Today I stick to what I’m good at. Instead of pen and paper, I pick up 

crowbar and pallet-breaker. I will demolish with them. 

I recently became the proud owner of an old house, a stone-built Victorian terrace in the historic walled town of Berwick-upon-Tweed. Builders in the nineteenth century did not create energy efficient homes. Neither did the builders who ‘upgraded’ the property in the 1980s. My survey report pointed out the complete lack of insulation and suggested that I might want to install some. When the wind is blowing off the North Sea, even in the summer, Berwick can be a cold place, especially for a skinny-ribs like me. So, no-brainer, my first job had to be insulate, insulate, insulate.  

Phase1: demolition. There is no easy way to retrofit insulation inside an old house. I had to go for it - strip the interior right back to its bare stone walls. There was no feasible alternative to a frenzy of destruction. 

Friar Laurence: Get me an iron crow and bring it straight unto my cell.  

(Romeo and Juliet, Act 5, Sc 2.) 

When serious deconstruction is required, the crowbar has been the tool of choice for centuries. The first use of the lever was prehistoric. Stone Age builders could not have created their amazing megaliths without it. The first use of the iron crow, or crowbar, must surely have swiftly followed the discovery that metal can be melted and formed into useful objects. 

My theory (lacking evidence) is that the original iron crow was a straight bar with a viscous pointed end - like a crow’s beak. These are still in production, but the most common contemporary design consists of a long bar, curved at one end into a goose neck; both ends flattened and bifurcated, like a pig’s trotter (albeit one that looks like it’s been run over by a tractor). But ‘trotter-bar’ never caught on and today the term crowbar is used generically for a whole family of tools bent on destruction: prybar, heelbar, jimmy, jemmy, utility bar, wrecking bar. I guess it is symbolic - the iron crow and its feathered namesake both having the power to wreak havoc.  

Hey skinny, yer ribs are showing! 

(Advert for Charles Atlas Body-Building Programme) 

For less than twenty pounds I added the Roughneck Gorilla Bar to my armoury. Other brands are available, but I was irresistibly seduced by the power of the marketing machine. I imagined myself parading in my underpants, my puny biceps pumped up like balloons, just like the guy in those 1970s newspaper ads. But I was also impressed with the vital statistics of the object itself: drop-forged, heat-treated steel for ultimate power (who doesn’t want ultimate power); wide low-profile jaws for easier penetration and more effective prying (who doesn’t want more effective prying); a comfortable slip resistant grip for enhanced control…  

Like so many of the more modest human inventions, the impact of the crowbar is easily overlooked. Building things has been a human impulse since humans started having impulses - and so has botching things. A botch-job involves less effort and is cheaper than doing a proper job. Hence the preponderance of substandard edifices and ugliness. I don’t blame the tradesmen (and women) for this. They have to work within the constraints of time and money placed upon them - despite their in-built Protestant Work Ethic. And building standards change over time. So, armed with my Roughneck Gorilla Bar I embarked on my crusade to purge my little house of the sins and omissions of the past, to return it to a state of purity and grace, ready for it’s rebirth as a house fit for twenty-first century living.  

I love the sound of breaking glass 

Deep into the night 

(Nick Lowe) 

Well, maybe not breaking glass, but there is a real sensual pleasure in destroying something that must be destroyed. The crack of splintering wood sends a tingle down my spine; the creak of a six-inch nail finally coming loose is music to my ears; the kinaesthetic joy of it all! By now you are surely thinking I’m some kind of weirdo, possibly a dangerous one who should be locked up. Fear not! Deriving pleasure from destroying things is quite normal and psychiatrists recognise the positive impact it has on emotional well-being. The crowbar should be available on prescription! 

A good workout with a crowbar can lead to an endorphin rush and the subsequent feeling of well-being that this promotes. Endorphins are hormones produced in the pituitary gland and hypothalamus in the brain. They are often referred to as the body’s natural pain killers. But endorphin production is also stimulated by pleasurable activities like physical exercise, eating, sex - and demolition. 

Psychiatrists also agree that, for many people, the act of destruction is cathartic, allowing negative emotions to be purged. Who hasn’t had the urge to smash something when strong emotions well up inside? Demolition provides a means to channel these emotions towards a positive outcome.  

The act of destruction can be empowering, engendering a sense of control. The wielder of the crowbar is endowed with superhuman strength, enabling them to tear down the barriers preventing the attainment of desires and goals. It has even been suggested that destroying superfluous inanimate objects can be an act of rebellion - a means of releasing suppressed inhibitions. 

Every act of creation is first an act of destruction. 

(Pablo Picasso) 

So, having embraced the need to regress before I can progress, I have reduced my house to a rubble-strewn cave. With a tinge of disappointment that my wrecking days are over, I must move on to Phase 2: Reconstruction. It is time to put down my trusty crowbar and pick up my spirit level. Oh, the joy of getting things straight! 

Most of the research for my essay was carried out using Wikipedia, which is a wonderful, open-access online resource. I make an annual contribution to Wikipedia and would encourage others to do likewise. 

History and Use of the Crowbar: hausoftools.com 

www.roughneck-tools.com