Before you pick up a scraper, spend twenty minutes with a torch reading the staircase you actually have, rather than the one you remember from the estate agent's photos. In most Victorian and Edwardian homes the treads are pitch pine or deal, worn into shallow hollows where thousands of feet have landed. Run a hand along each tread nose: if the wear has left a sharp lip, that is not just cosmetic, it is the bit you catch your heel on at seven in the morning.
Check for movement. Grip the bottom newel post and try to rock it; a wobble usually means a loose joint below floor level or a bracket that has let go behind the plaster. Look up at the handrail and see whether it dips between brackets, and walk the stairs slowly, listening for creaks. Note which steps complain, because you will want to deal with them while the wood is bare.
One safety note first. Paint in homes built before the 1960s may contain lead, so a home test kit is money well spent. If the paint is sound you can seal it, but if you plan to sand it back, work with a properly rated mask, ventilate the stairwell and keep the dust contained rather than drifting through the house.
This is the stage most people rush, and it is the stage that decides whether the rest of the household forgives you. A stairwell behaves like a chimney: dust swept off an upper tread will settle on the landing carpet two floors up.
Start with an 80-grit abrasive to strip old finish and flatten worn areas, move to 120, and finish at 180. Anything coarser will leave scratches that show the moment a finish goes on. A random orbit sander suits the flat treads and risers, while a detail sander or a hand block cut to size will reach into corners. For the concave moulding under the tread nose, a cabinet scraper is far better than any power tool.
Balusters and spindles should be sanded by hand, working along the grain with strips of abrasive. Be careful not to round over the edges of square spindles; that softness is the giveaway of an over-enthusiastic restoration. If you find dents in the treads, lay a damp cloth over them and press with a warm iron, which can raise the crushed fibres a surprising amount.
Chemical stripper earns its keep in the awkward places: the junctions between tread and riser, the turned details on the newel, and any moulded string capping.
Bare wood is the only chance you get to do these properly. Take it.
Domestically, a staircase takes more foot traffic than any other timber surface in the house, so the finish on the treads matters more than anywhere else. A hard wax oil is the friendliest option for a period home: it soaks in, looks warm and natural, and can be spot-repaired on a worn tread without stripping the whole flight. Expect to refresh the treads every two or three years.
Water-based lacquer is tougher and dries quickly with little odour, which matters in a house you are still living in. It does show drips and brush marks, so apply thin coats with a good synthetic brush and accept that three coats on the treads and two elsewhere is the sensible minimum. Traditional wax and Danish oil look lovely on a handrail but are far too soft for treads. Between coats, de-nib lightly with 320-grit abrasive or 0000 wire wool, then dust off thoroughly.
Once cured, keep the stairs dry. Damp mopping is fine occasionally, but standing water will raise the grain and dull the finish. Wipe the handrail with a dry cloth, and lift rather than drag anything heavy up the flight. After a few years the busiest treads will tell you when they need a light rub down and a fresh coat. Do that early and the staircase you have just brought back to life will comfortably see out another generation of shoes.
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