My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
The song goes on to recount how the clock knew all the ups and
downs of the grandfather’s life – but it stopped short – never to go again –
when the old man died. While I always sang it with gusto during music class I
thought the song was sad and a bit morbid – and I often wondered the purpose it
served in our elementary school song books. I didn’t think of it often until
many years later, shortly after my own father passed away. My grandfather
didn’t have clocks that I remember – but my dad loved clocks, and he was a
‘grand’ father! He would have had a house, or a museum, full of clocks if
his budget had allowed that pursuit. I don’t think he ever saw a clock he
didn’t like. He had more clocks in his home than most people I know but they
were special clocks and very well displayed. There was a story behind most all
of his clocks. I’d like to share a few of my dad’s clocks and a bit of their
story with you. No, they didn’t stop the day he died - all are still
keeping time quite nicely except for one that needs a bit
of repair. I’ll tell you about that one, too, because it has special memories
for me.
A gorgeous ‘Victorian Gingerbread Clock’ stood on my mom and
dad’s mantel for many years. Right after I graduated from high school I had a
job at a local azalea nursery where I met a young, married woman. As we became
acquainted she told me about her home and husband and children. One day she
told me about an antique clock she wanted to sell. Immediately I knew my father
might be interested in the clock so a day or two later he and I went to her home
to look at it. He bought the clock and proudly took it home where it stood on the mantel of his new home. Over the years the clock chimed on the hour and the
half-hour until one day it stopped chiming on the hour. It also stopped chiming
on the half-hour – but it did chime at twenty-five minutes after each hour.
Many times my dear mother would be somewhere in the house when the clock chimed
and she would say, ‘It’s twenty-five minutes after something!’ It worked that
way until after my father passed away. One day my sweet mother met a clock
repair man who cleaned and repaired the clock so it would chime at the
right time again. It sat on her mantel over the past years and was always a
conversation piece when someone stopped to visit her for the first time. This
beautiful clock has found its way to my home now and it almost always brings a
smile to my face when the chimes ring out through my home.
You may remember the days of S&H Green Stamps. Many things in
my parents’ home were the result of my mother saving Green Stamps over the
years. She spent countless hours looking through the Green Stamp Redemption Catalog
as she carefully planned what she would get the next time we were near a
redemption center. This clock was one of many things that became a favorite in
our home. It has hung for many years in the closet of a bedroom that Mom and
Dad turned into an office/library room. They took the doors off the closet and
used that space to add room for more of my mother’s vintage book collection. This clock has also found a new home at my house. It now hangs on
the wall of a bedroom my sweetheart and I turned into our office and my creative
space/sewing room.
The purchase of one of my father’s clocks was the cause of
‘discussion’ between my parents. My father was the pastor of a church in a
small town in the Cascade Mountains of Central Oregon. We often drove to ‘the
valley’ for conferences and meetings. It was one such day after a meeting in
the valley that we stopped at a jeweler’s shop before we left the city to head
across the mountains toward home. I don’t remember the purpose of our stop at
the jeweler’s shop, but I will never forget that day – or that clock! I still
remember how it hung on a wall that was filled with all kinds of clocks. I don’t
remember why we went to that little shop but I do remember that almost the
minute my dad walked in a cuckoo clock that hung in the center of the wall
caught his attention. And his heart. By the time we walked out of the shop
that clock had been paid for, removed from the wall, carefully wrapped and
placed in a box that was handed to my father. My memories of the trip home are
vivid. It’s as if I’m still that little dark-haired, dark-eyed girl in the
backseat of the car as I listen to my parents discussion in the front seat -
they were discussing the clock! It must have been sometime around early May
because my father bought the clock for my mother - for Mother’s Day. The
problem? She didn’t want a cuckoo clock for Mother’s Day. Her heart was set on
a beautiful teakettle she had hinted about many, many times. In her
disappointment, somewhere in her heart she devised a plan. It shouldn’t have
been a surprise when a month later she gave my father that beautiful teakettle
for Father’s Day! I have no memory of the teakettle but I know they both
laughed a lot about it through the years and the truth was that my mother
absolutely loved her cuckoo clock. She loved it so much that when it stopped
because a handmade, wooden gear inside had worn out she kept it on her kitchen
wall and lovingly told the story of ‘her’ clock. She wanted to have it repaired
but she couldn’t find anyone nearby who could repair or replace the worn
gear. This is the clock doesn’t needs some repair. It works, but not quite right! It runs, it keeps time and the little cuckoo
bird comes out at the proper time but he seems very confused and tired. He
comes out and begins his ‘chirp’ but he never finishes what he starts. He says
‘cuck’ but can’t seem to find his voice to finish and add the ‘oo’ so he just
sits there until someone lovingly reminds him with a slight push of their finger
that it’s time for him to go back inside and close the door.
This clock will soon move to my home, too. My sweetheart wants to
have it repaired or he may try to hand-carve the cog and repair it himself. He's good at things like that! We are all very happy that these clocks are still at home with our family. I know my dear mother would be pleased – and I’m sure
my ‘grand’ father must smile with pleasure to see our joy as we recall our
memories of his dear clocks.
(The photos of each of these clocks were taken when the clocks were in my dear, little mother's home. The photo of the mantel clock was taken when her mantel was decorated for Christmas.)
song: 'Grandfather's Clock' written by Henry Clay Work (1876)
