My Victorian Armchair Find: A Restoration Story
“Some treasures don’t come from antique shops or auctions, they’re stumbled upon in the most unexpected places.”
This particular Victorian Armchair was one such discovery, found abandoned at the side of Bath Road during a quiet Sunday walk. Weathered, worn, and almost forgotten, it still held the elegance of its era beneath the layers of dust and time. Rather than watch this piece of history disappear into landfill, I felt compelled to rescue it.
What follows is a careful, sometimes painstaking, journey of restoration: stripping back old layers, repairing a tired frame, polishing its brass details (yes, even at the cost of its aged patina), and slowly rebuilding it using traditional upholstery techniques. One of its most charming original features? Beautiful hand-turned wooden legs, each fitted with brass castors and delicate What followed was a careful, sometimes painstaking, journey of restoration: stripping back old layers, repairing a tired frame, polishing its brass details (yes, even at the cost of its aged patina), and slowly rebuilding it using traditional upholstery techniques. One of its most charming original features? Beautiful hand-turned wooden legs, each fitted with brass castors and delicate porcelain wheels, small but exquisite details that hinted at its once-grand past.
Stripping Back the Old Layers
Every restoration project begins with uncovering the past, and with this Victorian armchair, that meant stripping away more than a century’s worth of upholstery. As I pulled off each layer, I was essentially peeling back time, finding the work of previous upholsterers, some skilled, others… not so much.
Beneath the faded fabric, I discovered the traditional fillings that had been used for generations: horsehair, coconut fibre (often called “ginger fibre”), and hessian. These materials were imported, inexpensive, and most importantly, long-lasting. Before coconut husk became commonplace, Victorian upholsterers sometimes used straw, so it’s not unusual to find a little history stuffed inside a chair.
Its always fascinating to see how the layers had been built up originally: webbing stretched tight across the frame, hessian tacked down, then loose fibres teased into place and hand-stitched to create the shape.
In some areas, I could even see where an upholsterer from years ago had taken shortcuts, a rushed frame repair here and there, reminders that this chair had been worked on more than once in its lifetime.
But stripping back isn’t just about curiosity; it’s essential preparation. Old upholstery is often riddled with broken tacks, tack holes, degraded fillings, and sometimes even evidence of woodworm or frame damage. Removing every nail and fibre allows the frame to be repaired properly and gives a clean slate for rebuilding with new traditional materials. It’s slow work, but it’s also one of the most important stages in making sure the restoration will last another hundred years.
Frame Repairs & Preparation
Once the old upholstery had been stripped away, I was left with the bare bones of the chair and it was clear that the frame had suffered over its long life. Like many antique pieces, this armchair had been repaired before, though not always to the highest standard. To give it a strong foundation for the new upholstery, I needed to carry out several key frame repairs.
The first issue was a split running through the inside back, which I could only access by removing one of the arms. By carefully prising the joint apart, I was able to work wood glue deep into the split. Clamps held the break tightly closed while it set, and I reinforced the repair with angled wood screws to make sure it would hold under pressure.
Years of reupholstering had left the frame riddled with old tack holes, so I mixed up a paste of fine sawdust and PVA glue to fill them in. After drying overnight, the paste could be sanded flush with the frame, creating a smooth, even surface for new tacks to grip properly.
In a few areas, time had been less kind, leaving small chunks of wood missing altogether. For these, I used a two-part filler, carefully shaping and blending it into the contours of the frame once it cured. These invisible repairs not only restored the appearance of the wood but also added strength where it was needed.
Finally, attention turned to the legs. The old wood stain was stripped back, the surface sanded smooth, and then refinished with a warm oak stain that complemented the age of the chair. A protective wax polish gave the wood a subtle sheen, bringing the legs back to life without looking over-restored.
With the frame solid, smooth, and polished, the chair was finally ready for its new layers of upholstery.
Brass Castors – The Polishing Debate
No Victorian armchair is complete without its castors, and on this chair, they were a project in themselves. Removing them was the first challenge, each one was held in place with three rusty screws, plus a rod driven up into the leg. What should have been a quick job turned into a long battle, with plenty of coaxing and persistence before they finally came free.
Once off, the real work began. I gave the castors a long soak in a non-ammoniated cleaning solution from Priory Polishes to loosen decades of grime and grease. The porcelain wheels also needed gentle cleaning, as they are more delicate than the brass. After their bath, the brass still carried a dull coating, so I attacked it with wire wool to scrub away the surface layer.
That was only the start. To achieve the shine I was after, I went through multiple rounds of filing, sanding, and polishing, slowly working my way through the grits. Using a 3 part polishing compound at the very end.
Each castor took over four hours to reach a mirror finish a true labour of love (or maybe stubbornness). By the end, even the staff at Toolstation knew me by name from all the polishing kits and metal compounds I had been testing.
The end result was gleaming, golden-bright castors but not without controversy! Some antique restorers prefer to keep the natural patina, seeing it as part of the chair’s history but personally, I love the look of freshly polished brass, especially when paired with crisp new upholstery. To me, it makes the chair feel revitalised while still honouring its Victorian bones.
Choosing the Fabric
With the frame repaired, the castors gleaming, and the groundwork laid, it was time for one of the most exciting (and daunting) decisions in the whole project , choosing the fabric.
I wanted the fabric to feel personal as well as appropriate for the chair, so I sourced it locally from Lewis & Wood, who, fittingly, are based on Bath Road, the very same road where I found the armchair abandoned.
It felt only right that the chair should be dressed in something with such a close local connection.
The selection process, however, was not easy. Lewis & Wood produce beautiful fabrics, and narrowing it down to just one felt almost impossible. After much indecision and some helpful persuasion through online votes, I settled on Chamba in the colourway Gemstone along with Wid Rice in Caspian.
To add depth and contrast, I paired it with Wild Rice, a complementary fabric that would play a secondary role in the upholstery scheme.
Once the fabric arrived, the next challenge was pattern placement. Unlike plain weaves, patterned textiles demand precision. I carefully positioned the bold Chamba design so the floral motif sat centrally on the inside back and worked out the pattern placement for the inside of my chair so it flowed seamlessly across to each arm. This kind of detail takes time but makes all the difference, ensuring the finished chair feels balanced and harmonious.
This was the stage where the chair really started to hint at the personality it would eventually reveal — a perfect blend of Victorian craftsmanship and modern design choice.
Upholstery: The Inside Arms
With the frame solid and the fabric chosen, it was finally time to begin the most rewarding stage — building up the upholstery layers. Each layer has a purpose, and each one builds on the last to create strength, comfort, and shape that will last for decades.
The arms were the first area to be rebuilt. The process began with jute webbing, stretched tightly across the frame to create a supportive base. Over this went a layer of hessian, tacked down to hold the fibres in place.
Next came the stuffing — in this case, ginger fibre, a coarse material made from coconut husk. Each handful was teased and fluffed to remove hard clumps and then secured with stuffing ties to keep it evenly distributed. The arm edges were stitched into carefully hand-formed rolled edges, giving them firmness and a neat, defined contour.
Over the ginger fibre, a second stuffing of animal hair fibre was applied, which added softness and resilience. Modern upholsterers still use it because it’s durable and breathable. The animal hair softened the hardness of the coir, creating a comfortable yet supportive surface. Finally, a layer of cotton wadding and calico compressed everything into shape before the top fabric went on.
Upholstery: The Inside Back
The inside back was more complex, requiring both springing and stuffing to build up comfort and structure. I began by adding my webbings and stitching in two rows of springs, which were lashed together with a four-way tie — vertically and horizontally — to keep them in line and working together.
Once the springs were tied, a layer of heavy-weight hessian was stretched over and stitched directly to the tops of the coils, providing stability and a base for the stuffing. The first stuffing was again ginger fibre, secured with stuffing ties and hand-stitched into a rolled edge along the top to define the shape.
Over this, a second stuffing of animal hair was added. To refine the shape further, a layer of cotton wadding was applied, before covering the back in calico, stretched and tacked neatly to the frame. Calico acts like a rehearsal for the top cover, shaping the upholstery while containing the fibres and wadding securely.
Finally, the top fabric was applied, carefully aligned so the bold floral pattern flowed seamlessly across the back and arms. With that, the inside of the chair was complete..
Upholstery: The Seat Base
After completing the inside arms and back, it was time to turn my attention to the seat — the part of the chair that takes the most wear and tear, and where comfort is absolutely essential.
The seat begins with a black herringbone webbing, which was stretched tightly and woven front-to-back and side-to-side to create a strong, stable platform. This lattice provides the first layer of support for the seat.
On top of the webbing, I positioned nine coil springs, spacing them evenly across the base. Each spring was hand-stitched to the webbing with four knots to anchor it securely. Once in place, the springs were lashed together with a traditional 8-way tie — front to back, side to side, and diagonally — so that they worked in unison as a single, balanced unit. This system ensures the springs won’t drift, lean, or collapse under pressure.
With the spring unit completed, I tacked down a layer of heavy hessian over the top, stitching it directly to the spring coils for stability. This hessian layer acts as a protective barrier between the springs and the upholstery materials above.
The first stuffing layer was ginger fibre (coconut husk), which was placed under bridle ties to prevent it from shifting over time. Once the fibre was evenly distributed, I began the laborious task of stitching the front edge. Over the course of half a day, I worked six rows of blind stitching to compress and firm the edge, aiming for a finished seat height of 10cm. I fell just short at 9cm — but after hours of work, I wasn’t about to undo everything for the sake of one centimetre!
To finish, I switched to a curved needle for a top stitch, which rolled and defined the seat edge. This final row gave the front edge its clean, rounded shape and added strength where the chair experiences the most pressure.
With the firm base complete, I added a second stuffing of animal hair. For added comfort, I layered cotton wadding over the animal hair to smooth and soften the surface. Then came calico, stretched tightly, cut to fit around the frame, and stitched under the front edge.
Finally, I applied the top cover fabric, carefully pattern-matching it to the inside back so the design flowed seamlessly across the chair. With this stage complete, the seat was both comfortable and structurally sound.
The Outside of the Chair
Making Single Piping
With the inside complete, it was time for detail. I made single piping from velvet strips cut on the bias (45° across the roll). Cutting this way allows the fabric to stretch smoothly around curves. A 4mm cord was wrapped inside, stitched on my sewing machine with a piping foot, and transformed into long lengths of velvet piping.
Piping isn’t just decorative On this chair, it also highlighted the scrolls of the arms and defined the arms and borders.
You can learn to make your own Single & Double Piping with my online class here.
Creating the Arm Faces
The arm faces are one of the most visible details on a Victorian armchair, so precision is key. First, I added a line of piping to frame the shape of the scroll arm. This not only gives the edge definition but also provides a clean line for the fabric to sit against.
Next, I softened the surface by filling the arm face with a layer of cotton wadding, creating a smooth base. Finally, I cut panels of Wild Rice fabric from Lewis & Wood, aligned them carefully with the piping, and stitched them in by hand using a slip stitch (also known as a blind stitch). This stitch is almost invisible — the needle catches only a few threads of fabric before running back inside the seam — so the fabric appears to flow seamlessly into the piping.
Excess fabric was then trimmed back and tucked neatly underneath, leaving the arm faces ready for the next stage of the upholstery build-up.
Constructing the Front Border
The front border of a chair is one of the first things you see, so it has to be crisp, strong, and neatly finished. To begin, I fixed a line of burgundy velvet piping along the top edge to frame the border and give it definition.
Next, I packed the space between the frame and the fabric with cotton wadding. This extra padding softens the void beneath the border and ensures there are no hollows or uneven spots once the fabric is stretched into place.
The border fabric itself was hand-stitched under the seat lip using a blind stitch, keeping the seam invisible while holding the fabric securely. I then stretched the panel evenly across the front and fixed it to the underside of the frame with upholstery tacks.
The trickiest part was working around the front legs. Here, I made precise 45° cuts in the fabric to release tension, then pleated it neatly around the curves. To finish, I secured everything with decorative antique-bronze upholstery nails. These nails not only reinforce the fabric in a high-stress area but also add a subtle decorative detail that ties in with the polished brass castors below.
Finishing the Outside
Compared to the complex upholstery work on the inside of the chair, finishing the outside panels was a much simpler process though precision was still key. Each section began with a layer of hessian stretched tightly across the frame to create a stable foundation. Over this, I added piping to frame the edges, followed by a thin layer of cotton wadding to soften the surface without adding bulk. Finally, the top fabric was applied.
The biggest challenge here wasn’t the layering, but the pattern matching. With large-scale designs like the Chamba fabric, alignment is everything. I carefully positioned each panel so the motifs flowed as naturally as possible from the inside arms onto the outside. At the same time, I worked to keep the height of the pattern consistent across the outside back and sides. On curved Victorian frames, perfect alignment is nearly impossible, but the goal is to create visual harmony so that the eye reads the fabric as a continuous design.
Once positioned, the fabric was trimmed, pleated, and tacked neatly into place. Around the legs, careful cuts allowed the fabric to fold smoothly without bunching.
After three weeks of work, 18 documented episodes, and more stitches than I could ever count, this once-forgotten roadside find has been transformed into a showpiece. Stripped right back to its bare frame, repaired, rebuilt, and upholstered layer by layer using only traditional methods, the chair is now a blend of Victorian craftsmanship and carefully chosen modern fabric design.
This project shows exactly what upholstery can achieve. It’s about sustainability, rescuing furniture that would otherwise end up in landfill. It’s about tradition, using natural fibres like coconut coir, animal hair, and cotton, along with hand-stitching techniques passed down for generations. And it’s about creativity, making each piece unique through fabric selection, pattern placement, and finishing details like piping and decorative nails.
This Victorian armchair now has a new lease of life. With the right care, it won’t just survive in my home , it will stand strong and beautiful for another good few decades, carrying its story into the future.
