Calling time on the clock winder as technology beats tradition
At the click of a mouse, centuries of heritage will soon be swept away forever
IN an odd twist of fate, Alan Wilson is in the position of watching time – second by second – tick down on his own employment. For he is a clock winder responsible for some of Edinburgh’s – to coin a phrase – most striking timepieces. But soon hi-tech automatic winders triggered by computer will take over.
Today, though, I join him in squeezing between blackened beams beneath ancient rafters as he casts his eye over a magnificent mechanism of steel, brass and copper, picks up an old winding tool from the floor and makes precisely 42 turns on the ‘going barrel’ and 80 on the ‘strike barrel’.
‘The going barrel moves the hands on the dial and the strike barrel operates the bell.’ he says, running his hand over a thing of great beauty, and a testament to the skills of the long dead craftsmen who built it.
On the weekend when the clocks have gone forward, Mr Wilson’s weekly labour of love is a centuries old tradition which, sooner rather than later, will be brought to an end by a lack of cash in the public purse and the relentless march of technology.
By this time next year, the operation of this clock – and six others in some of Edinburgh City Council’s most imposing civic buildings – will be automated.
‘No pun intended, but time waits for no man,’ says Mr Wilson. ‘Everything eventually has to move forward, even this. It’s sad, but it makes sense, and in the long run it will save the council a great deal of money.
‘I do, of course, feel a great sense of regret, but it was probably inevitable. I would have loved it to continue but it’s hard to argue in the face of budget restraints.’
Having wound the mechanism, he steps with infinite care from the cramped tower onto a tiny, exposed runway which offers a spectacular view of the Royal Mile from the top of the Canongate Tolbooth He wants to establish that the hands stand at the correct time on the ‘clock’ suspended from the façade of the building.
‘ This i s the dial, sometimes wrongly called the ‘ f ace’,’ he corrects, pointing to what the uninitiated have the temerity to describe as a clock. ‘That is the clock!’ he adds, indicating the machine he had just wound.
After more than 30 years of overseeing this task, he is intimately familiar with its ‘unique’ personality.
SO delicate is the mechanism that a bird perched on the hands, a strong gust of wind or snow or rain can have the potential to upset the finely-tuned mechanism manufactured and installed 131 years ago by the famous Edinburgh clock-making firm James Ritchie & Son.
But Mr Wilson declares himself content; the hands quite rightly proclaim it to be eleven o’clock and with one final comforting click, his efforts are rewarded by the deep, sonorous toll of the bell.
In the bustling thoroughfare below, tourists heading to and from Edinburgh Castle glance up, blissfully unaware of the history and artistry which has gone into the simple act of telling them the time on this beautiful spring morning.
‘It is a form of artistry, from the making of the clock, in some cases centuries ago, to its operation and maintenance,’ says the man, who even at the relatively youthful age of 63, truly deserves the title of Edinburgh’s Old Father Time.
He adds: ‘ Many of the clocks in Edinburgh and in other parts of the country which we maintain were manufactured during the 209year history of James Ritchie & Son, a heritage I am delighted to have been a part of for 33 years.
‘I’ve only had two jobs since leaving school. I joined Ritchie’s as an accountant.’
Mr Wilson, who now operates f rom an i ndustrial estate in Broxburn, West Lothian, adds: ‘One day, the managing director was going out to inspect a clock and asked if I wanted to come. It was my initiation into clock towers, or ‘outside’ clocks. I was hooked.
‘My house isn’t filled with clocks or anything, far from it. I’ve always been an outdoor man. I went on to own the company and over the years, while I’ve relied on my men to fix the clocks, I have learned to adjust the mechanisms.’
His current task is, however, complete, and he carefully descends the stone stairs, passing a locked door bearing a lurid sign which reveals that a ‘sudden drop’ lies behind it. There are six more clocks to be wound by hand before his weekly duty is done.
‘The Tolbooth, now the People’s Museum, is probably one of the more accessible clocks,’ he reveals. ‘ For safety’s sake, the council wouldn’t let me take you up the others.
‘To reach the belfry of South Leith Parish Church you scale a wooden ladder while holding a rope. It’s a bit like climbing on to the deck of a ship and a bit hairy. Then there’s St Stephen’s Church, in the New Town, where the pendulum is 63ft long, the longest in Europe.’
ALL of the seven city clocks in the care of Mr Wilson, who stayed on with James Ritchie & Sons after relinquishing his ownership in 2004 to the famous clock firm of Smith of Derby, are the last of their kind.
Nowadays, most public clocks, however old they may appear, are fitted with a modern electric movement. But Edinburgh has held on to the manual tradition, until now. However, to save the £8,000 a year cost of winding, they are preparing to convert the clocks to an auto-wind system at a cost of £25,000.
Mr Wilson will particularly miss the clock of St Giles Cathedral, on the Royal Mile. ‘It is my personal favourite,’ he enthuses. ‘ It’s a magnificent mechanism and it is very special because it has no visible dial. The clock operates only the cathedral bells.
‘While the other clocks are wound once a week, St Giles requires twice weekly visits, requiring 100 full turns on each of the three barrels which control the going, the hourly strike and the quarter (of an hour) chime. It’s just a wonderful thing.’
He adds: ‘A winder will tell you that a clock has a personality and you get very attached to them. Winders will know when one is prone to gain a minute or two, or be affected by something as simple as a change of temperature.
‘The strangest clock we care for is the Time Ball up by Nelson’s monument on Calton Hill.’
Six days a week, a Ritchie worker winds the ball to the top of the structure and when he sees the ‘puff’ from the one o’clock gun at Edinburgh Castle, the ball is released and plunges back down.
Mr Wilson adds: ‘It’s not the sort of job where you can allow yourself to be held up by traffic. In days gone by, sailors out in the Firth of Forth were able to set their clocks when they saw the ball drop.
‘It is yet another tradition which James Ritchie & Son have helped to maintain. Thankfully, you cannot put an auto-rewind on that.’