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The Trinity Clock Gets Wound

manually by a pair of characters with whom we were fortunate to make acquaintance yesterday.

As we were strangers to one another Mark had identified himself through an earlier email:

"As "first winder" for next week, my aim will be to arrive at the main entrance to Trinity College on Trinity Street a few minutes after 1:00 on a rusty blue bike. For further identification purposes, I will be sporting a disreputable hat (against sun or rain), a full greying beard (against shaving) and rimless spectacles."

There were five of us in all, two of Hugh's students (the regular winder, a physicist), Diana, myself and Mark, substituting for Hugh. One by one we squeezed through the spiral stair leading to the tower.

At the top, framed by heavy wood rafters inscribed with names dating to the 1800's is tucked a room whose primary feature is the clock itself. A pair of glass doors protects the bronze and steel self lubricating mechanism. Mark propped them open and asked, who would like a wind?

Patrick, the long lanky blonde took the quarter hour turn. With an attached wood handle, he cranked the weights, now rising in an adjacent shaft, until the black mark on the cable came into proper position. I followed with the hour cranking until I was soaked in sweat. Finally all the weights had been lifted to the top and we could stand back and watch it hit varying intervals. Behind us a simple battery powered quartz clock tuned us into the approaching two o'clock song. We waited with our digital cameras poised - some in video mode, some for stills.

Bong, bong, bong, bong. "That's not right!" shouted Mark.

There should have only been two bongs, not four.

Oh my lord, I thought, we've broken the Trinity Clock. He's gone and let us up here likely against all policy, and it's not working.

Well someone before had made some adjustment it seems. Not us. One wonders though, how many folks below scurried to destinations dreadfully late...