Thunér Pipes: Difference between revisions

'''Ronny Thunér - Pipemaker''' by '''Jan Andersson'''

'''Ronny Thunér''' is youngest among the '''Swedish''' pipemakers and started making pipes in the beginning of 2005. He early proved to be very talented, and he has got a lot of help to learn the job properly from some of the very best pipemakers such as [[Bengt Carlson]], [[Love Geiger]], [[Martin Vollmer]], [[Anders Nilsson]], [[Tom Eltang]] and [[Soren Refbjerg]].

   

In the following open-hearted story, '''Ronny''' tells us about his entire life, which has not been easy, and how he became a pipemaker. It is a strong story, so please read it carefully.

'''An Odyssey by Ronny Thunér'''

'''THE PIPE DREAM THAT ENDED A NIGHTMARE'''

Sometimes in Sweden’s long summer evenings, I lay aside the tools of my trade and gaze over the placid lake and the trees beyond. I listen to a rhapsody of silence. Then, slowly, I light my pipe.  

It would be cute and easy to say that my life started when I broke my battered but beloved old pipe and, whilst seeking to replace it, I accidentally stumbled into my craft. To an extent, that’s true, and I’ll tell the tale later. But the whole truth must begin with a tear-away child who grew to become an outcast, living – always one step ahead of the law – in a murky underworld of drugs, fear and unspeakable violence.  

I have snapshot recollections of early childhood; my father shooting his air gun in the cellar, the horrendous car crash that took away his mind when I was just four years old and left him a remote and helpless cripple. One day, after seventeen years in an institution for the severely handicapped, he remembered my name.  

For many years, I’d been a pipe-smoker and had one battered old briar that had been my only friend during my time on the run. One day, the stem broke. I forced the plastic casing from a cheap ballpoint pen into the shank by way of repair. It didn’t work.  

Contrary to foreign fanciful thinking, pipe-smoking isn’t big in Sweden. All I could lay hands on to replace my poor pipe was a tacky basket case that had been gathering dust in a local tobacconist’s shop. It was truly disgusting.  

I was just an apprentice. You can imagine my excitement when the masters of the craft were so impressed by my work that they arranged to hold a week-long workshop where they could each tutor me in their individual skills.  

The doctors had warned me that medication was only part of the cure for ADHD. The other part, I would have to find for myself. And I had. Drugs and degradation, solitude and violence became a fading nightmare as I threw myself with all the energy I once squandered on destruction into my new life as a junior member of this tightly-knit fraternity of artisans.  

Lady Luck has smiled on me. Perhaps she smokes a pipe.