The purpose of this blog is to document one unusual, unique, antique, or otherwise interesting weapon or weapon-like item from my personal collection per day, for as long as i can. I reserve the right to miss a few days here and there with the promise to catch up!
My initail a priori assumption was that I'd have enough goodies to do this for a year...but after a count, I don't think it'll happen. So I'll go as long as long as I can keep coming up with interesting pieces, or longer if I hit the lottery and go into acquisition mode!
In the process, I will tell you what I know (or think I know) about each piece. I'd love to have viewer comments correcting or augmenting what I think I know about these pieces...and I sincerely hope that this becomes a two-way learning street.
Additionally, many (if not all) of the pieces shown here could be available for purchase if you contact me with heartfelt interest and we can agree upon terms and conditions. I don't part with my treasures lightly, so please don't contact me about buying unless you are serious.
Lastly, and by way of preview, this blog will feature knives, guns, swords, axes, and other military or related equipment ranging in age for hundreds of years. However, my first piece (today's in fact) is neither particularly old or unique: it's a World War II era, British Fairbairn-Sykes style fighting knife (see picture) with a Sheffield stamp above the hilt. The handle is brass, and the double-edged blade shows signs of repeated sharpening.
The reason it is my favorite is two-fold. First, it was given to me by my late grandfather, a Pacific theater veteran and my number-one personal hero (I sure do miss him). He and I actually made the pictured replacement sheath out of one of his old belts - it took hours.
Second, the knife comes with a (probably apocryphal) story of how he acquired it. According to legend, when my grandfather was stationed in New Guinea, he and his mates from his PBY 5A Catalina crew (Black Cats) got pretty chopped up in a local watering hole. Supposedly, this British soldier was at the bar, and Grandpa's mates got the limey passed-out drunk. Legend has it that they dragged the poor slob down to the local tattoo parlor and got an American Flag and the phrase "God Bless America" tattooed on this poor bastard's chest. Then they rolled him for valuables.
This is probably a made-up story, but I so associate it with the knife that I consider it true for sentimental reasons.
By the way, if you're a British WWII vet with a similar tattoo and a missing knife - I am a fiction writer living in California and this story never really happened ;-)
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