The Doctor's Visit

Too fast or too slow.  I am referring to time and to its messengers, clocks.  We could put grease on the linchpin of an axle, put oil on a bicycle chain, rub poteen into the back of a greyhound or increase the consumption of raw eggs before a sporting event, all to improve performance, but when a grandfather clock did not perform, we were helpless.  One well-read man said that the pendulum was central to good operation; I thought the weights held all the keys.  Only William could tell.

William arrived via the stile and path from Callinans.  This was pre-drone taxi days. The kitchen was his for the day and the big table too; food would be secondary and silence supreme. We knew our Irish: “Bhi fear ag obair agus go dian”. Bolts, screws, wheels, big and small, made their way on to the white deal table which had been recently, scrubbed with rabbit sand.  Only William could put that clock together again and he did, helped by a small magnifying glass.

By angelus time, Brendan Shine could be singing “Clock on the Wall” again.  A doctor of clocks had breathed new life.  Best of all, William would sleep in the kitchen for the night.  This was the ultimate guarantee of a well-serviced clock, one with a more gentle tick-tock and more heavenly chimes.  Ar dheis De go raibh a anam.