Laughs, Corpses... and a Little Romance

by Michael White

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  Next day was the day I was going to visit the old clockmaker with my grandfather clock. I was pretty excited about it. I wrapped the clock in an old blanket and fixed it firmly into the cab of dad’s truck with elastic straps. When I arrived at the house the old clockmaker was waiting for me. Bert Williams was a little old guy with white hair and knuckles swollen with arthritis. He was wearing carpet slippers, and his clothes looked worn with many washings. “Let’s see what you’ve got there,” he said. We carried the clock into his lounge room and unwrapped it. Bert looked at the dial, then opened the back and looked in. “Nice clock,” he said, “made somewhere near London about 1920, German movement, oak case, a bit the worse for neglect, side panel of the case is cracked. Must have been quite expensive when it was new. You got the key?” “What key?” I asked. “The key to wind it up. Must have got lost. Never mind, I’ve probably got a spare one in the odds and ends box.” He opened a cupboard. “Here, lift this box up on the table.” I lifted it up. It was full of all sorts of little gears and clock bits and pieces. Bert routed around and pulled out a key. “Now, let’s see if it’s in working order.” He put the key through a hole in the dial and started to wind, then he pushed the pendulum. Nothing happened. “I’ll have to take the movement out.” He fetched a roll of small tools from a drawer, pulled off the hands on the face and unhooked the weights and the pendulum. “Here Tim, undo these nuts and lift out the movement.” I lifted the whole brass machinery out onto the table. Bert started taking it all apart, laying the bits out on a cloth.

  “Here’s the trouble” he said, “bent pinion shaft. I’ll have to make a new one. Here, help me lift out my lathe.” The lathes I had seen in the boatyard were very heavy pieces of machinery, but this was a baby one, only about half a metre long, and it bolted onto the workbench and plugged into a power socket on the wall. “What a small lathe,” I said. “It’s a watchmakers lathe. Haven’t used it for years.” He put on a pair of magnifiers over his glasses, scratched around in the oddments box and pulled out a little steel piece. He measured the old part with calipers, then machined the new part to the same size. “There we are” he said, “let’s try it.” He started to reassemble the movement. I watched with astonishment as he put all the dozens of parts back into place in the correct order without ever hesitating. “I’m cleaning out the bearings and lubricating as I go,” he said, “you have to use very thin oil or the clock won’t run.” He eventually had the whole movement reassembled. “Put it back in the case Tim.” I put it back in and did up the nuts, and Bert hooked the weights and the pendulum back on. He wound up the clock and pushed the pendulum, and I heard a slow ticking sound. “There, should be fine now.” “What are the weights for?” “Well they drive the clock as they gradually fall. You have to wind ’em back up once a week.” “Why does it have three weights?” “One for the clock, one for the strike, and one for the chime.” “What are the strike and chime?” Bert looked at me a bit surprised. “Strikes the hours and chimes the quarters. Here, I’ll show you.” He moved the hands a little and suddenly the sound of bells came from the clock. “You never heard one before? Westminster chimes, the same as Big Ben at the Houses of Commons in London.”

  I stood there enchanted, watching the pendulum slowly swinging and all the gears going round. “It’s beautiful, but I’ll never be able to fix it myself.” Bert looked at me, with a smile on his lined old face. “Ah well, clock repairing is a very skilled trade, takes you years to learn." He took a book down off the shelf and showed me a photo of a pocket watch. “Look at this watch, it’s a wealthy gentleman’s repeater watch. Press a button on the side and it chimes the hours, quarters and minutes. Not more than half a dozen people in the whole world can repair those fellows. Clock and watch repairing is a dying trade these days, with all new clocks being electronic and plastic gears and made in China. Only job left for watchmakers these days is changing batteries. No, you stick to boat repairing. Still, you should be able to do a good job re-varnishing the case; it’s pretty much like varnishing a boat. Here, I’ll lend you a book on how to do it.” He pulled another book down off the shelf and handed it to me.

  “You can adjust it to keep perfect time by turning this nut on the bottom of the pendulum; screw it up to go faster and down to go slower. Wind the weights up at the same time each week and keep it in a cool dry room and it’ll outlast your lifetime. “What does this writing on the dial mean Mr. Williams?" "'Tempus Fugit', it’s Latin, it means ‘Time Flies’, which reminds me, it’s three o’clock and I haven’t had my lunch yet.” “I’m surprised your missus hasn’t been in to hassle you." "Oh she died three years ago. I live on my own now,” he said sadly. “It’s been wonderful watching you work Mr. Williams, how much do I owe you?” “Oh don’t worry about that, it’s been a pleasure working on a nice clock again. Off you go now and take your clock home, and give my regards to your dad.” He seemed a lonely man.

  I wrapped up the clock again, stowed it in the front seat of the truck, and drove home slowly so as not to jar it. When I got home I stood the clock in the lounge, installed the pendulum and wound up all the weights. I gave the pendulum a push and the clock started a slow ticking. At four o’clock the clock chimed four quarters, then struck the hour four times. Mum came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Got it going then Tim! What a lovely sound! I haven’t heard that since I was a young girl.” “Going to take up clock repairing now Tim?” Jack asked when he came home. “No, Mr. Williams says it’s a dying trade, no call for it any more. He told me to stick to boat maintenance. Anyway, it’s a very skilled trade, takes years to learn, although I did learn quite a lot today. I’m glad I went.” “What this on the dial?” “'Tempus Fugit', it’s Latin. It means ‘Time Flies’." "Well you are a clever little bugger aren’t you!”