Travelling through time
Catherine Henderson writes about understanding time and making your own sundial
In my hall there is a grandfather clock. On the clock face is a painting of a woman resting her chin on her hand. I think, perhaps, she is day-dreaming.
I used to watch my grandfather, and later my father, wind the clock each night before he went to bed. He unlocked the front of the clock with a tiny key, which was tied to a piece of cork so that it wouldn’t get lost. Then he gently pulled up the lead weight inside on a long, rattly chain. All night and all day the weight would slowly sink down the long body of the clock, the hands would turn and, each hour, a bell would chime.
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