife objected when I pointed out the similarities in our backgrounds. The guns are very close to original, never reproofed, and in their original motor case with the owner's initials. Thanks to google and an Anglophile friend, I was able to find out many more details about the previous owner and his career. I'd like to know how many driven shoots they saw, and when and why they left his family. But I feel very fortunate to know as much about them and their previous owner as I do.

I have an 1878 Colt that I often wonder about, however I guess not enough to pay to find out. I did once pay to learn about a Parker I had only to learn it had been sold to a Canadian hardware store (presumeably as inventory).
Steve

Interesting perspective Rockdoc but the letter you received should have also at least confirmed the originality of your Parker. In general, All you're going to find out with a factory letter is the name of the dealer the firearm was shipped to as it was and still is rare for firearms to be ordered direct from the manufacturer. For example: Colt sold the bulk of their production to 7 large hardware stores and a typical letter from them will state yours was 1 of XX in a shipment to Simmons Hardware or Sears Roebuck on a certain date. Now what a find it would be if the sales invoices for some of these stores were to ever surface.
Jim

Jim
Your right, the Parker letter did give me other useful information, only the original buyer information was disappointing. Thanks for the heads up about Colt letters, I don't need any more hardware store information (I already have a Simmons Hardware store gun, it says so on the buttplate).
Steve

I hope you'll indulge this very long post, but it seems appropriate to add it to this thread:

The veteran
By “Charles Osborne”

I couldn’t tell you my parents’ names, but I do know that I was born in Birmingham, England. Skilled and loving hands delivered me into this world, and my ancestry was, if not so subtle and refined as my cousins from London, or distinctive and classy like my Scottish kin, of solid, honest, workmanlike stock.
It had been a long time since anyone had paid me much attention though – longer than I care to remember – longer still since I’d been offered gainful employment or a full check up. They had been dark times of neglect and idleness. I had dim memories of time spent afield – quarry I’d taken, quarry I’d missed. Some days I’d stood still much of the day and shot much from the one spot; others I’d been walked far and wide, and shot little, but I loved being out either way. The cool, green hills, the moist air … too long ago.
* * *
One day curious things began to happen.
My old guardian took me out of that dark, claustrophobic place I’d spent too long in, and laid me under bright lights. He spoke – I didn’t know to whom at the time – and took directions from someone who obviously knew something of our kind. Under direction my old guardian rang my barrels, and I sang like a bell – for him, or for the one giving direction? I was turned over and over, each part being looked at carefully described.
I was put back in my case, and a few days later felt myself moved to a new place.
I was nervous. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know why I was going. Frightening rumours some years back of our kind being crushed were worrying, but surely no one could do that to me?
Rough hands handled me in a cursory way, only looking at my particular birth marks. These he recorded. I spent a short time with many others – most much younger than me and mostly immigrants who spoke but broken English – Japanese, Americans, Italians, Belgians, French, Germans, Brazilians... Some mocked my long, thin, curly brown tubes, my straight wrist, and my steel-shod heel and toe. I was a little scared of some of them – they looked heavy-set, black-tubed, menacing, rough, and lacking character or refinement. But some were respectfully curious too; a young Italian especially wanted to know all about the hunting I’d done – he seemed to have had little experience of hunting, but had shot at lots of targets. I enjoyed hearing about different places and game from a middle aged American who had seen different sorts of hunting to me. I enjoyed meeting them.
But soon enough I was on my way again in a smelly, noisy, vibrating vehicle. Days, it took…
Then I found myself in a new place. I was disoriented, but reassured that the two there seemed pleased to see me. One of them cased me again, and gently placed me into his vehicle for what turned out to be a short ride.
Out I came again. I was beginning to tire of all the new names, faces and places, and all the handling, but not venturing out, let alone hunting. But this time was different. I was pulled apart and cleaned; not carelessly with a dirty, oily rag, but carefully, with brushes, cloth, oil, and a strange – but pleasant – smelling oily liquid which seemed to miraculously dissolve dirt. I hadn’t felt this clean in a long time.
I was then put in a rack with some others, the large, heavy door closed, and I was allowed to rest in a cool, dark, airy room. The others there were excited to have a new neighbour and they bombarded me with questions. A tall, dark, stern, military type – one of her Brittanic Majesty’s finest (rumoured to have seen service with the police during the Kelly outbreak)! – brought them quickly to order: “One at a time!”. We talked long into the night. A few were quite young, but most of my new neighbours were old too, some even older than me! They assured me that they’d all been shooting with my new keeper, and he’d give me a go soon enough. They told me that he was no expert, but that he meant no ill, and would do his best to look after me. Some of them showed me scars they’d picked up with him, but they seemed to enjoy getting them!
* * *
I felt exposed and vulnerable – and fearful – when I saw this new guardian of mine take up screwdrivers the next day. No one had done this to me for many a year, and one or two hadn’t taken the care to fit them properly. I needn’t have worried though; they were flat, and he carefully picked the grime away to make sure they would fit deeply and surely. A lead plug was driven into one of my tubes and that tube massaged back into approximate roundness; the other was hammered down level with a lead bar. I was a bit sore, but felt in better shape than I had done since the day that charge had struck a loose wad.
Light cartridges slid home into my chambers. I’d nearly forgotten how good that felt! Then my guardian snapped me shut, shouldered me and pressed my triggers; no bang – only snap caps, but he did it many times, and seemed to enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed the movement, but felt a little frustrated that it was not quite the real thing. I was optimistic though that maybe soon I would feel the grass, the wind, and the mist again.
* * *
Another short journey. I wondered what would happen next.
I could feel a brisk breeze and bright sunlight as I was brought out again.
Two cartridges slipped in. They had a strange texture and smell, not the waxed paper I remembered, but they were still reassuringly heavy with lead, and had the same type of crimp – rolled over a card top-wad.
I looked at the country side and was shocked: these were not my cool green hills; the air was dry, the ground flat and stonier; the grass golden, the few trees were sparse, open, sprawling and grand – a strange place indeed…
I was nervous. This is not what I’d remembered and looked forward to, and as we walked through it I found it alien.
But then I felt myself shouldered and saw something I’d not seen for many a year. A rabbit! – in full stride, quartering away. I quite forgot any nervousness and the alien landscape and remembered to concentrate, purposefully, on pushing hard and catching that rabbit. I bellowed a deep, roaring boom, and lost sight of everything through white smoke and bright flame. Real gunpowder! I kept swinging through though, as I’d missed, but still had one more chance. Boom! A tumble and a kick from the rabbit as I swung through it, then it lay still! I live for that moment, and I’d waited a long time to do it again.
My last shots, so many years before had been that new, acrid, sharp, nitro powder – too clean to be wholesome!; it jarred my joints badly and took some of the pleasure from hunting. I hadn’t thought I’d get to enjoy the real thing again!
* * *
I’ve been for a few outings now.
I’ve taken ducks, hares, rabbits. I’ve also shot at small clay discs which shatter when you hit them; I did that looking out over the sea, and there were a lot of familiar names there, and a lot of people having a lot of fun. I didn’t feel at all out of place.
I have picked up some scratches and bumps – a barbed wire fence, some dirt, but I don’t mind an honest scar from honest use. I’m certainly not getting a chance to go rusty!

Hope you liked it.
RG

Thank you for a very enjoyable post Cadet. I remember reading a similiar type of post many years ago about a Paul Revere silver teapot being discovered after languishing in a forgotten attic trunk for decades.
Jim

About 20 years ago I had a table at our annual local 2-day gun show, and due to the crowds coming by didn't have a chance to look around until later in the day.An older gentleman that seemed to have an interest in things British had a few guns on his table and the one that caught my eye was a large single barrel piece that turned out to be a single ten gauge by W.W.Greener.It had obviously seem some hard use but it was all there,and the more I handled it the better it felt.The weight ,the balance,the stock dimensions,everything said, "take me shooting".The gun was chambered for the 3 1/4" "perfect" brass case however there was one problem.The tape measure and bore micrometer gave a barrel length of 38 1/2" and no choke.At some point in the past I had to assume that an obstruction at the muzzle had resulted in the barrel being shortened. It was not uncommon for fowlers like this to have 42" barrels.A serious fowler with no choke, maybe not.Further measuring discovered minimum barrel wall of almost 70 thou.and an idea was born.A phone call to the late,great,Stan Baker in Seattle and the barrels were in the mail.Two weeks later I had a 3 1/2" chambered,overbored ten gauge with 25 thou of choke that threw wonderful full choke patterns with 1 1/2 oz. of #2 bismuth shot.The old girl was back in business.Everytime I
take her out I wonder where she has been.Likely spent two or three decades on the marshes of Britain and then over to the
"colonies".Well, she is doing a fine job on our local snow goose population and gives me a "buzz" everytime out.
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Good stuff boys, keep it coming.


Destry

Sure..I only have two Guns...But my 1901 Greener U/L Hammer Pidg' often seems about to fess up with a tidbit, but never does.
Its been sleeved & re proofed in the 90's, re CC'd & generally done up in England.Wonder how many shots in England in 107 years.Barrels shot out through wear, or a mud plug....someone thought enough of it to do her over..as Ken said she came in like that
I bought it from Ken D @ Atkins G&L,,And waiting for it to arrive & first opening her up, just after chats & photo's was quite memorable in itself..I was very happy.
I e mailed Graham G & found it to be a special order mid grade..with their best team working on it..especially action filer Mr Camm..who apparently worked on exhibition stuff.
Its nice to look through the Greener book & try to imagine who is Mr Camm who filled a gorgouse set of percussion fences on her.
My Belgian SLE doen't seem like talking...it could be the language barrier though,hah hah
Franc

Here's that A. Hollis and its incredible history, that Brit rifle oozes invincibility!!!
The rifle was discovered in a cycle/gun shop called Tatos Brothers in the little farming town of Gwelo (now Gweru - Zimbabwe) in what was then Southern Rhodesia where it was offered for sale on behalf of a farmer (name unknown) and it was purchased by Mr. Paul Coetsee in 1959-60
Mr. Coetsee worked for the Game Department in Southern Rhodesia. His responsibilities included the control of problem animals and the control of the spread of the Tsetse Fly disease. Between 1964 and 1970 the .500 Hollis was to be used almost exclusively on elephant control in the then Southern Rhodesian Game department. On the southern banks of the Kariba Dam especially, elephant carriers of the Tsetse fly had to be controlled to limit the spread of the disease and in the Gokwe and Omay Tribal Trust areas, problems with bull elephant crop raiders kept the rifle in regular usage.
The .500 rifle became well known to VIP foreign guests of the then Prime Minister Mr. Ian Douglas Smith during hunting safaris conducted in the Gokwe area. Among the dignitaries was the late sir Archibald James from London whom hunted his last elephant (accompanied by Mr. Coetsee) at the age of about 80 years. The late Prime Minister, John Voster of South Africa and many dignitaries from the USA, Germany and South Africa were also accompanied during hunts using the same rifle
Of his rifle, Mr. Coetsee said 'the Hollis .500 served me well,{Typical English understatement} having put down about 1000 elephants with brain shots, many buffalos and a considerable number of lions. Bull elephant that were shot with this rifle ranged from 50lbs. per side to 100lbs. per side.'
All the best