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The Forge LedgerWorking iron, and the iron already standing

Tools

Tongs that fit the work

A pair of tongs that nearly fits the stock is not a small annoyance. It is the reason the piece landed on the floor.

Illustrative image: six pairs of blacksmith tongs hanging by their reins from a steel rail, jaws of different patterns.
Illustrative image. No photograph on this site documents a real place, building, object or person.

A blacksmith’s moves on a bar are few: lengthen it, shorten and fatten it, bend it, cut it, punch it, join it. Every one of those moves is made on metal too hot to touch, and so on a bar that somebody is holding. Tongs are that grip, a tool used to hold and lift objects often too hot for the hand, in place of the hand itself. The parts count is trivial, two arms and one joint, and yet the whole character of a pair rests on one decision, where the pivot sits.

The pivot near the handle

When the joint sits close to the handle and the arms run long, ending in small, flat, circular faces, the tool is built for delicate objects. The common fire tongs work this way, picking up pieces of coal and setting them on the fire without burning fingers or blackening them. Kitchen tongs for grilling, for salad, for spaghetti belong to the same type, and their point is control at the far end, a way to move, rotate and turn food with delicate precision, or to fetch a full serving in one grab. Some pairs carry resting points, shaped so the working end never touches the bench surface the tool is set down on.

The pivot down at the jaws

Move the joint to the other end, close to the gripping ends, and the tool changes character. This placement serves hard and heavy objects, and it gathers the driller’s round tongs, the crucible tongs and the blacksmith’s tongs into a single family. What the individual jaw shapes then do with a given bar is a question the encyclopedia entry leaves to the workshop, and it is the real one: the shape of the jaws is what matches a pair to a job.

The oldest picture of the tool

Tongs are old enough to have a record. They were known to the Ancient Egyptians, and the earliest forms were probably basic wooden tongs, followed by bronze bars from as early as 3000 BCE. A wall painting from 1450 BCE is more specific still: it shows a crucible supported between two metal bars. The oldest surviving image of the tool therefore shows the hot, heavy family, the joint down at the jaws, at work beside a furnace rather than a table. The tongs entry on Wikipedia gathers these dates and both families in one place, with its citations behind them.

One band of bent metal

A third construction lives mostly in the dining room. Sugar tongs, and most asparagus tongs, are a single band of bent metal rather than two arms on a joint. Sugar tongs are usually silver, with claw-shaped or spoon-shaped ends made for serving lump sugar. Asparagus tongs follow the same idea but larger, with a band near the head that limits how far they can open; the serving kind appeared in 18th-century England, the smaller eating kind in the 19th century, and they are no longer common. The kitchen branch still collects engineering, since silicone-tipped locking pairs are built to stand temperatures up to 500 °F (260 °C), and long-handled locking models are made for the grill.

What is the other hand doing?

For a smith the tool has one job, keeping the work at forging heat and away from skin. That heat comes out of a fire built with method, and how the forge fire is built has a page of its own here. Iron moves from red through orange and yellow toward white, with most forging done at a bright yellow-orange, a range no hand can take.

The old division of labor at the anvil shows the part tongs play. The smith holds the hot iron in tongs in one hand and taps the metal with a small hammer in the other, marking where the blow should land; the striker, often an apprentice, delivers it with a sledgehammer. That second role has faded from the 20th century into the 21st, as trip hammers and power hammers took over the heavy blows. The tongs stayed, holding the bar through drawing out and upsetting.

How was the first pair made?

A classical Jewish text, the Pirkei Avot, answers the question with a myth: the first pair of tongs was created by God, after the rest on the seventh day of creation. The reasoning is a loop. A blacksmith needs a pair of tongs to make a new pair of tongs, so the first pair must have been given rather than forged. Working smiths meet the loop from the other side. One open primer for beginners suggests heavy locking pliers as a stand-in until the skill exists to make a proper pair, notes that ready-made smith’s tongs can be bought, and advises scavenging garage sales for nippers, pliers and shears to adapt, even when rusty or worn past use in their original role.

Sorting the drawer

The encyclopedia entry has limits worth knowing. It publishes no catalog of named jaw patterns, no dimensions, no dating of the smith’s forms, and it does not explain why one pivot placement holds better than another. It gives the families, the dates and its references, and stops there. That is still enough to work with tonight. Collect every pair of tongs in the house, from the kitchen drawer, the fireplace and the barbecue kit, and find the pivot on each. Sort them by its position, handle end or jaw end, and set apart any single-band sugar pattern the silver drawer turns up. The next photograph of a smith at work will then show the joint before anything else.

en.wikipedia.org is the free encyclopedia behind the entry linked above. Its tongs article runs in 28 languages, carries a short reference list, and sorts the subject into the two pivot families. Sister boxes around it link definitions on Wiktionary, media on Commons, quotations on Wikiquote, texts on Wikisource, textbooks on Wikibooks, under categories from serving utensils to metalworking hand tools.