They then immersed the skins in a suspension of lime (calcium hydroxide) and water, for two weeks, moving them daily. They then removed the skins, drained them, and scraped off the wool which had been loosened by the action of the lime. Then the monks pinned out the skins, stretched tightly on wooden frames called herses, driving in wooden pegs to secure them. We do the same, but we use a modern staple gun to secure strings attached to the skin with a special knot called the Andrews Twist, which enables the skins to be drawn tighter as they relax. The monks then poured very hot water (80 degrees Centigrade) over the stretched skin, which parboils and relaxes the fibres. They then scraped both sides with a curved blade to remove any unevenness or remaining fat and hair. We do likewise.
| Finally, when dry, they smoothed the parchment with a flat pumice stone. We, I confess, are a jump ahead of the monks and use an orbital sanding machine. And that's the parchment ready. |
The sheep are not killed for their skins. If they were, parchment would cost at least £350, say $600 (US) a skin, instead of a tenth of that amount. The sheep and lambs are raised for meat and the skins are a by-product which would be dumped if tanners and parchment makers didn't buy them.
Reviving the ancient art of parchment-making is, therefore, a kind of thrift - a word dear to Scottish hearts!
It is environmentally friendly, too, putting nothing into the air, water or earth that causes any harm.
You can buy parchment paper of course, which is much cheaper, much easier to write on, and pollutes the environment
with chemicals beyond number. And if that's what you want, go to it.
But if you want the authentic, the ancient, the true, then Carbisdale parchment and vellum is the answer.