An Old Mantle Clock

Dick prizes an old wooden mantle clock that his grandfather owned, and that he grew up with, hearing the chimes sound the hour and half-hour regularly. When it was passed down to him, it sat on our fieldstone fireplace mantle in Maine, and was wound every week on Sunday. I had to take it in to the clock repair shop at least once, but it was still working down here in Virginia until somehow (not me! not me!) it was over-wound; both the chimes and the time coils were too tight, and it just plain quit.

I missed it terribly; the bong! of the chimes kept me aware of the time anywhere in the house. If I woke during the night, somehow those chimes soothed my soul.

Every once in awhile, I'd take it down from the mantle, peek inside the door to the works, gently tap on the coiled springs, insert the key...but it wouldn't turn, and nothing happened. Back it went on the mantle, silent, useless really.

Two fellows in our choir at church are familiar with old clocks and they periodically clamber up into our church tower to re-set the clock there. I'd thought about asking them to look at our mantel clock, but just hadn't done so.

Now it was years since the clock had chimed, and I would dust it, polish the wood a bit, and leave it alone.

This holiday season, it occurred to me that I hadn't found anything to get for Dick yet this Christmas, so maybe I'd go look for a mantle clock that worked. After all, he is a grandfather and now a great-grandfather; he could start a new tradition with a new clock. In preparation, as I cleaned off the mantle for our nativity scene, I picked up the wooden clock, placing it on my lap to give it a good dusting. Christmas carols were playing on the radio, and as I polished the clock, I said a tiny prayer: Please let this clock work again.

Just that. Simple words, simple thought. And the clock began ticking. Strangely enough, it had the correct time on it...5 pm. The chimes rang! Five times. Sadie Mae was next to me on the couch and must have wondered why I was laughing out loud. Later, when Dick got home from hunting, I excitedly had him come over to the fireplace as soon as he'd taken off his boots and jacket. "Listen!" I told him, "just listen!" His hearing isn't that great, but I'd turned off the radio so there was no other sound but his grandfather's clock, ticking.

That was Tuesday evening. It is now Friday, and the clock has been working, ticking, sounding chimes, AND keeping the correct time to the minute since then. I'm not making this up, but that clock never did keep good time.

The yellowed paper directions inside the door to the clock recommend periodic oiling, but only with special clock oil from a company that existed 50-75 years ago. I think I'll ask those church friends where to find clock oil, and where to apply it. Along with a bit of prayer.