The Prison Camp Violin

 Guidepost Magazine - January 1997
 by Clair Cline, Tacoma, Washington
 Stalag Luft I Prisoner of War

He carved it of rough-hewn bed slats with a penknife traded for Red Cross rations. But would it play?

 In February 1944 I was a U.S. Air Corps pilot flying a B-24 bomber over Germany when antiaircraft fire hit our tail section and we lost all controls. We bailed out and on landing I found myself in a field in occupied Holland, just across the border from Germany. We were surrounded by villagers asking for chocolate and cigarettes. Then an elderly uniformed German with a pistol in an unsteady hand marched me to an interrogation center. From there I and other prisoners were shipped to Stalag Luft I, a prison camp for captured Allied airmen.

 The camp was a dismal place. We lived in rough wooden barracks, sleeping on bunks with straw-filled burlap sacks on wooden slats. Rations were meager;  if it hadn't been for the Red Cross care packages, we would have starved.  But the worst affliction was our uncertainty. Not knowing when the war would  end or what would happen (we had heard rumors of prisoners being killed)  left us with a constant gnawing worry. And since the Geneva Convention ruled  that officers were not allowed to be used for labor, we had little to keep  us occupied. What resulted was a wearying combination of apprehension and boredom.  Men coped in various ways: Some played bridge all day, others dug escape tunnels (to no avail), some read tattered paperbacks. I wrote letters to my wife and carved models of B-24s.

 The long dreary months dragged on. One day early in the fall of 1944, I  found myself unable to stand airplane carving any longer. I tossed aside a half-finished model, looked out a barracks window at a leaden sky and prayed in desperation, "Oh, Lord, please help me find something constructive to do."

 There seemed to be no answer as I slumped amid the dull slap of playing cards and the mutter of conversation. Then someone started whistling "Red Wing" and my heart lifted. Once again I was seven years old in rural  Minnesota listening to a fiddler sweep out the old melody. As a child I  loved the violin and when a grizzled uncle handed his to me I couldn't believe it. "It's yours, Red," he said, smiling. "I never could play the thing, but maybe you can make music with it."  There were no music teachers around our parts, but some of the old-timers who played at local dances in homes and barns patiently gave me tips. Soon I accompanied them while heavy-booted farmers and their long-gowned wives whirled and stomped to schottisches and polkas.

 I thought how wonderful it would be to hold a violin again. But finding one in this place would be impossible. Just then I glanced at my cast-aside model, and a thought came to me: I can make one! Why not? I had done a little woodworking before I was in the service. But with what? And how? Where could I find the wood? The tools? I shook my head. I was about to forget the whole preposterous idea when something caught me. You can do it. The words hung there, almost as if Someone had challenged me. I grew up on a farm during the Depression, and had learned about resourcefulness. I remembered my father doggedly repairing hopelessly broken farm equipment. "You can make something out of nothing, Son," he said, looking up from the frayed harness he was riveting. "All you've got to do is find a way . . . and there always is one."

 I looked around our barracks. The bunks. They had slats! Each was about four inches wide, three-quarters of an inch thick and 30 inches long. A few wouldn't be missed. Just maybe, I thought, just maybe I could. I already had a penknife gained by trading care-package tobacco rations with camp guards who delighted in amerikanische Zigaretten. Glue? It was essential. But glue was practically nonexistent in a war-ravaged country. "There's always a way," echoed Dad's words.

 One day I happened to feel small, hard droplets around the rungs of my chair. Dried carpenter's glue! I carefully scraped off the brown residue from a few chairs, ground it to powder, mixed it with water and heated it on a stove. It would work. I cut the beech bed slats to the length of a violin body and glued them together. Then I began shaping the back panel. A sharp piece of broken glass came in handy for carving. Other men watched with interest, and some helped scrape glue from chairs for me.

 Weeks went by in a flash. I shaped the curved sides of the body by bending water-soaked thin wood and heating it over the stove. My humdrum existence became exciting. I woke up every morning and could hardly wait to get back to work. When I needed tools, I improvised, even grinding an old kitchen knife on a rock to form a chisel. Slowly the instrument took shape. I glued several bed slats together to form the instrument's neck.

 In three months the body was finished, including the delicate f-shaped holes on the violin's front. After carefully sanding the wood, I varnished the instrument (that cost me more cigarettes) and polished it with pumice and paraffin oil until it shone with a golden glow.

 A guard came up with some catgut for the strings, and one day I was astonished to be handed a real violin bow. American cigarettes were valuable currency, and I was glad I hadn't smoked mine.

 Finally there came the day I lifted the finished instrument to my chin. Would it really play? Or would it be a croaking catastrophe? I drew the bow across the strings and my heart leaped as a pure resonant sound echoed through the air.

 My fellow prisoners banished me to the latrine until I had regained my old skills. But from then on they clapped, sang, and even danced as I played "Red Wing," "Home on the Range" and "Red River Valley."

 My most memorable moment was Christmas Eve. As my buddies brooded about home and families, I began playing "Silent Night." As the notes drifted through the barracks a voice chimed in, then others. Amid the harmony I heard a different language.  "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht, alles schläft, Einsam wacht . . . " An elderly white-haired guard stood in the shadows, his eyes wet with tears.

 The following May we were liberated by U.S. troops. Through the years, the violin hung proudly in a display cabinet at home. As my four children and six grandchildren grew, it became an object lesson for escaping the narcosis of boredom.

 "Find something you love to do," I urged, "and you'll find your work a gift from God." I'm happy to say all of them did. In the fall of 1995 I was invited to contribute the violin to the World War II museum aboard the aircraft carrier Intrepid in New York. I sent it hoping it would become an object lesson for others. But I was not prepared for the surprise that followed. I was told the concertmaster of the New York Philharmonic would play it at the museum's opening. Afterward he called me.  "I expected a jalopy of a violin," said maestro Dicterow, "and instead it was something looking very good and sounding quite wonderful. It was an amazing achievement."

 Not really, I thought. More like a gift from God.   

Since CLAIR CLINE returned from World War II, The Prison Camp Violin he made has been heard in concert halls across the United States. Most  recently it was played by Glenn Dicterow of the New York Philharmonic during  a ceremony at the Intrepid Sea-Air-Space Museum in New York City. "Violins have to be used if they are going to remain effective," says Clair. "I  believe I need to stay active too." Now that he has retired from cabinetmaking and construction work, Clair and his wife, Anne, stay busy growing fruit, flowers and vegetables in their garden.  The couple recently celebrated their 57th wedding anniversary, and their four children and six grandchildren are the joy of their lives. Music has remained important, and oldest son Roger, granddaughter Jennifer, and grandson Daniel, play in the Chicago, National, and Arkansas symphony orchestras, respectively.

As their children grew up, the violin rested in a display case in the Clines’ home. Each child was told the violin’s story as a lesson in resourcefulness. But its value goes far beyond that.

more here: http://www.merkki.com/stories.htm

and to think no one was hawking cheapo parts through any ' magazine' to this guy. love his ingenuity

For those new to cb fiddle building, permit me to share some hard-earned tips to get you started right.

1.   Getting Started:   If you want to build a full-size (4/4) violin, it is critical that you get the correct measurements for the string length from the nut to the bridge, and the height of the bridge must be the same as a real violin. Bear in mind that a violin has an arch top, which raises the bridge height. Your cigar box will have a flat top, so to compensate, you must angle your neck to match the correct angle of a violin. If you do not get this right, your strings will not be the correct height on the neck or at the bridge.

2.   Choosing A Box:   You want to find a box that is long and narrow; the body of a 4/4 violin is about 14" long and about 5 1/2" wide at the bouts. It is critical that it be as narrow as possible, close to a real violin, or your bow will hit the sides of the box when playing on the G or the E strings. Also, a real violin is about 1 & 1/2 " deep, and if you want to attach a chin rest, you will have to cut down the height of the box in order to fit it on.

3.   Creating A Template:   I know this next step is time-consuming and counter-intuitive for those who just like to jump in and build, but neglect this step at your own peril! Once you have chosen your box and adapted it for the correct height, (and this is how I do it: I take the box apart at the hinges, and cut out from the middle section all around the sides, so that when I re-section it, it will be 1 & 1/2" tall.) Next, I stand the box on its side on a large sheet of drawing paper, and draw the outline of the box. Then I locate where the bridge will fall on top of the box, which is determined by the correct tail piece spacing, copied from a violin. I draw the bridge to its full size dimensions. I then lay out the neck, paying careful attention to the correct height of the strings to the neck at the nut and the bridge, and also by getting the correct string length from the nut to the bridge. I transfer all measurements from a 4/4 violin neck so that the neck and fingerboard thicknesses will be the same for the custom neck I will build. NOTE: YOU MUST CREATE YOUR OWN CUSTOM BUILT NECK, as it will be longer than a real violin neck, to make up the difference in the length of your box to that of a 4/4 violin! Once I have drawn out my cb violin to its full size, I can then transfer all measurements for my build, and confirm that the neck is properly angled to be playable.

4.   Building The Neck:   Building the neck is without a doubt the hardest and most time-consuming part, but if you get it right, you will be rewarded with a beautiful violin that will actually play like a violin! I go the whole route, hand carving and tooling the scroll volute by copying from a real violin. It is critical that you make templates for the peg holes from a real violin, and transfer them over. NOTE: CAREFULLY DRILL THE HOLES SMALLER THAN THE PEGS, and use a round file to carefully enlarge each hole to fit the peg. Bear in mind that the peg hole will be slightly larger where the peg goes in than where it comes out, so take your time with each hole. Get it wrong, and you will have to plug and re-drill the holes, which is time-consuming and not as pretty! I create my neck out of 2" x 2" poplar stock, and splicing together two pieces to get the neck angle, but it would be better to use a 2" x 4" piece of wood to cut the neck out of in one piece. This would also make the neck stronger, but either way, the joint will be re-inforced once the neck is glued into the box. At the part of the neck inside the box, I cut away some of the bottom portion, leaving only a bit to touch the bottom of the box at the front and back of the inside of the box. This lets the box sound better and have more volume.

5:   Finishing Up:   Once you have the neck correctly built, the rest is easy! You will follow through much the same as building a cb guitar. I do use a piece of 1/4" dowel rod to build a sound post, set just to the back and right under the bridge. Soundholes can be made up of the same kind of things you'd use on a cb guitar, or you can make a "f" hole template from a 4/4 violin, and cut them out with a sharp knife. If you find that your bow will hit the sides of the box when playing on the outside strings, you may have to cut out some of the top of the box where the bouts would fall. Otherwise, if you have chosen your box carefully, it will be narrow enough to play without too much difficulty! You can create your own fingerboard and tailpiece and pegs, but I prefer to order mine for a more professional look, and you can find these sets online. EBay is a good place to get an entire set for less than $20.

Hope this helps, good luck with your build!