Time: September, 1962.
Location: Paris, France.
My Mom & Dad were driving our Mini-Cooper home from the Paris flea-market. I mean THE flea market, long before they were popular in the US like they are now.
There were cobblestone stretches of street surface on the alternate route my Dad had chosen out of the city, and they were bumpy, and the mini was so low to the ground...
I sat in the back seat with the clock. It's chimes rattled, and rang all the way home, particularly on those cobblestones.
I was 8 years old, and looked at the clock with curiousity, even then wondering what was inside.
From that day on that clock had hung somewhere in our home through out all of our military moves.
It was old then, and was not without it's own quirks, like never sounding when the minute hands were exactly on mark
It's ticking was a constant soothing background sound that was comforting like a clock to a new puppy.
***fast forward to about a week ago***
.The clock comes to my house, we hang it up and admire it, The Westminster chimes were slower, and sounded like they were about to slow & stop any second, yet the spring was wound tight.
I figured it just needed a little cleaning and oiling, how hard could THAT be?
so I took it all apart