Occasionally, on slow nights, I find myself wandering through the clock repair videos on YouTube. (What can I say? I’m not a cat person.) I’m using these clips to help me understand the function of each and every wheel and pinion on a typical mechanism and it seems to be working. For less technical entertainment I enjoy watching Thomas Johnson, the Maine furniture refinisher go at his work. His YouTube content is soothingly predictable; no drama, just honest labor for the betterment of furniture and their owners. I learn a lot about furniture history from this guy, and it takes me back to my time of refurbishing antiques for our home. Recently, these two repair worlds had the chance to merge for me and that story is given below.

One rainy morning during a visit to the village of Littleton, NH my wife and I ducked into The Antique Clock Shop, and then spent the entire forenoon there, gobsmacked. It turns out that the owner, Louis Chouinard, has been doing clocks for a very long time and he has accumulated an impressive collection. He and his dog were happy to parade us through every floor of several buildings, including their living room, to show off his favorites and answer our (my) questions on age, form and provenance. We had never seen so many timepieces in one “place”. It appeared that most were in need of some repair, which made us wonder about their ultimate fate, but they were all beautiful and for sale.

Wading through aisles in his outbuildings it was a challenge to absorb the inventory of tall case clocks arrayed in columns and the shelves overflowing with large and small mantle types. Near the end of one row I happened to spy a Japanese wall clock that looked intriguing to me. It read “Yamato” on the dial, and the owner could not recall how he came by it other than to say it happened “a long time ago”. Once satiated, we said our thankful goodbyes, but that Yamato clock stuck with me and before leaving town we stopped back to purchase it for $50. I was excited to embark on my first clock restoration.

Assessment

What caught my eye on this clock was the proper Japanese form of the case and numerals, and also the wood. The door edges and body appeared to be made from zelkova (Japanese elm) which, with a bit of effort, had the potential to be made beautiful again. The middle door part had attractive openings and was made from some unidentified, fine-grain wood. What I overlooked at the time was that the dial glass was cracked, the top pediment was missing entirely, and the pendulum was maybe not the original. Something was also amiss in the unsprung spring for the strike chain, which Louis made me aware of before purchase. Whatever. All clocks have a story and this one was about to add a new chapter.

To enable a better diagnosis of ills, the door was detached from the case and then the hands, dial, clock mechanism and gong parts were removed.

As each element was removed and inspected, the injuries piled up, and what began as exploratory surgery eventually turned into an autopsy. Some mysteries remained but the facts spelled trouble.

Case:

The ring-like mounting board for the face contained “extra” screw holes that did not match the Yamato-labeled dial. Clearly this was not the original dial for the case. Two cracks emanating from the “old” screw holes also suggest an earlier trauma; such is the precarious existence of wall clocks, where one wrong move gives gravity a clean potshot. Not saying that’s what happened here, but the cracked dial glass is further evidence of energy absorbed. I noticed that there is only a single set of screw holes for mounting the works, so we can surmise they are original to the case, but, curiously, the/a gong mount was once attached a half inch lower than its current position.

Door:

The hinge area of the door also contained “extra” screw holes, indicating that this door (or at least that particular board of the door construct) was once attached to something different. The zelkova wood on the door and case make them a suitable match, but the extraneous holes provide clear evidence that both were on their second marriage. As mentioned above, the round dial glass exhibited a crack from top to bottom. It is interesting to note that this crack was once glued back together by an earlier owner/restorer and then refastened to the door with shiny new points. A desperate act hopefully born of good intent.

Works:

A few observations on the clockworks: the components are arranged nice and orderly and seem to be intact; both the strike and time springs were broken; and, not surprisingly, the metal parts were covered in grime. The stamped logo indicates they were made by the Meiji Clock Co., a major clockmaker from Nagoya (1895-1993) once affiliated with the Ansonia Clock Co., USA. More research would be required to determine: 1. whether this was a Meiji works and case sporting a mismatched Yamato dial (my hunch); 2. whether Meiji also supplied clockworks to smaller brands, like Yamato; or 3. some other set of amalgamating circumstances had occurred. Anyway, the super-sized components of the mechanism would have made for an interesting disassembly-cleaning-reassembly project, except that replacing the springs scared me off. I was afraid my first clock repair would not make it through the reassembly stage and decided it was better to preserve an intact but broken works than to scatter the bones as a final act of desecration. Perhaps one day, when I have mastered clock repair, I can take these out and do a proper restoration.

Other parts:

The pendulum is a brass (or brass-colored) metal part of apparently the right length, as it was still possible to put tension on the mainspring and the clock kept accurate time, for a spell. For all I know it was original, but the dial material is made of a bright aluminum(?) so there’s a mis-match here, although not a glaring one. The gong wire and mount are very nicely made, just a bit rusty, like the hands and hinges.

Prognosis:

And so it was time to take stock. What I had was a nice looking clock case made of iconic and beautiful Japanese woods. The case needed some repairs and a new pediment, and even if the door and cabinet were not of the same pedigree they were a good match. Cleaning the surfaces, and fixing-up the joints and glass, would bring things back into good cosmetic shape. I could remount the works “as is” leaving all evidence intact for some future owner to solve, while cleaning the showy parts (dial, pendulum, hands and gong) to smarten appearances. It would then become an inoperable clock sculpture of Japanese descent.

Rejuvenation

To start, a good vacuuming followed by a sponge bath with Murphy’s Oil Soap gave me a better idea of the wood I had to work with and also revealed a surprise. Evidence of some recent repairs was betrayed by the white residue of water soluble, polyvinyl acetate glue (aka PVA or Elmer’s). In fact, what I thought were unfortunate varnish drips on the door were simply the remnants of a sloppy glue job, easily removed with a plastic scraper. To fix things up, the PVA-mended joints/cracks on the case and door panels were re-glued using Titebond III. Also, the top plate of the cabinet was detached, separated into its three, mitered components and then re-glued with the assistance of new biscuits to make things strong and stable. In addition, a replica corner brace was fashioned for the door interior out of scrap walnut. This took care of the case repairs.

I then scoured the internet for an authentic example of this clock so that I could discover the pediment shape. I found nothing, and was left to design my own structure to top-off the case. These are generally simple crown structures reminiscent of German wall clocks, and I decided that I would copy the pattern of the base element for mine. (After all was done I did find this Yamato clock that was similar “enough”, and confirmed my sense that a recapitulation of the door bottom would work as a design on top. Ironically, it is a Yamato branded works and case with a Meiji inscription on the dial. All rather incestuous!). After tracing the profile and enlarging the span some, I transferred the pattern to a piece of Spanish cedar and cut it out at the bandsaw. I then made two simple side pieces from the same board and attached these with a lock corner joint. With some final sanding and hand plane work it all came together nicely.

To get the rest of the components in shape, the painted metal dial and pendulum parts were carefully scrubbed with dish soap, removing an assortment of odd stains. The hinges, hands and gong wire were soaked in vinegar and then rubbed aggressively to remove their corroding rust. Not shiny “new” but good enough. I wanted to smarten the hands and make them uniform in color so I hit them with some black spray paint.

The dial glass was replaced with a new pane cut at the friendliest glass store around, Country Glass. It turns out that the circular opening on that old door was a bit irregular, but one of their craftsmen, Shawn, worked to cut a perfect replacement for me. I appreciate it when small jobs are given great care.

Finish and Assembly

The door and case were now clean but dull, and so I freshened them with some dark Old English furniture scratch cover. I didn’t want to overdo things with the finish as it still needed to look its age, but this product served to color the abrasions brown and add a uniform sheen. As for the new pediment, it was dyed (mission brown), sealed, glazed with gel stain (Java), finished with polyurethane and then given an Old English wash to match the sheen of the case.

With the surfaces all finished, it was time for assembly. To begin, the clockworks were reattached using the original screw hardware, followed by the gong mount and wire. Next, the dial was affixed and then the hands were put back on to the shaft. Installing the glass panes in the door was a cinch using metal points for the circle and wooden strips for the square pane at the bottom. Finally, the hinges were mounted on the case with new screws and the door fastened to these.

The clock was hung on the wall of my workshop, and then the pendulum was re-mounted to complete the sculpture.

Refreshed, if not reanimated, its silent presence adds a new dignity to the space.