Over the years, many readers have asked what tools, oils, and supplies I use when working on antique clocks. While I occasionally mention these items in various posts, I realized it might be helpful to bring everything together in one convenient place.
I’ve now added a new resource page to the blog titled “Tools I Use.” On this page you’ll find a curated list of some of the basic tools and supplies that I rely on when servicing and maintaining antique clocks. These include items such as clock oils, cleaning supplies, magnifiers, and some of the more specialized tools used in horology.
As of this writing, the page is a work in progress, and I have not yet set up links
Whether you are just beginning to explore clock repair or have been working on clocks for years, having the right tools can make the work easier and more enjoyable. My goal with this page is simply to provide a practical starting point for anyone interested in maintaining or restoring mechanical clocks.
You can visit the new page by clicking the subtitle on the main page.
I will continue to update the page from time to time as I discover useful tools or resources worth sharing with fellow clock enthusiasts.
Some time ago, I was up for a real challenge when I bought an old clock that seemed hopelessly irreparable. While picking up another clock, the seller threw this one in for a few dollars more. The clock, an Ansonia Extra Drop, was in pieces and had been stored in a barn—literally—for many years. The case had completely come apart, and half the backboard was missing. Most would have thrown out this jumble of parts, but I saw a diamond in the rough.
The movement was intact, but it was the dirtiest I had ever seen. Okay, it looks bad, but might it be saved?
Front of movement showing plenty of rust
It was so rusty that none of the wheels would move. I was less concerned about the wheels and pivots because I knew that once I took it apart and cleaned it up, there was a good possibility that the wheels would move again. The rusty mainspring concerned me, however. A mainspring’s strength can be seriously compromised by the presence of rust. That said, it seemed to me that a surface coating of rust alone should not be too much of a problem.
Back of movement
After cleaning, polishing, and addressing pivot wear, the movement was reassembled, and a deciding the mainspring could be reused; here is the final result.
How well did it function? So well, in fact, that it is now one of my daily runners.
And the case, you might ask? Well, it is not perfect, but I managed to piece together what I had, add a piece of backboard from an old ogee clock, touch up the dial, add a new set of hands, pallets, and crutch, suspension rod, and construct a lower access door. While it may look good from afar, closer scrutiny reveals its rough edges. Most importantly, it tells a story of resurrection.
In the end, what first appeared to be a hopeless, rust-bound movement destined for the garbage can proved otherwise. Does that mean every movement can be successfully brought back to life? No—though for some irreparable clock movements, some parts can be salvaged. However, with careful work, patience, and a willingness to look beyond first impressions, this clock was made to run again.
It served as a reminder that even the most neglected mechanisms often deserve a second look—and that revival is sometimes less about miracles than about time and persistence.
Related Links
Ansonia Extra Drop wall clock does not run, and a rusty mainspring is the culprit; the clock was in pretty rough shape when I bought it and the only significant part missing is the brass dial bezel and a number of minor items such as the verge, hands, pendulum bob, suspension spring/rod, and the drop access door (which I made later on)
Making a drop door for the Ansonia Extra Drop wall clock; A barn find clock in pieces is a challenge for anyone. It was missing some parts. I discovered that I had enough to make something of it, and whatever was missing could be easily sourced or made.
The challenges of restoring an Ansonia wall clock when parts are scarce; This clock was manufactured by the Ansonia Brass & Copper Co. around 1880. It is 26 inches high, 16 inches wide and 5 inches deep. It has a 16 inch round wood door bezel on a large 2 inch hinge. The drop section has serpentine sides and teardrop finials. The bottom access drop door opens downwards. Other Drop Extra access doors open to the side.
In 2016, my wife gifted me a two-weight Gustav Becker regulator wall clock. It was a much-appreciated gift, and I spent many hours restoring it, as it had been sold as a “project clock.” The case certainly had its issues, but the most challenging problems lay in the movement itself.
At the time, I was not familiar with Gustav Becker movements, and it did not immediately occur to me that several key components were missing—almost as if a previous owner had harvested parts for another clock. One example was the absence of the star wheel. I contacted the seller, who kindly sent several replacement parts, including a star wheel. Unfortunately, it did not fit.
Missing star wheel, which should be just below the minute wheel
It was then that I learned Gustav Becker had made design changes to these movements over time, meaning that not all parts are interchangeable. It appears the star wheel was sourced from a later model.
That led me to source a replacement movement, which I was able to obtain through an eBay seller. The price was more reasonable than I expected, and the movement arrived intact. Initially, I thought I could harvest parts from it for the original movement; however, as I had already learned with the star wheel, some parts did not fit.
Using replacement parts in antique clocks presents a number of challenges beyond simple fit and function. Even when parts appear correct, subtle differences in design, dimensions, or period manufacturing can affect performance and reliability.
From a collector’s perspective, non-original or mismatched components may also impact a clock’s historical authenticity and, in some cases, its market value. For the restorer, this often requires balancing mechanical integrity and long-term usability against the desire to preserve originality as much as possible. Of course, to the casual observer, the clock appears original.
I ultimately decided to abandon the 1902 movement and use the 1918 P27 one instead. The 1918 movement has been running flawlessly for the past 9 plus year and that is why the issue I am describing in this post surprises me. Or, should it!
Most people would be inclined to dismiss the problem by simply restarting the clock, which is what I initially did, but several hours later, the clock stopped again.
The problem is this: the warning lever, which drops into the warning wheel to stop the strike in warning, seems to freeze intermittently. For proper function, the strike release lever is lifted by the minute wheel pin to release the warning lever. I believe the issue occurs at the stop-wheel pin, where it appears to bind or stick. When I manually lift the warning lever to release the stop wheel, the strike train will run for a while, then stick again.
When I disassembled the movement, I checked for broken or bent teeth, bent pins, and the general condition of the pivots. Everything appeared to look good. However, given that the clock has been running for a long period, the issue now seems more consistent with wear than with a sudden component failure.
One issue could be that excess endshake may be allowing the stop wheel to move fore and aft, altering how the stop pin engages the warning lever. Additionally, many weight-driven warning levers rely purely on gravity for return; any increase in friction can cause the lever to hesitate or become caught on the edge of the pin. For these reasons, I believe this is a general wear issue rather than a broken or failed component.
By way of comparison, the average American-made movement produced a century ago could often continue to run reasonably well despite significant wear, whereas German movements—built with tiny pivots and very close tolerances—tend to be far more sensitive to wear, dirt, and minor loss of power. This difference should perhaps not be unexpected.
The movement is currently disassembled and, after many years of service, likely requires bushing work.
In short, the symptoms point to accumulated wear rather than a specific failed part. The movement will therefore receive full bushing work where needed, followed by a thorough cleaning, reassembly, and testing on the stand. Only once the strike operates consistently and reliably under full weight will the movement be returned to the case.
This is a cautionary tale for anyone who owns a long-case or tall-case clock, especially a weight-driven example. I make that distinction because I do own a tall-case clock that is spring-driven, which I can assure you is quite unusual. Most, however, are weight-driven.
The other day, I went to investigate an issue with the strike side of an old Scottish clock assembled by a clockmaker named William McLaughlin in Scotland in the late 1840s. I purchased the clock at auction six years ago and spent many hours repairing the movement and restoring the case.
At the time, the clock was running—but just barely. The time side was functioning well, but the strike side needed some work and the addition of new parts to operate correctly. Since then, the clock has been running continuously and reliably for the past six years.
Recently, the strike side began to show a slight problem, which prompted me to remove the hood and carry out a closer inspection. The issue turned out to be that the rack was dropping too far back and was no longer being picked up properly by the gathering pallet. This situation seems to occur when I wind up the strike side weight too quickly, but something else might be amiss.
While investigating that area, I noticed something far more concerning: the strike-side barrel cable was badly frayed. The cable is made up of three groupings of strands, with each grouping consisting of about six wires. In this case, two of those groupings had snapped off completely. That left only one grouping intact—and even that was reduced to perhaps three or four remaining brass wires supporting the cable.
All of this was holding a 13-pound weight. I have enlarged the photo above to better illustrate the problem.
The proper solution is to repair or replace the cable. As a temporary measure, the existing cable may be reused, provided it is still in sound condition. This involves removing the movement from the case, separating the plates, and opening the strike-side drum. The cable can then be fed back into the barrel and secured with a knot on the inside. Although this shortens the cable by an inch or two, it should have no meaningful impact on the clock’s running time.
Since I will have the movement apart, it will be an opportunity to clean the movement, address any wear, and re-oil the mechanism. I checked the time-side drum to determine if there is a similar issue with the cable, and to my surprise, found it to be just fine.
The takeaway here is a simple but important one: weight cables on long-case clocks deserve regular inspection, especially on clocks that run continuously year after year. Fraying often happens slowly and out of sight, and failure can be sudden and dramatic—with potentially serious damage to the movement, the case, or anything beneath the falling weight. In the case of this clock, there is nothing to cushion the blow if the weight were to drop. A loud bang would accompany a dented hardwood floor.
A few moments spent checking cables when servicing or inspecting a clock can prevent a great deal of trouble later on. In this case, I was fortunate to catch the problem before gravity finished the job.
Starting an antique clock collection can be both exciting and a little overwhelming. With so many styles, makers, movements, and time periods to choose from, it’s easy to wonder where to begin. The good news is that you don’t need deep pockets or expert knowledge on day one—just curiosity, patience, and a willingness to learn.
I remember my early days of collecting, when I was eager to add just about anything to my budding collection. Today, I am far more discerning, carefully considering each potential acquisition. However, in my 25 years of collecting, I still own the first clock I would consider a true antique.
Seth Thomas Adamantine Mantel Clock, my very first true antique clock
If you’re thinking about starting your own antique clock collection, I offer some practical tips to help you get started on the right foot.
1. Start With What You Like
The best advice for any collector is simple: buy what you enjoy. Don’t worry about trends, investment value, or what others say you should collect. Whether it’s a simple kitchen clock, a shelf clock, a Vienna regulator, or a mantel clock with a rich patina, choose pieces that genuinely appeal to you.
One of my favorite clocks
If a clock makes you look twice when you enter a room, that’s always a good sign.
2. Learn the Basics Before You Buy
You don’t need to become a horological expert overnight, but learning a few fundamentals will save you money and frustration. Take some time to understand:
Common movements (time-only, time and strike, chiming, spring or weight-driven clocks)
Key terms like escapement, pendulum, mainspring, and strike train
Books, museum visits, online forums, and blogs (like mine) devoted to antique clocks are excellent learning tools. The more you learn, the more confident you’ll feel when evaluating potential purchases. Knowledge is power!
3. Set a Budget—and Stick to It
Antique clocks can range from modestly priced to very expensive. Decide early on what you’re comfortable spending and remember to factor in possible repair costs. A clock that seems like a bargain may need servicing, which can quickly exceed the purchase price.
If you are bidding on a clock online, don’t get caught up in a bidding war. Set a firm limit and be prepared to walk away—other opportunities will inevitably come along.
A surprisingly inexpensive find; a Scottish tall case clock from the 1840s
Many fine antique clocks are still affordable, especially if you’re open to cosmetic wear or minor issues. A well-maintained, honest clock is often a better choice than an over-restored one.
4. Condition Matters More Than Perfection
It’s normal for antique clocks to show signs of age—after all, many are well over a century old. Look for clocks that are complete, structurally sound, and largely original. Missing parts, incorrect replacements, or heavily altered cases can be difficult and costly to correct.
When possible, ask:
Does the clock run?
Has it been serviced recently?
Are all the parts present?
Even if a clock isn’t currently running, it can still be a good purchase if you understand what it may need. In time, you will develop the skills and expertise needed to repair a non-running clock.
5. Buy From Reputable Sources
When starting out, it helps to buy from sellers who know clocks and are willing to answer questions. Antique shops, clock shows, auctions, and fellow collectors can all be good sources. Be cautious with vague descriptions or sellers who can’t provide basic information about the clock.
Over time, you’ll develop a sense for what feels right—and who you can trust.
6. Keep Records of Your Collection
As far as record-keeping, I find myself offering advice I don’t always follow. Perhaps that’s the true challenge of collecting.
From the beginning, get into the habit of keeping notes on your clocks. Record where and when you bought them, the maker, any repairs done, and any interesting history attached to the piece. Photographs are invaluable.
This not only adds enjoyment to collecting but also becomes important for insurance, resale, or passing the clocks on to future generations.
7. Be Patient and Enjoy the Journey
A good clock collection isn’t built overnight. It evolves over time as your tastes change and your knowledge grows. Some clocks will stay with you forever; others may move on as your focus becomes more refined. Although I enjoyed collecting common mantel clocks from the 1930s, 40s, and 50s, that is no longer my focus—and that’s perfectly normal. I wrote an article recently about thedynamic aspect of clock collecting that you might find interesting.
Collecting antique clocks is as much about the stories, craftsmanship, and history as it is about the clocks themselves. I marvel at the stories behind some of my clocks.
8. Investment value
From time to time, antique clocks are promoted as “investments,” but this is often a misunderstanding of both the market and the hobby. While a few rare, high-end pieces may appreciate, most antique clocks do not reliably increase in value once repair, maintenance, and storage costs are considered. Tastes change, markets fluctuate, and selling can be slow and unpredictable. Collecting clocks for enjoyment, historical interest, and craftsmanship is far more rewarding than treating them as a financial strategy.
Ingraham Huron balloon-style shelf clock; Somewhat rare, but collected for appreciation—not investment
Final Thoughts
Starting an antique clock collection is a rewarding pursuit that connects you to history, engineering, and artistry. Take your time, ask questions, learn as you go, and most importantly—enjoy the process. Every clock has a story, and as a collector, you become part of it
Some time ago, I posted an article on Minimal Invasive Intervention, in which I posed a question that often haunts clock collectors: how far should one go to repair, restore, or conserve a clock without changing it in a significant way?
This question came up in a conversation with my daughter, a civil engineer, who raised a fascinating philosophical point: if every component of a clock is eventually replaced, does it remain fundamentally the same object?
This is essentially the Ship of Theseus paradox. Plutarch, the Greek philosopher, posed the question in terms of a ship that had all of its wooden parts replaced over time:
“The ship wherein Theseus and the youth of Athens returned from Crete had thirty oars, and was preserved by the Athenians down even to the time of Demetrius Phalereus, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and stronger timber in their places, in so much that this ship became a standing example among the philosophers, for the logical question of things that grow; one side holding that the ship remained the same, and the other contending that it was not the same.” — Plutarch, Theseus
The same dilemma exists in clock collecting. Take lantern clocks, for example. These weight-driven wall clocks, shaped like a lantern, were the first type of clock widely used in English homes during the 17th century. When long-case clocks with 8-day movements arrived, lantern clocks became obsolete. Today, they are highly collectible—but almost all have been altered, even those considered “totally genuine.”
Lantern clock
D. & J. Benson, specialists in early English clocks, offer guidance to the collector:
“We are strong believers that if a clock was converted to a different escapement many years ago, this should be retained, being part of the history of the clock, rather than reconverting clocks back to former guises. Only under compelling circumstances would a clock be returned to a former state. Only absolutely necessary restoration work is carried out in order that the original clock survives for future generations. We conserve rather than replace.”
Yet the reality is complicated. Some of the more expensive lantern clocks they offer have early conversions—from verge to anchor escapement—or even entirely new fusee movements installed. During these changes, original mechanisms, including alarm components, may be removed; single hands replaced with two, broken finials or door handles restored, chapter rings re-silvered, and doors often lost. With so many changes, how original is the clock? Does it retain its identity?
But there is a more fundamental reason why clocks were altered or changed. Historically, most alterations were not done to deceive or “improve” originality; they were done to keep clocks working in everyday life. Lantern clocks were converted because anchor escapements were better. 30-hour Ogee movements were swapped simply because a household needed a reliable timekeeper, not an artifact.
Collectors vary in their opinions. One might argue that a clock ceases to be fundamentally the same if too much is replaced, even when new parts are made with the same materials and methods as the originals. Another might argue that a restoration that returns a clock to its original appearance and function actually enhances its “originality,” making it more desirable. If the changes are seamless, unnoticeable to the casual observer, is the clock still original? For the thousands of common mechanical clocks made over the years, does it really matter?
Many collectors have faced this dilemma. When I bought my first Vienna Regulator, I quickly noticed replacement parts scattered throughout its movement and the case. It made me question how original the clock truly was. I realized it’s an unwinnable argument—important to me as a collector, but largely irrelevant to the casual observer.
In time, I learned to appreciate the clock for what it had become—an honest, imperfect assembly of parts shaped by its history.
Gustav Becker Vienna Regulator, a Frankenclock
Ultimately, these questions—of identity, authenticity, and restoration—aren’t just about clocks. They challenge our understanding of objects, history, and the stories that tie us to them. And maybe, just maybe, that’s part of the joy of collecting: embracing the paradox. In the end, the story of the clock may be more valuable than the object itself.
I shared a title photo of a 30-hour ogee clock because many of these clocks have had their movements replaced over time. It’s common to find a movement from a different maker in the case, and hands, weights, coil gongs, suspension springs, or dial faces were often swapped as they wore out. Does that make it original, or does it simply reveal the many hands—and many years—that kept it running?
This clock wasn’t one I set out to find. My wife and I were wandering through a sprawling antique shop in Almonte, Ontario—the kind of place where time itself seems to stand still. She drifted upstairs while I lingered below, each of us lost in our own quiet hunt. A few minutes later, she appeared at the top of the stairs and called down, “Take a look at this!” I climbed up, curious, and there it was—a clock that neither of us had expected to see, yet somehow felt right. We looked it over, exchanged a knowing glance, and decided the price was fair. A few moments later, it was ours.
For a while, I admired the clock just as it was—until a small detail caught my attention and led me down another path of discovery.
I initially thought the clock was complete until I posted a query on an online clock forum site and discovered that it was missing two trim pieces.
First photo of the clock
However, I also learned that the clock was named the Suffolkand was offered for sale by Waterbury from about 1907 to 1915. The clock is shown in Tran Duy Ly’s Waterbury Clocks book on page 270, which includes an image.
It is cased in mahogany, has an eight-day movement, and features a half-hour strike with a coiled gong. The six-inch “ivory” (porcelain?) dial has spade and spear hands and a visible or open escapement. It includes a cast gilt sash and bezel with convex beveled glass. The clock is tall at 15½ inches and 11¾ inches wide, with wooden biscuit feet.
The time and strike movement on a coiled gong
I asked myself what I should do about the missing trim pieces. I also wondered how they had fallen off, but it appears they were glued on at the factory and may have been vulnerable to coming loose if struck. In my experience, once a piece comes off and becomes separated from the clock, it is unfortunately lost forever.
The original pieces were carved mahogany blocks with a center cut-out. Since I don’t have the tools to duplicate that process, and the router bits I have are far too large for this type of work, I decided to come up with what I felt was an acceptable alternative.
I didn’t have any mahogany among my scrap wood selection, but then I remembered some trim pieces I’d received from a friend’s old pump organ about a year ago. At the time, I had no idea how I would use them, and as I suspected, they turned out to be made of mahogany.
Using a table saw, I cut out two test pieces to determine if the repair would work. They looked acceptable, even if not quite sized correctly, and since I had enough mahogany, I set about carefully measuring the final pieces. I decided to stack thinner sections in a relief style—quite the opposite of the original design.
Because the clock’s case parts varied slightly in tone, I knew the new pieces would end up a shade darker.
Test pieces, narrower than the final pieces
I then cut the final pieces, sanded off the finish, glued the sections together, and attached them to the base of the clock using carpenter’s wood glue. The final step was applying two coats of finishing paste wax. The clock now looks more complete, and unless one is familiar with the original design of the missing pieces, they would be hard-pressed to notice the difference.
The final outcome
Making changes to a clock’s case is never easy, for each alteration risks straying from what once was. Yet restoration is, by nature, a communication between the past and the present—to reconcile what time has taken and what care can restore. Though the change departs slightly from the original, it brings balance to the design in my view, and renews the clock’s quiet dignity. In that sense, I am content with the outcome.
Restoring the Suffolk reminded me that even small imperfections can lead to creative solutions. While my replacement trim pieces differ from the factory originals, they complement the clock’s character and preserve its charm—proof that restoration is as much about craftsmanship and ingenuity as it is about authenticity.
For those who appreciate a visual commentary, check out a 3 1/2 minute video I made during the project:
TheAmerican Banjo clock — often just called a banjo clock — got its name from the shape of its case, which resembles a banjo musical instrument. Although the design was patented in 1802 by Simon Willard, a renowned clockmaker from Roxbury, Massachusetts, Willard referred to his invention as the “Improved Timepiece,” not a banjo clock.
Willard-style banjo clock, c. 1810
There are essentially three types of mechanical banjo clocks. Those with lever escapements are usually in the lower price range, spring-driven examples occupy the middle ground, and weight-driven banjo clocks represent the higher end, typically costing several hundred dollars in fair condition to several thousand for authenticated examples from reputable makers.
My wife spotted the clock on Facebook Marketplace one evening. It was listed for $100, and the photo immediately caught my attention. I had a feeling it might be a diamond in the rough. I suggested she offer the seller $75, and to our surprise, the offer was accepted almost immediately. It seemed they just wanted it gone.
Seller’s photo, looking a little tired
The clock was one of several items the seller had for sale as part of a community-wide garage sale. So, a day later, we made the drive out to the rural part of Nova Scotia where the sale was taking place. When we arrived, we found the house and asked to see the clock. It was sitting there among other odds and ends, looking a little tired but full of promise.
Broken dial glass, original hands
As we examined it, I asked a few questions about its history. The seller explained that it had belonged to an uncle in Wolfville, Nova Scotia—a man who had once owned a large collection of antique clocks and had been in the family for over 60 years. That was all I needed to hear.
Before we left, the seller asked if I might be interested in another clock—a 30-hour mantel clock. “It’s worth a lot more than that one,” they insisted, nodding toward the banjo clock. I smiled and politely declined. Something told me the first clock was the one worth keeping.
Classic time-only movement
And I was right. Once we brought it home, cleaned it up, and did a little research, we discovered that it was indeed something special—a genuine, 1830s timepiece, a true diamond in the rough.
The clock was surprisingly heavy when I first lifted it, which told me right away that the weight was still inside the case. That was a good sign. Had it been missing, finding a proper replacement would have been a challenge—and there’s really nothing quite like having the original weight that once powered the movement so many decades ago.
It turned out to be a Federal-style banjo clock, housed in a rich mahogany case that bore the quiet dignity of age. The movement was intact, a promising start. At the top sat a graceful acorn finial, original to the clock—a small but telling detail. At first glance, I thought the carved reverse-scrolled side arms and lower base section were missing, but later learned that not all examples from this period included those features; In fact, simplicity was a defining feature of early timepieces.
The original steel hands, shaped in that classic banjo style, were still in place, and the dial face, though worn, retained much of its character. The glass bezel was broken but easily replaced. The case itself was dusty and a bit tired, with a few areas needing veneer work, a split wood bezel, but nothing beyond repair. As I examined it more closely, I discovered the winding crank tucked neatly into the bottom of the case—perhaps placed there by its last owner many years ago.
After some careful study and comparison with other examples online, and with help from a few knowledgeable members of a clock forum, I came to believe that the clock was made in the late 1830s in Boston—possibly by John Sawin. Sawin had apprenticed under Simon Willard and later worked as a journeyman for Aaron Willard, two of the most respected clockmakers of their day and inventors of the original patent timepiece. Unfortunately, there are no identifying marks on the case or movement, leaving its true maker a mystery—but a fascinating one all the same.
Fully restored clock on display in my home
With that in mind, I decided to give the old clock the attention it deserved. What followed was a careful cleaning, a bit of veneer work, minor repairs, glass bezel replacement, and the satisfaction of seeing history come back to life.
Not long ago, my wife and I were attending a medical appointment in Springhill, Nova Scotia. While we were in the area, we decided that a side trip to Parrsboro fit the bill, as the town was less than a half-hour drive away. It was a leisurely, sunny fall day as we drove through the hills and lakes of northern Nova Scotia, and we were eager to see the sights of Parrsboro, situated on the Minas Basin, which is connected to the world-famous Bay of Fundy. Parrsboro is one of the oldest settled areas of Canada. It is known for its maritime heritage and its wondrous geological formations.
Once in town, we stopped for a coffee, did a bit of shopping, and thought, since we were here, why not check out The Parrsboro Mansion Inn?
The Parrsboro Mansion Inn – photo taken with the owner’s permission
There was a very specific reason for our visit to the inn— in 2018, I had purchased a clock that originally came from this house. Today, it’s a family-run business, but many years ago, it was a private home. We stopped and talked to the present owner, who kindly provided us with a history of the house and some photos.
I tried to imagine where in the house the clock would be hung—perhaps in the living room or the parlour. “You wouldn’t consider gifting us the clock,” the owner said. “Let me think about it,” I replied.
Now, let’s go back in time.
The house in the 1930’s when owned by the Lank family
In 1873, Henry Davison operated a blacksmith shop on this land near the roadside, not too far from the town centre. In 1898, Joseph Jeffers purchased the eight-acre property and built a spacious home for his family.
The Jeffers family retained ownership until 1930, when it was sold to Hilbert Lank. Hilbert died in 1972, but the family stayed on for a number of years. To everyone in the Parrsboro community, it is still known as the Lank House, even though the Lank family sold it to its present owners some years ago.
Back in 2018, when I bought the clock, the seller explained that the clock was brought over from Europe when her husband’s family moved to Canada in the 1890s and had been in the family ever since. I assume that when I bought the clock, the house had already been sold and the family was in the process of liquidating its contents.
The house (arrow) is set back quite far from the road.
The clock is a stylish German-made Friedrich Mauthe time-and-strike wall clock that reflects the period. Judging from the design of the trademark, I determined that it was made in the late 1890s—consistent with the information provided by the seller.
The clock case was not without its issues — it was missing two finials and some case pieces, but the biggest challenge was the finish, which was heavily “alligorated”. This is a term that describes a finish that has tiny, irregularly shaped cracks and ridges that appear on the surfaces. Extensive exposure to heat and sunlight causes the finish to soften, attract dirt and dust, dry out, and contract, leaving behind a rough, textured finish.
The clock had clearly been stored for a long time, and it had suffered as a result. I was loath to strip down the case, but it was necessary.
A section of the crown that represents the entire case
In keeping with its history, we now call it the Lank Clock.
Frederick Mauthe wall clock circa 1895
From a chance online listing to a deep dive into Parrsboro’s history, this clock has connected me to a story spanning more than a century. Restoring it is not just about repairing a case and servicing a movement—it’s about preserving a piece of time, heritage, and memory. Every tick now carries the echoes of Lank House, and it will continue to tell its story for generations to come.
Some time ago, I came across an ad on Facebook Marketplace for a clock owned by an older couple who lived about forty-five minutes from our home on the East Coast. When I first saw the photo, something about the clock caught my eye—it had character, a quiet dignity, and I had a feeling it might be special. I reached out to the seller through Facebook, and after a brief phone conversation, we agreed on a price that he felt was fair.
E Ingraham Huron Circa 1878
Finding their home wasn’t straightforward. We took a few wrong turns, but eventually found our way to a modest single-wide house nestled in the woods about twenty minutes from a larger coastal town. It was the kind of home that had clearly been lived in for decades.
A man in his early seventies greeted us at the door with a polite smile tinged with sadness. As we stepped inside, he excused himself and disappeared for a moment, returning with the clock in his hands. I asked him why he had decided to sell it, especially since he mentioned it had belonged to his grandmother and had been in his family for as long as he could remember.
He paused before answering, his eyes drifting toward the window. “My wife and I have decided to go our separate ways,” he said softly. “She wants to live in town, but I can’t bring myself to leave this place. Everything I care about is here—my shop (which was larger than his house!), my tools, my memories, but we have to get rid of some stuff”.
As he spoke, it became clear that the clock was more than just an heirloom—it was a piece of his past, a witness to the life he had built in that home. Letting it go wasn’t just about making space; it was about closing a chapter.
I examined the clock carefully, noting that it was complete and in good condition. “I’ll take it,” I said with a smile. Just inside the case, I noticed a penciled marking that read “Hebb and 1944.” The seller recalled a Hebb family who once lived in the Bridgewater area of Nova Scotia, near where I purchased the clock — perhaps a clock tinkerer.
“Okay,” he replied, then hesitated for a moment before adding, “Would you happen to be interested in Elvis Presley memorabilia?”
I glanced over at my wife, who was already trying not to laugh. The question caught us both off guard—we couldn’t have been less interested in that sort of thing, but his earnestness made the moment oddly endearing.
Huron shelf clock by E. Ingraham & Co.
It is a rosewood-veneered Huron shelf clock by E. Ingraham & Co., Bristol, Connecticut. It features a paper-on-zinc dial with a round glazed door and a lower glass access panel. The Huron is one of the less commonly found Ingraham models of the period, having been manufactured briefly between 1878 and 1880. The maker’s label remains intact on the inside of the backboard. The clock has a brass, eight-day, spring-powered movement and stands 16 inches tall.
The veneers are in excellent condition, with no splitting or cracking. The clock face shows a build-up of grime, which I chose to leave as is. The base corner pieces show slight wear, but both door catches are sound. The glass is perfect, the door hinges are in excellent condition, and both the upper and lower doors still fit with precision. The pendulum retains its original lacquer and presents well. Before examining the movement, a gentle push of the pendulum suggested that something was amiss.
Once I extracted the movement from its case, it was certainly not without its issues. There was plenty of solder applied here and there—evidently, a past repairer believed that the more solder, the better. During restoration, all traces of it were carefully removed, and the movement was thoroughly cleaned and brought back to full working order.
The movement was not without its issues
I’ve often said that if the day ever comes when I’m compelled to downsize my collection, this would be one I’d keep. Not for its rarity or provenance, but because it embodies everything I admire in a clock—the craftsmanship, the quiet dignity, and the enduring beauty of something well made and lovingly preserved, and the story that became part of it.
Ingraham Huron shelf clock
In the end, it’s pieces like this that remind me why I collect—not to own more clocks, but to honour the skill and spirit of those who built them, one tick at a time.
Every old clock has a story to tell — where it came from, who owned it, and the moments in time it quietly witnessed. Unfortunately, as clocks are sold, traded, or passed down, those stories often get lost along the way. The clock may keep ticking, but the people and places behind it fade into mystery. Every so often, though, one comes along with its story still intact, and that’s always special — it connects you not just to the clock, but to the lives that once revolved around it.
The clock I’m about to write about came with a story; in fact, it came in pieces, and that’s where the adventure begins. Piecing it back together wasn’t just a repair job; it was a bit of detective work, trying to uncover what happened to it and how repairs were addressed along the way. Every screw, every bit of wear, had something to say — and that’s what makes this hobby so fascinating.
One of the most remarkable clocks in my collection is a Junghans Crispi wall clock that survived the 1917 Halifax Explosion. I know this because the previous owner told me their family had kept it for more than a century, passing it down from one generation to the next. When it finally came to me, it wasn’t much to look at — just a box of parts and fragments of what once had been. After all those years, I suspect the family decided it was time to let it go, perhaps hoping someone would bring it back to life.
And that’s exactly what I set out to do. Piece by piece, gear by gear, I restored the Crispi to its former dignity. During the restoration process, I discovered that not everything about the clock was original. Most of the case components had survived — including the top crown, crown base, and bottom section, finials, beat plate, many case decorations, the movement, dial and hands, and pendulum — but the frame had been rebuilt. I knew it immediately when I observed Robertson screwson the backboard.
A catalog image from the Junghans website was extremely helpful
The frame was skillfully and carefully crafted from solid oak, suggesting that when the clock fell from the wall during the Halifax Explosion, the original frame must have shattered beyond repair. Despite the excellent woodworking skills, the previous owner knew very little about clock repair, so it was left as an incomplete project and sat in a box for decades, gathering a thick blanket of dust and grime.
A box of parts
Restoration included new glass panels, re-staining the case, sourcing a few case parts, and servicing the movement.
Junghans Crispi dial face and hands
When the case was restored and the movement was finally ticking again, I sent a photo of the finished clock to the family who had sold it. They never replied, and I can only imagine they felt a pang of seller’s remorse seeing it whole and beautiful once more.
Junghans Crispi time and strike wall clock
Even now, every time I walk past it, I can’t help but picture that December morning in 1917 — the moment when the blast shook the city and sent the clock crashing from its wall in a small North Halifax home. It must have lain broken for decades, silent witness to one of the darkest days in Canadian history. Today, it keeps perfect time once again, a survivor with a story that still speaks through its steady, patient tick.
If you’ve been around antique or vintage clocks for any length of time, as I have, you’ve probably heard a few “truths” that get passed along like family recipes. Some have a sprinkle of fact in them, others are pure folklore, and a few can actually cause more harm than good. So, let’s sit down, pour a cup of coffee on this fine Monday morning, and bust a few of the most common myths I hear all the time.
Myth #1 – OverwindingA Clock
Let’s start with the big one: the infamous “over-winding” myth. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “It was running fine until I over-wound it!” Here’s the reality — you can’t hurt a healthy clock just by winding it all the way. If it stops when fully wound, the culprit is likely dried oil, dirt, or worn parts. Old, dried-up oil can turn into a sticky glue that causes the mainspring coils to cling to each other, thereby stopping a clock.
When I bring home an old spring-wound clock, the very first thing I do is let the springs down completely, give them just a small wind, and then see if the movement runs. If it does, that’s my cue that the springs need a proper cleaning and lubrication, right along with the rest of the movement.
Myth #2 – More Oil Is Better
Then there’s the advice some give to oil a clock every single year. I get it — we want our clocks to run smoothly. But adding fresh oil without cleaning first is like pouring new motor oil into an engine without changing the filter. You’re just mixing clean oil with grime and making an abrasive paste that speeds up wear. Most clocks are perfectly happy with a proper cleaning and oiling every four to five years. The only exception is that, after an inspection at the two-year mark, if it’s clear the pivots are dry and there is no residue around the pivot holes, a light oiling is a prudent step, provided only a small amount of clock oil is applied.
Myth #3 – A pendulum Clock “Adjusted for level” Will Work On Any Surface
Placement is another overlooked detail. I’ve seen pendulum clocks happily ticking away on a sturdy wall, and I’ve seen others struggle just because they’re sitting on a wobbly shelf. Uneven or unstable surfaces throw the clock out of beat and mess with its timing.
When someone says a pendulum clock was “adjusted for level,” it means that during servicing, the clock was placed on a level surface and its beat was adjusted accordingly. If the clock is later moved to an uneven or non-level surface, the beat will need to be readjusted to match the new position.
Get a clock with a floating balance escapement; it will work nicely on just about any uneven surface.
It is easy to place a mantel clock with afloating balance
Myth # 4 – A loud Ticking Clock Is An Unhealthy Clock
And while we’re on the topic of how a clock sounds — louder doesn’t always mean healthier. A good clock doesn’t need to shout; an even, crisp tick is a much better sign than a booming one.
However, keep in mind that some clocks are loud because of case acoustics, or they are located in areas where the sound is amplified, a hallway or a small room with hard surfaces, perhaps. Some surfaces can even act like acoustic amplifiers.
Arthur Pequegant Brandon wall clock, a loud ticker
I also believe that the type of escapement is a factor. Due to their mechanics, recoil escapements are always louder than all others. I have an Arthur Pequegnat Brandon wall clock with a recoil escapement in a room with six other clocks — and which one is the loudest? The Brandon, of course! It’s almost as if it’s saying, “Look at me, I’m the loudest in this room.”
Myth # 5 – WD-40 Works Well As A lubricant
One myth that makes clock repairers wince? WD-40. Yes, it might make a sticky clock run for a little while. But it also strips away proper lubrication and leaves a sticky film that attracts dust like a magnet. It’s the short-term fix that leads to long-term headaches.
What does the WD in WD-40 stand for? WD in WD-40 stands for “Water Displacement.” The product was originally designed to repel water and prevent rust, and the “40” refers to it being the 40th formula the chemists tried before they found one that worked effectively. Who knew?
Now, please don’t tell me it worked for you!
Myth # 6 – The Older the Clock, The More Valuable It Is
And while we’re setting the record straight, let’s talk value. Not every old clock is a gold mine. Age is only part of the story — rarity, maker, originality, and condition matter much more. Old is not gold, as they say. An 1850 Ogee clock might have stood the test of time, but it was made in the thousands, so it’s actually not all that rare.
George H Clark 30-hour Ogee shelf clock, circa 1850, for a ridiculously low price at auction
Of course, there are always exceptions. Well-preserved French clocks, such as a Louis XIV cartel clock of the 17th century, prized for their exquisite craftsmanship, ornate gilt bronze (ormolu) cases, and fine enamel dials, can be quite valuable.
However, many are often surprised to find out that their 100-plus-year-old clock is worth next to nothing.
Myth # 7 – Don’t Assume Black Forest Means “Made in Germany“
Also, don’t assume the words “Black Forest” mean German-made. Some Canadian and American makers used the name simply because it sounded exotic and marketable. For example, the Blackforest Clock Company of Toronto (which became the Forestville Clock Company in 1941) produced reliable clocks for the home. While the cases were made in Canada, the movements were sourced from England, France, and, more typically, Germany.
Myth # 8 – It’s Running Fine, So It Doesn’t Need A Service
Another one I hear often: “It’s running fine, so it doesn’t need service.” The truth? Even a clock that’s keeping time can be quietly wearing itself out if it’s running on dry bushings or worn pivots. A thorough inspection should reveal any issues with the clock’s movement.
Myth # 9 – An Antique Clock Should Always Look “Like New”
And please, don’t feel you have to polish away every bit of patina. That gentle wear tells the story of your clock’s journey through the decades.
When we think of antiques, there’s often a temptation to restore them until they look spotless and brand new. But with antique clocks, that shiny, polished look isn’t always the goal, and here’s why.
Patina is the natural aging and mellowing of a clock’s surfaces over time. It’s the soft glow on wood, the subtle tarnish on brass, and the gentle wear marks that tell a story. This “aged finish” is like a fingerprint of the clock’s life, showing decades, sometimes centuries, of use, handling, and care.
Stripping away that patina by over-polishing or refinishing can actually damage the clock’s historical value. Collectors and experts often prize original finishes because they preserve the clock’s authenticity and character. A well-preserved patina connects us directly to the past, making the clock not just a timekeeper but a piece of living history.
Having said all that, I’ll admit I’m certainly guilty of refinishing the odd old clock now and then. After all, I keep many of them for my personal collection, and refinishing is a great way to learn new restoration techniques.
It also allows me to bring out the original beauty that may have been hidden under years of dirt and wear, which I believe is a good thing in certain situations. Plus, sometimes a carefully done refinishing can help stabilize fragile wood or finishes, ensuring the clock can be enjoyed for many more years.
And I will throw in two bonus myths.
Bonus Myth #1 – Serial Numbers Always Tell A Clock’s Date of Manufacture
Lastly, serial numbers. While they can sometimes pinpoint a clock’s date of manufacture, this only works for certain makers with complete records. Unless you can match the serial number to a verified database or understand the dating system the maker used during production, it’s merely an educated guess as to when the clock was made.
Clock company catalogs are an excellent resource for dating an antique clock—if you can find them! For example, if you have a clock made by Junghans of Germany, they offer an excellent catalog archive on their website.
Many of the serial number charts floating around online are best taken as educated guesses, not hard facts.
That said, many movements have no numerical markings beyond the trademark.
Bonus Myth #2 – A Quick Bath Is All A Movement Needs To Run Properly
One common myth I come across is that you can clean a clock simply by dunking the whole movement into a cleaning solution without taking it apart first. It sounds like a quick fix, but in reality, this can cause more harm than good. Clock movements are made up of delicate parts that need to be carefully disassembled, cleaned individually, and then properly lubricated.
Dunking the entire mechanism risks damaging pivots, bushings, and other components, not to mention leaving grime trapped in places you can’t see or reach. Proper cleaning takes time and patience, but it’s the only way to ensure your clock runs smoothly.
Duncan Swish was NOT a famous clockmaker!
At the end of the day, part of the joy of collecting clocks is hearing the stories — and sometimes, debunking them. Myths may be fun to repeat, but knowing the truth will help you keep your clocks in good health and their history intact. After all, a well-cared-for clock doesn’t just tell the time… it tells its own story.
If you know of any other clock myths or stories that deserve a closer look, I’d love to hear them—drop a comment below and let’s keep the conversation ticking!
In late June 2025, I received an invitation to attend the installation of a historic Nova Scotia family clock. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend the July 12th ceremony, but I asked the museum manager if I could publish the public service announcement on this blog. She agreed and gave permission to include photos as well.
Bishop family clock
The Nova Scotia (Canada) Kings County Museum’s mission statement is “To preserve and promote the cultural and natural history of Kings County for present and future generations.”
The Bishop Family clock left Nova Scotia in 1902, has been returned to Nova Scotia after more than 120 years. The circa 1770 clock will become part of a permanent exhibit at the museum focusing on the New England Planters and the Bishop family.
“Built by John Bishop, a member of one of the first Planter families to settle in Horton (eastern Kings County), the clock was given to his daughter Amelia as a wedding gift when she married Charles Dickson in 1772.”
King’s County Museum, 37 Bridge Street, Kentville NS
Here is the announcement:
Historic Bishop Family Clock Returns to Nova Scotia Installation to Take Place at Kings County Museum
July 12, 2025 1:00 PM Kings County Museum, Kentville NS All welcome
Please join the Kings Historical Society as we welcome Stephen Sieracki, a Maryland-based horologist (clock specialist), who will permanently install a historic clock in the Kings County Museum.
The clock, a significant Planter artifact and a rare example of early clockmaking in Nova Scotia, is returning home after 200 years. It was crafted in Horton Township in the late 1700s by John Bishop and given to his daughter, Ameila, upon her wedding to Charles Dickson, of Horton in 1772.
Since 1772, the Bishop Clock, a remarkable example of early Nova Scotian ingenuity and woodworking, has found itself in many different homes and, most recently, in Annapolis, Maryland where it has been taken care of by descendants of John Bishop. The clock will return home to Nova Scotia in July, accompanied by Stephen Sieracki, and find a new home at the Kings County Museum where it will be preserved for generations to come.
On July 12th, 2025, the clock will be installed in a permanent exhibit which will pay tribute to the Bishiop family, the Bishop family clock, and the planter legacy of Kings County. This installation will include reinstalling the Bishop Clock mechanisms (which will have been removed for safe transport). Stephan Sieracki will also be giving a talk on 18th-century clocks, including specific details and research on the Bishop Clock, and demonstrations. Q&A session to follow presentation.
For more information, please contact info@kingscountymuseum.ca or call the Museum at 1-902-678-6237.
The return of the Bishop Clock is more than the homecoming of a cherished family heirloom—it is a powerful reminder of the ingenuity, craftsmanship, and stories that shaped our communities. Preserving artifacts from the past, like this remarkable tall case clock, allows us to connect with the lives and legacies of those who came before us.
These tangible links to history enrich our understanding of who we are and where we come from. By safeguarding them today, we ensure that future generations can continue to learn from and be inspired by the people, cultures, and innovations that helped build our communities.
In the winter of 2017, I took on the restoration of a Junghans Crispi wall clock, made in Schwenningen, Germany. Built in the Vienna Regulator style, the clock came to me as a box of parts—an exciting challenge, especially once I learned of its remarkable history.
This clock survived the Halifax Explosion on December 6, 1917. I discovered it through an online listing and was immediately intrigued. While I wasn’t sure at first how far I’d go, I soon committed to restoring it to its full 19th-century glory.
Most of the clock is original: the movement, pendulum, coil gong, case crown, backboard, columns, and decorative trim. The front frame had been rebuilt about 30 years ago using modern materials. Though not fully authentic, the work was done with care and is largely hidden. I had no issue keeping it intact.
To complete the restoration, I replaced two small decorative trim pieces using birch and my vintage router, matching the originals as closely as possible. The result blended in beautifully.
The design reflects a time of grand ornamentation and eclectic influence, not its place of manufacture.
Was the effort worth it? Absolutely. The clock is now fully restored and running beautifully. Its resonant chime fills the house, and its unique presence always draws attention. More than a timepiece, it’s a piece of history and a cherished family heirloom.
When was the Clock Made?
I always wanted to determine the exact date of the clock, and when I first received it, I guessed it was made around 1900. While on the NAWCC forum site, someone posted an image from a Junghans catalog and suggested the clock was made in 1899. That seemed plausible, and I was satisfied it was made then.
1893 catalog1894 catalog1898 catalog
More recently, while browsing the historical index on the Junghans website, I discovered catalog images dating as far back as 1893, with listings for 1893, 1894, and 1898. It appears the clock was last produced in 1898.
There are subtle design differences between the 1893 and 1898 versions. The 1898 model features simpler clock hands, a beat plate, and longer crown finials. The pendulum design is also slightly different. Otherwise, the two versions look nearly identical. Based on these design changes, I believe my clock was made in either 1897 or 1898.
Final Thoughts
Researching your clock is one of the most rewarding parts of restoration. It deepens your connection to the clock and often uncovers fascinating history you might otherwise miss. In my case, exploring online forums and archival catalogs helped me more accurately date the Junghans Crispi and appreciate its evolving design. Manufacturer archives, collector communities, and historical indexes are invaluable tools; don’t overlook them. Every clock has a story, and with a bit of digging, you might be surprised by what you find.
Hi there, and welcome to my little corner of the internet! My name is Ron Joiner, and for the past twenty years, I’ve been an avid hobbyist and collector in the world of antique and vintage clocks. What started as a curiosity has grown into a deep passion for the intricate movements and rich history of these remarkable clocks.
Every so often, I like to promote my blog and help newcomers understand what it’s all about and what they can expect when they visit.
As some of you who visit regularly know, I’m not in the business of selling or repairing clocks—I’m simply someone who loves learning about them, collecting them, and occasionally restoring them as a labor of love. Along the way, I’ve gained a wealth of knowledge and experience that I’m excited to share with fellow enthusiasts like you. This blog is my way of sharing what I’ve learned.
On this site, you’ll find:
Tips and tricks for identifying and caring for antique clocks.
Stories and insights about the history and craftsmanship behind these old antique or vintage clocks.
My personal experiences and lessons learned from collecting and restoring clocks over the years.
A space to connect with others who share our passion for horology.
Whether you’re a seasoned collector or just starting to explore the world of antique clocks, I hope this site inspires you, teaches you something new, and helps you appreciate these incredible pieces of history as much as I do.
Feel free to explore, leave comments, or reach out with questions. I’m always happy to chat about clocks and learn from others in the community. I’d love to hear your stories, help with any clock-related challenges, or even feature one of your clocks in a future post. Don’t hesitate to leave a comment or get in touch!
How to Navigate My Blog
Be sure to use the “Search For Past Articles” feature to uncover a wealth of insights on mechanical clocks of all types. If English is not your first language, use the Translate widget on the right side of the front page.
I publish two blog articles each week, on Tuesdays and Fridays, and send them out at 6:00 am AST.
Join the community—subscribe to get a weekly dose of clock collecting tips, restoration stories, and horological history delivered to your inbox.
Thanks for stopping by—I’m thrilled to have you here and hope you’ll visit often.
A lot can happen to a mechanical clock over time. Even if your clock is primarily a decorative piece or a cherished family heirloom you’re hesitant to touch for fear of damaging it, it’s still wise to run it occasionally. Read on to learn why.
An Unused Clock
Surprisingly, it’s not regular operation that wears a clock down — it’s the passage of time and the surrounding environment. An idle clock may seem “preserved,” but several slow-acting processes can do more harm than the gentle motion of its gears.
The most immediate issue is oil degradation. Over time, clock oil (especially natural or mineral-based varieties) thickens, becomes sticky, or even congeals into a waxy film or becomes blackened. This thick sludge attracts dust, forming a gritty paste that can damage pivots and bushings if the clock is later restarted without servicing. Even synthetic oils, while more stable, are not immune to age-related breakdown, though many clockmakers agree they deteriorate more slowly and predictably.
A very dirty movementthat would be damaged without a cleaning
Another concern is oxidation. Brass plates survive well over time, but steel pivots and levers, especially in damp environments, are prone to corrosion. The longer a clock remains idle, the more likely moisture will begin to affect exposed parts, particularly if the movement isn’t well-sealed or has residual acidic contaminants from old oil. In coastal regions or humid climates, this process accelerates significantly.
Idle clocks are more vulnerable than you think
Idle Clocks Are More Vulnerable Than You Think
When the clock is left sitting, its tiny steel pivot ends are especially vulnerable. Over time, they can begin to pit or even lightly fuse to the inside of their bushing holes — a form of micro-seizing. This can lead to hesitation or jerky motion if the clock is later wound and restarted without proper inspection.
Leather parts such as hammer ends, wooden parts, can also dry out or warp over time. If the case is made of wood, as most are, lack of movement combined with seasonal humidity swings can lead to cracking, loose joints, or swelling that shifts the alignment of the movement inside the case. Warped cases or mounting brackets can throw a movement out of beat without any warning.
This worn pivot is an example of extreme wear
Another issue is that clocks not running are often neglected. Dust collects not only inside but also on and around the movement, often unnoticed. A clock that’s quietly sitting for years on a mantel or shelf might seem pristine, but a peek inside can reveal a surprising buildup of cobwebs, dust, or insect debris. I’ve found everything from spider nests to dead cluster flies inside clocks that had simply “sat for a few years.”
All Mechanical Things Age Better When Exercised – Just Like A Car
All mechanical things age better when exercised. All mechanical things age better when exercised, and a clock is no different than a car in this respect. Letting a car sit idle for months or years without driving it leads to flat spots on the tires, battery drain, stale fuel, and dried-out seals. My advice is to run your clocks from time to time — even just once a month. Let the gears move. Let the escapement tick away for a day or two or a complete cycle (a week if it’s an 8-day clock). It’s not only beneficial to the movement, but it also gives you a chance to observe how it’s performing.
And if you’re not quite ready to wind it fully, gently rotating the hands through a full 12-hour cycle once a month can help loosen things up, distribute any remaining oil, and identify warning signs like stiffness, resistance, or skipping.
A regulating pinion – not discoverable unless a movement is disassembled
Running your clock periodically also helps you maintain a connection with it. You’ll be more likely to notice subtle changes — a sluggish tick, a missed chime, a new sound — all of which can tell you something’s off long before a major issue arises. But even if something is slightly off, a service is a precautionary measure.
In my own collection, I maintain a controlled environment: consistent temperature, low humidity, no pets (I have no issue with pets!), and clean air — essentially a museum-like setting. Even so, I schedule regular health checks for all my clocks as a preventative measure.
I have a lot of clocks and I record work done on them to stay organized. I log every servicing, observation, and adjustment in an Excel spreadsheet. This not only helps me track wear patterns and service intervals but also creates a valuable record I can pass along with the clocks themselves, whether to my children or to future caretakers.
If you have only one clock or just a few, simply make a note on a calendar to remind yourself of any actions taken, whether it’s running the clock through a full cycle or even just moving the hands around the dial. You will thank me.
I have never been completely happy with how the movement runs in this Junghans Crispi wall clock. When I got the clock in 2017, I jumped right into restoring the case because it was an interesting challenge to put the clock together from a bunch of parts.
Junghans wall clock, circa 1899, model – Crispi
Now, eight years later, the clock continues to disappoint. The case remains in great shape, but the movement has been a consistent letdown.
Movement as found, about as dirty as it gets
Let’s take a step back in time.
Winter2017
After completing the work on the case, I turned my attention to the movement. During the disassembly and reassembly process, I accidentally broke not only the strike paddle but also a retention spring. In 2017, my skills weren’t advanced enough to repair the paddle and retaining spring myself, so I had the movement professionally serviced.
Broken strike paddle
During its 2017 service, the paddle was repaired and a new spring was installed. In addition, the movement had received extensive bushing work: six bushings on the front plate and six on the rear.
Three months later, I picked up the clock and hung it on my dining room wall. It ran perfectly for over two and a half years.
Spring2020
For some undetermined reason, the strike became erratic—it would strike incorrectly, fail to strike at all or strike incessantly until the mainspring ran down.
I had a number of other clock projects on the go so I kept the time side going and left it on the wall until later that year.
December 2020
In December, I disassembled the movement and discovered a slightly bent arbor on the strike side cam wheel. All other pivots were straight, and there were no noticeably worn pivot holes—everything else appeared to be in good condition.
I did notice a small amount of dirty oil around many of the pivots. While I was initially a bit surprised, it’s not entirely unusual after more than two years of regular operation.
Unfortunately, disaster struck again. While manipulating the plates, I snapped the paddle arbor retention spring—again! This time, however, I was able to repair it myself.
There was just enough of the original spring left to reuse. The wire is very thin (0.5 mm), extremely brittle, and breaks easily under even light pressure. Using a micro drill with a 0.5 mm HSS bit, I carefully enlarged the existing hole in the plate, reinstalled the spring, and secured it with Threadlocker Red to bond it firmly in place.
The movement was reassembled and tested. After the testing period the movement was returned to its case and ran well until about 6 months ago.
Fall 2024
While the time side was running well, the erratic striking returned, and after a few weeks, the clock began stopping just before the warning phase. I wound both the time and strike sides again to replicate the problem, and each time it stopped at the warning point. Feeling frustrated, I left the clock on the wall, wound only the time side, and still it stopped. Since I had other projects to tend to, I decided to leave this one on the back burner for a while.
The movement on a test stand
Spring 2025
Since I was free of immediate projects, I removed the movement from its case and placed it on the test stand. As expected, the time side ran fine. It was serviced not so long ago. For the last couple of months, however, it has been striking erratically or not at all. It enters warning without issue, but seems to almost stall during the striking process. I want to address this issue, but I also want to disassemble the movement to clean up both the pivots and the bushing holes, as the oil is dirtier than I expected.
Judging from similar movements I’ve worked on, I believe there are three issues at play:
A power issue, which suggests the mainspring is weak.
One or more bent pivots, preventing the wheels from turning freely.
The paddle is not correctly positioned in relation to the star wheel. The hammer begins lifting immediately at the drop-off, which stalls the strike train. Once it gets going again, the hammer lifts easily and quickly. I’ll try repositioning the star wheel to allow more run time before the hammer paddle is engaged.
The first issue means replacing the strike-side mainspring. The second issue involves manipulating pivots. There is always a risk of breaking a pivot when attempting to straighten it, not a pleasant experience, as re-pivoting is necessary.
Check back later for an update on what I discovered—which of the three issues turned out to be the culprit, and whether I was finally able to fix a clock that, at times, seems determined not to be fixed.
Have you ever come across the term FrankenClock in the world of clock collecting? If not, let me explain.
Imagine purchasing a clock, hoping that every mechanical component, finial, and piece of trim is original, only to later discover—through experience, research, or sheer luck—that it isn’t. How would that make you feel? Disappointed? Cheated? Many collectors have faced this reality. A clock with non-original or mismatched parts is often referred to as a FrankenClock.
A Case in Point -A Gustav Becker Two-Weight Vienna Regulator
To illustrate, let me share the story of my own Vienna regulator clock that I purchased in 2016. At a glance, it presents very well, keeps excellent time, and has undergone necessary restoration, thorough cleaning, oiling, and case repairs. But is it original in every way? No, not by a long shot.
Gustav Becker Vienna Regulator
When I purchased this clock, it was sold as a “project clock,” with the seller making no claims about its originality—a fair and transparent transaction reflected in what I determined to be a fair price in 2016. Over time, I uncovered several details that revealed its true history.
The following is what I now know concerning my Gustav Becker 8-day time and strike wall clock
The Glass Panels
When the clock arrived, I had no way of knowing whether the glass panels—the front door glass and side lights—were original. It became a moot point when they shattered during shipping. The case also sustained damage, though not severe enough to require new parts—mostly just glue failing and pieces coming loose. When I took the case to a glass installer, they asked two key questions: Why is the side glass thicker than the front glass? And why were finishing nails used to secure the panels? These details cast doubt on whether the glass that came with the clock was original. In any event, the panels were replaced with new glass.
What I had assumed to be original was, in fact, another chapter in the clock’s long journey.
The Weights
At first glance, the clock’s two weights appeared identical. However, closer inspection revealed a subtle difference in their hook designs. Given Gustav Becker’s reputation for precision, it seems unlikely that the factory would have issued mismatched weights. This suggests that at least one weight is a replacement (and probably both, for that matter).
The Movement
The movement appears appropriate for the period and case, but is it original? The seller had disclosed missing parts, including the star wheel/snail, strike hammer, and rod. Additionally, the gathering pallet was bent, preventing the strike side from functioning. It was evidently harvested for parts.
Determined to restore the clock, I sourced what I thought was an exact donor movement from Poland—specifically from Gustav Becker’s Braunau factory (as opposed to the Silesia factory). However, despite being only 16 years newer, the donor movement had subtle differences: thinner plates, redesigned lever springs, a slightly thicker minute arbour shaft, and incompatible strike components. Unfortunately, the replacement parts were not interchangeable with the original movement.
Though disappointed, I decided to swap the entire movement, though I kept the original movement for transparency. If I ever sell the clock, I will disclose this change along with all other modifications.
It gets better (or worse).
Replacement hands and brass bezel
Other Replacements and Repairs
The spun brass dial bezel is a period-correct replacement which I sourced because the original was bent during shipment.
Some trim pieces, such as the bottom finials may have been added later, though their exact origin remains uncertain.
The bottom center finial is a replacement. Interestingly, it has wormwood holes, whereas the case itself has no traces of worm damage.
The clock originally had Ogee clock hands rather than Vienna regulator hands. Ogee clock hands are not correct for this clock. After an extensive search through suppliers in Canada, the U.S., and Britain, I was surprised by the limited availability of Vienna regulator hands. Eventually, I sourced a set from Poland. Although they are not historically accurate and not the design that might have been on the clock face at the time, I eventually settled on sleeker hands that look appropriate and will suffice for now.
Lessons Learned
I hesitate to dig any deeper into this clock, fearing I will uncover even more shortcomings.
Despite its mix of original and replacement parts, this clock remains a valuable learning experience.
Many collectors unknowingly own FrankenClocks—clocks that have been altered with non-original or mismatched parts. While reputable auction houses often disclose repairs, replacements, or questionable components, online listings are far less reliable. Sellers on popular online marketplaces may not always be aware of a clock’s history or may choose to omit important details.
When buying a clock, especially online, approach with caution. Examine all available photos carefully, looking for inconsistencies in the case, dial, hands, movement, and other components. Ask the seller direct questions about originality, repairs, or missing parts, and request additional photos if something seems unclear. If possible, compare the clock to known examples from reference books, collector forums, online image searches, or auction archives.
Be particularly wary of listings that provide vague descriptions, low-quality images, or no mention of service history. A clock that looks pristine may have been heavily restored, while one advertised as “original” may contain replacement parts that significantly affect its value. If purchasing in person, inspect the clock thoroughly—check for signs of “over-restoration”, mismatched components, or modern hardware securing old parts. If I see a Robertson or Phillips screws on a 100+-year-old clock I immediately back away.
Ultimately, knowledge is your best defense. The more informed you are about a particular clock model, the better equipped you’ll be to recognize potential red flags before making a purchase.
After working on the dial of a Pequegnat Jewel mantel clock, I was very pleased with the results of the repaint. While the detailing may not withstand close scrutiny, the clock looks excellent from a comfortable distance.
When I brought the clock home, it appeared that a previous owner, frustrated by the loss of some or most of the paint on the dial, chose not to source a replacement but instead stripped the paint entirely, leaving only the numerals.
Photo taken on the day the clock was purchased
Someone had gone to great lengths to meticulously scrape away all the paint, but the result is far from appealing.
Something Still Troubled Me
I decided to address the missing paint on the dial by repainting it and touching up the numerals, and the results met my expectations.
After repainting the dial and retouching the numerals
It continued to bother me that the glass surround had a brassy gold appearance, while the dial bezel exhibited a bronze-like tone.
Although brass is an alloy of copper and zinc, with variations in composition potentially explaining this difference, I suspect that’s not the case here.
Instead, I believe the glass surround was originally painted gold, as small flakes of paint came off while I was cleaning it with a toothpick and cloth. Should I leave it as-is or match the outer bezel to the inner one? I’d have to think about it—a two-toned dial looked odd.
A Decision Was Made
Since the dial and surround had already been altered, I decided to take it a step further and repaint the inner bezel as well. With the right shade of acrylic paint on hand, I went ahead and tackled the task.
Some might argue that I went too far with the repainted dial and bezel, believing that any changes made to the clock over time are part of its history. However, I don’t share that perspective. To me, a poor repair from the past justifies taking steps to set things right. Leaving a damaged dial on a clock case that is otherwise in near-perfect condition would be a shame.
From a different angle
I have no regrets about my decision—if anything, I’ve now contributed to its history.
By correcting such mistakes, I believe I honour the intent and skill of the original maker. Restoring a clock to a condition closer to its authentic appearance helps preserve its aesthetic value for future generations.
In Part I of this series, I shared my approach to restoring a clock dial through a process called inpainting. Inpainting is but one solution to the problem of a ruined dial. To restore a clock dial by bringing it back to its original state involves carefully mixing paint to match the original tones, gradually building up layers to cover exposed metal, and remedying prior modifications that detracted from the dial’s appearance. I also highlighted the challenges of repainting, emphasizing the precision and patience required. Part I concluded with the groundwork laid for further work on the dial.
The clock is an Arthur Pequegnat Jewel, manufactured before 1917. The exact year of manufacture is uncertain, as Pequegnat did not date stamp their clocks. The approximate period of manufacture is confirmed by the maker’s stamp, which includes “Berlin,” the original name of what is now Kitchener. The city’s name was changed in 1917 due to sentiments arising from the Great War. So, the clock was made somewhere between 1904, the first year of production for Pequegnat clocks, and 1916.
Arthur Pequegnat Simcoe
This model shares the exact case dimensions as the Simcoe but lacks certain decorative elements, making it one of the more affordable mantel clocks in their range.
The clock case features a piecrust dial bezel like the Simcoe, which was later replaced by a plain bezel in later years.
Pequegnat Jewel as found
In terms of the dial restoration, Part II will build on the inpainting progress by applying additional coats, enhancing details like the numerals and chapter ring, and bringing the dial closer to its original elegance.
More Work Required on the Dial
After the second coat, the bare metal is still visible, indicating that at least one or two more coats will be necessary.
I decided to continue a shade darker for the next layer by adding a touch more brown, and after more thought, darker still for the next coat or two. Even at this stage, I’m beginning to notice a pleasant transformation in the dial, shifting from its stark metallic appearance to a more pleasing shade of cream.
For the third coat, I aimed to soften the yellow and achieve a more aged look. It’s rough at the moment, but I’m confident it will come together once I start applying black paint to the numerals. The good news is that the bare metal is no longer visible.
The dial is done, now for the numerals
When placed against the case, the repainted dial is an improvement, but it’s clear that I’ll never fully replicate the original dial, even with my try at aging it.
The fourth coat has fully concealed the tin beneath, so, I’ll stop here. Next, I will focus on the numerals, using an artist’s detail brush and a Sharpie Ultra fine-point pen to carefully restore them.
Bezeltest fit
Since the stripping process compromised the original numbers, I’ll use my Simcoe as a reference to reshape and refine their appearance. I’ll allow the paint to cure fully before moving on to the next step.
After cleaning the bezel, I noticed a distinct difference between the glass surround and the dial bezel. The glass surround has a brassy gold appearance, while the dial bezel exhibits a bronze-like tone. Although brass is an alloy of copper and zinc, with variations in composition potentially explaining this difference, I suspect that’s not the case here. Instead, I believe the glass surround was painted gold, as small flakes of paint came off while I was cleaning it with a toothpick. The bottom line? Best to leave it as is. Or match the outer bezel to the inner one? I’d have to think about that.
Here is the final result after a few touch-ups with black paint and some light polishing of the glass and both bezels.
Is it an improvement?
While it does not hold up to close scrutiny, there’s no denying it looks much better when viewed from a comfortable distance.
With the dial restored and the case cleaned, the final step will be servicing the time and strike movement to bring the clock to its full potential. While the improvement comes with its compromises, it’s satisfying to see the progress so far, and I’m eager to have this clock run smoothly after servicing.
As I continue to build my Pequegnat clock collection, I always seize a good deal when I find one, and the Jewel was too good to pass up. You might be wondering, what exactly is a Pequegnat clock and where does the Jewel fit into their model lineup?
A Pequegnat clock refers to clocks produced by the Arthur Pequegnat Clock Company, a renowned Canadian manufacturer active from 1904 to 1941 in Kitchener, Ontario, Canada. These clocks are celebrated for their quality craftsmanship and distinct place in Canadian horological history. Pequegnat clocks were a common feature in many Canadian homes.
I now have twelve Pequegnat clocks in my collection, consisting of several mantel clocks and three wall clocks.
Arthur Pequegnat Simcoe
In 2018, I purchased a Pequegnat Simcoe clock from a shop in Victoria, British Columbia, for nearly $200—a price I found fair at the time. More recently, I came across the Jewel model in an antique shop just 20 minutes from home. Though it was perched on a high shelf, I recognized it instantly. Given its significantly lower price, I couldn’t resist adding it to my collection.
An excellent price for a Pequegnat mantel clock
The case dimensions of both are exactly the same and each has the earlier Berlin-style piecrust dial.
Pequegnat Jewel
Three features differentiate the Jewel from the Simcoe. First, the Jewel was a less expensive clock. It is likely one of the least expensive mantel clocks in the Pequegnat mantel clock lineup, offering a more affordable option for many Canadian families.
Secondly, the Jewel lacks the lion’s head side handles and decorative feet found on the Simcoe.
Third, although the movement is identical to the Simcoe, the Jewel has a smaller gong block. A smaller gong block would still produce sound, but with a less resonant tone, which was considered an acceptable tradeoff for keeping production costs lower.
Condition of the dial
Unfortunately, the dial on the Jewel has been completely stripped of its paint. I’m willing to accept a dial with some imperfections—after all, the paint on the Simcoe’s dial is flaking, but that’s part of its aging process and what gives it its antique character.
A ruined dial
However, a dial completely stripped of its paint, aside from the chapter ring and numerals, is unsightly and distracting. I completely understand why this was done. More expensive Pequegnat clocks featured enamel dials, while the more common models had painted dials, which are prone to flaking after many years and this clock must have had extensive paint loss.
While some might have left the dial as it was, viewing it as part of the clock’s history, the extent of the modification made it impossible for me to leave it as is. The fact that the clock only cost me $45 also made me more willing to take the risk to remediate the dial.
Repainting a dial is usually a last resort for me, and I wouldn’t recommend it unless you have steady hands, plenty of patience, the necessary materials, or the option to outsource the work to an artist friend or an expert. Outsourcing might be a good choice, particularly for dials with sentimental value, as it ensures the work is handled with precision and care by an expert. Preserving the integrity and charm of a cherished clock often warrants entrusting the work to skilled hands such as The Dial House.
Some time ago, I restored the dial on a Seth Thomas clock using a technique called inpainting, and I was very pleased with the results. I also touched up the dial to a Pequegnat Canuck shelf clock with very satisfactory results.
A decision was made
As I considered my options, I decided that if the inpainting did not turn out as planned, I could always order a paper dial from an eBay supplier and place it over the original.
The paint was painstakingly scraped away, but the result was far from pleasing
However, the cost of the dial alone would exceed what I paid for the clock. Besides, I’m not particularly fond of paper dials.
I know that once I’m done with the dial, my artistic “talent” will be apparent upon close inspection. However, I’m confident it will be an improvement over its current state.
To carry out this procedure, the hands, dial/bezel must be removed. There are just two screws at 3 and 9 o’clock that hold the dial assembly in place. Once the assembly is removed, the glass and its bezel can be separated from the dial and set aside.
Once the dial was removed, I cleaned the stripped surface with isopropyl alcohol. It evaporates quickly and leaves no residue, and since the dial had no remaining paint aside from the chapter ring and numerals, I wasn’t concerned about damaging the finish and simply worked around the painted areas.
A small dab of yellow is enough
The dial was likely originally white but had aged to a darker cream color over time. To recreate this, I mixed a touch of canary yellow with cotton ball white to achieve the perfect shade. I used both a broad artist’s brush and a fine-point detail brush to apply the first coat. Multiple coats are necessary, but the first coat needs to be cured before adding another.
I’m using water-based acrylic paint, which is self-sealing and becomes permanent when baked at low heat however, this dial will not be spending time in an oven. Once another coat or two is applied I can use a pointed tip detail brush to reshape the numerals using black paint.
The first coat is acceptable, though a bit blotchy due to the uneven spread of paint across the dial. The tin was very visible, so I knew that more than one coat would be necessary.
I mixed the yellow and white paint the same way for the second coat, this time adding a touch of chocolate brown.
However, the bare metal is still visible, indicating that at least one or possibly two more coats will be needed. I’m considering going a shade darker for the next layer by adding a touch more brown, but I’ll take some time to think it over before deciding. I’m starting to notice a lovely transformation in the dial, shifting from its stark tin appearance to a more pleasing shade of cream.
That wraps up Part I of this two-part series. In Part II, coming in the new year, I’ll continue the restoration process by applying additional coats to the dials and refining the numerals and chapter ring. Stay tuned!
The term minimal invasive intervention refers to the delicate decision-making process regarding how much work should be done to repair, restore, or conserve a clock without significantly altering its original character. It encapsulates a challenge many collectors face: balancing preservation with functionality.
Some argue that any work performed on an antique clock detracts from its value, much like installing new fenders on an antique car. While it may improve appearance or functionality, it might make the piece less desirable to purists. So, at what point does intervention—however well-intentioned—compromise a clock’s value?
When original parts, particularly the movement or key aesthetic features, are replaced with non-original or modern components, the clock often loses collector value. Authenticity is a cornerstone of desirability for collectors. Replacing a worn movement with a reproduction or modern equivalent significantly reduces value, even if it restores functionality.
Excessive restoration, such as refinishing to a like-new condition, can erase the patina, wear, or other marks of age that contribute to the clock’s historical character. Collectors value the evidence of a clock’s journey through time.
Alterations that cannot be undone, such as resizing a case, changing its design, or permanently altering the movement, reduce value. Reversibility is crucial in maintaining collector interest.
Intervention may not compromise value if the repair restores function without altering original materials or craftsmanship. Rebushing and cleaning are interventions but are generally considered acceptable practices.
I always maintain that there should be Respectfor Provenance, that is, preserving historical repairs, markings, documentation, and patina when they tell the clock’s story through the ages. In addition, using methods and materials appropriate to the clock’s era maintain authenticity.
Let’s look at some definitions.
Repair, Restoration, and Conservation Defined
Repair involves correcting faults or addressing prior poor repairs, often resulting in changes to a clock’s form or function. Repair in a museum context typically addresses specific problems to restore mechanical function or structural integrity while still respecting the clock’s historical value and authenticity.
Restoration seeks to return the clock to an “as new” condition, sometimes requiring reconstruction of parts of the movement or case. Restoration in a museum context involves returning an antique clock to a state that reflects its original appearance or function, often as close as possible to how it was when first made.
Conservation focuses on preserving the clock in its current state while protecting it from further deterioration. This approach aims to maintain the clock as close to its original condition as possible for as long as possible. Conservation in this context prioritizes maintaining the clock’s historical authenticity and ensuring it can be studied and appreciated by future generations. This approach is guided by principles of reversibility, documentation, and respect for the original materials and craftsmanship. A reversible repair means future conservators can undo them if needed.
Some amount of intervention is often necessary and even desired by collectors, but how much is always a delicate balance.
A Case in Point: 1878 E. Ingraham Huron Clock
E Ingraham Hurons were made between 1878 and 1880
Take, for example, an 1878 E. Ingraham Huron time-and-strike balloon clock from my collection. The 16-inch high rosewood case is remarkably well-preserved for its 146 years, with no breaks, cracks, or missing pieces. The hands, pendulum bob, sash, and bezel hardware are all original, as is the movement. The case has been gently cleaned with soap and water and given a light coat of shellac for protection.
The clock face retains a layer of grime that contributes to its aged character, which I chose to leave untouched. However, the movement has suffered from less-than-professional repairs, likely due to the lack of skilled clockmakers in small-town Nova Scotia (Canada) during the clock’s early life. These repairs include soldered joints and realigned gears with pivot holes drilled directly into the plates—techniques probably applied in the 1940s, when soldering guns became more accessible.
Solder repair on the Huronmovement
The clock ran for two or three days before stopping, and even nudging the pendulum provides only a temporary fix. On removing the movement from its case, the extent of these invasive repairs becomes more apparent. Even more apparent was the need for a full servicing.
Solder repair on the second wheel
Deciding on the Right Approach
After consulting a certified horologist, we discussed the options: repair, restore, or conserve? He shared an example of a customer’s kitchen clock (or “Gingerbread clock”), a common family heirloom. While these clocks are rarely of high monetary value, they often hold deep sentimental significance.
He typically repairs such clocks but occasionally replaces irreparable movements with period-correct ones—an option acceptable to many owners, but one that collectors generally frown upon and approach I did not care for.
In the case of my Huron, replacing the movement would significantly reduce its value as a collector’s item. Restoring the original movement, however, would maintain its authenticity and desirability. That is the route we took.
Guiding Questions for Intervention
When deciding how to proceed with any antique or vintage clock, I consider the following:
Does undoing damage from a previous poor repair qualify as overly invasive?
If the repair was performed soon after the clock was made and is historically documented (e.g., markings inside the case), should it remain untouched?
Does the poor repair add or subtract from the clock’s historical provenance, making it part of its story?
Would restoring the movement to its original state be considered a repair or a restoration?
Does removing all solder work qualify as a minimally invasive intervention?
Will the repair enhance or detract from the clock’s value?
Would leaving the clock unrestored qualify as conservation?
The poor repair needed to be addressed. I believe that correcting a subpar repair will always restore the clock’s functionality without diminishing its value. Since only minimal work was done on the case and nothing was done to the dial, I would classify this approach as a repair plus conservation.
The Collector’s Dilemma
Collectors often value clocks that remain as untouched as possible. A pristine, unaltered antique clock that runs is exceedingly rare. However, some intervention is inevitable if the goal is to preserve function, as long as it respects the clock’s historical and aesthetic integrity.
In my view, conservation and repair align most closely with minimal invasive intervention and restoration is inherently more intrusive. Deciding how far to go with a clock involves weighing its historical significance, its condition, and your goals as a collector or caretaker.
When I acquire a clock, the first question I ask is: what outcome am I aiming for based on the price I paid? For inexpensive mantel clocks, I’m willing to undertake extensive case repairs, recognizing that a clock purchased cheaply likely won’t gain significant value. However, for more desirable clocks, I adopt a more cautious approach, carefully determining the minimal work needed to restore functionality and enhance the case’s appearance.
I’d like to hear your views on this subject and how you approach this delicate balance!
Over the past 12 years, time has flown by, and just recently, while cleaning a clock I serviced over five and a half years ago, I realized that I have been immersed in this hobby for a long time—and loving every moment of it.
Three years into my journey, I started blogging, a passion that’s been going strong for almost 9 years. Writing not only allows me to track my progress as I delve deeper into the world of clock collecting, repair, and restoration, but it also provides an opportunity to blend my photography hobby with my love for storytelling.
It has been a fascinating journey, one filled with countless lessons. Here are some of my thoughts and reflections on what I have learned along the way.
From Quantity to Quality
In my early days of clock collecting, I acquired nearly any clock I could find—some for as little as $5—mainly to practice repairing cases and movements. However, the collection quickly grew, and I soon found myself running out of space—a common challenge for many collectors.
I eventually settled on a comfortable number of around 80 clocks. I aim to follow a “one in, one out” rule to keep the collection manageable. It’s not always easy, though, as there’s always something tempting that catches my eye.
Over time, I have become more selective, focusing on specific types such as wall clocks and weight-driven models or clocks that are unique and interesting. At present, my primary focus is Canadian-made clocks and those with a strong Canadian connection.
Patience Yields Rewards
Restoration projects take time, and I have learned to embrace a slow, methodical process. My last major project, an antique 1840s banjo clock, took almost a year to complete after I acquired it in 2021. I worked on it in stages, researching new techniques and patiently waiting for the right tools to make the job easier. For example, a band clamp turned out to be indispensable for the wood bezel repair.
A movement will often sit on my bench for weeks as I work through the various stages of servicing. This gives me time to carefully consider any problem areas, mitigate them, and document my progress on my blog.
Tools: Invest Wisely and Gradually
As with any hobby that involves mechanical work, tools can be expensive. In the beginning, I used whatever I had on hand, which consisted mainly of household tools, but as my commitment grew, I began investing in specialized equipment.
Although buying used equipment is always an option for some, living in a less populated area of Canada, the East Coast, means fewer opportunities to find pre-owned tools.
I always consider pre-owned tools first but used tools are not always in the best condition because they are heavily used, improperly maintained, or simply worn out over time. Tools can suffer from wear and tear, rust, dull blades, or misaligned parts, all of which can impact their effectiveness. This can make it difficult to rely on used tools for precise work, especially in a hobby like clock repair where accuracy is crucial.
For instance, a used Bergeon Bushing Machine might seem like a great deal at 950 CAD on eBay, but if the cutters are dull or damaged, replacing them can cost 300 CAD or more.
The Changing Values of Antique & Vintage Clocks
Not all old clocks are valuable, despite their age. Old is not gold as one of my readers has said. In fact, a glut of antique clocks on the internet has driven prices down and that trend is unlikely to change in the next several years.
For example, Ogee clocks that once sold for $200–$300 are now worth a fraction of that. 30-hour Ogee clocks also are not wanted by most collectors resulting in a significant decline in their value. Mantel, wall, and tall-case clocks have also seen a similar price drop.
I have bought $40 clocks that are still worth… well, $40. With the advent of the Internet, a vast majority of antique and vintage clocks flooded the market, leading to reduced demand and lower prices. Inexpensive clocks are generally in poor condition, require significant repairs, or are lower in quality or craftsmanship, making them less desirable. Shifts in collector interest have also influenced prices, with clocks that were once popular losing their appeal over time, which has affected their value.
On the other hand, prestigious clocks, especially those that are highly intricate or come with documented provenance, tend to have higher values, and their prices continue to remain elevated.
Balancing Passion, Skills & Knowledge
It’s important to avoid diving too deeply into a hobby beyond your current skills and knowledge. Stick to what you know and what you’re capable of handling, and remain conscious of your level of expertise.
By focusing on your strengths, you can enjoy the process and make steady progress without becoming overwhelmed. Trying to tackle projects or techniques that are beyond your abilities can diminish your enthusiasm for the hobby.
Setting realistic goals and gradually expanding your skills can enhance your experience. As you become more comfortable and knowledgeable, you can take on more challenging projects at your own pace. Continuous learning while respecting your limits allows you to grow in this hobby without losing your passion.
There’s strength in recognizing what I can’t do and in acknowledging when something is beyond my expertise. For example, deciding not to offer clock repair as a service shows that I know what brings me joy without overcommitting.
By knowing my limits, I avoid turning enjoyable activities, like collecting or maintaining clocks, into a source of stress. Setting limits allows me to concentrate on what truly matters—like focusing on Canadian-made clocks or curating a meaningful collection.
We all make mistakes but it is not a time to give up after one mistake. Pushing on despite setbacks is equally important. It helps build resilience and determination, essential qualities for any hobbyist. Challenges should reinforce your commitment to the craft. When faced with a challenge, my strategy is to step back temporarily and focus on something else until a solution presents itself.
Having said that, It is also beneficial to recognize when it is time to seek help or advice from more experienced collectors or professional repair persons.
On the flip side, Facebook clock groups are often a mix of tinkerers and experts, which can lead to misinformation. Well-meaning hobbyists frequently provide misguided advice to novice clock repairers.
I maintain a library of clock repair booksand prefer consulting them over seeking solutions on social media.
Profit Should not be the Motivation
For some, clock collecting might be about turning a profit, but that is not my motivation. I do occasionally sell a clock to offset the cost of tools, but for me, the real joy lies in the nostalgia, the design, and the marvel of a 150-year-old machine that still works perfectly today.
Each clock tells a story, connecting me to the craftsmanship and history of its time. It is incredibly rewarding to restore old clocks and witness them spring back to life, just as they were intended over a century ago without seeing profit along the way.
Sometimes Walking Away is the Best Strategy
Over the years, I have walked away from many clocks. Whether it’s an auction price that’s gone beyond my budget or a clock with too many issues, I have learned to let go. Some clocks would have been great additions to my collection, but I’m not willing to compromise when something feels off—whether it’s the price or the condition.
Trusted Auction sites are easily accessible today, and many clocks are available on their platforms. I make it a habit to establish my maximum bid at the start of the auction and stick to my plan. While I have missed out on a few clocks, I deemed them overpriced.
Connecting with Fellow Horological Travelers
One of the highlights of this journey has been connecting with other collectors, especially through my blog. As clock enthusiasts, we form a unique community—many of us are introverts, yet we thrive when discussing our shared passion. The friendships I’ have built and the knowledge I have gained from these connections have been invaluable.
Looking back, it’s been an incredible period of learning, collecting, and connecting with others. I have acquired some fascinating clocks and met wonderful people, and I look forward to the next chapter in this ongoing adventure.
If you found this article helpful or have any follow-up questions, feel free to share your thoughts in the comment section below.
My daughter asked ChatGPT for the most popular antique clock websites, and it provided a top ten list. Antiquevintageclock.com ranked number 9.
I found the description of the site description interesting and accurate, so I’ll quote ChatGPT’s findings.
The author at work on a clock movement
The Antique and Vintage Clocks Blog (found at [antiquevintageclock.com](http://antiquevintageclock.com)) is a dedicated resource for enthusiasts interested in the history, restoration, and maintenance of antique and vintage clocks. This blog is run by a passionate collector and restorer who shares detailed insights into various clock models, repair techniques, and the historical significance of different timepieces.
Key Features of the Blog:
1. Restoration Projects: – The blog frequently features detailed posts about clock restoration projects, showing before-and-after photos, and explaining the processes involved in bringing an old clock back to life. These posts are valuable for anyone interested in learning how to restore their own clocks.
Repairing a clock dial
2. Historical Context: – In addition to technical advice, the blog provides historical background on various clockmakers, styles, and movements. This context helps readers appreciate the cultural and technological significance of the clocks they own or wish to purchase.
3. Step-by-Step Guides: – The author often publishes step-by-step guides on topics such as cleaning, oiling, and repairing clock mechanisms. These guides are written in a clear and accessible manner, making them useful for both beginners and more experienced collectors.
A barrel is opened up to prepare for mainspring maintenance
4. Clock Reviews: – The blog includes reviews and analyses of specific clock models, highlighting their unique features, historical value, and what to look for when buying similar pieces.
5. Reader Engagement: – The blog encourages interaction with its readers through comments and questions, creating a community of clock enthusiasts who share tips, advice, and experiences.
The Antique and Vintage Clocks Blog is particularly useful for individuals looking to deepen their understanding of antique and vintage clocks and how to care for them, offering a blend of technical knowledge and historical appreciation.
I was delighted to see how accurate and thorough the description was. It perfectly captures the essence of my blog and the dedication I put into each post. The detailed breakdown of the site’s features truly reflects my passion and knowledge that make it such a valuable resource for antique and vintage clock enthusiasts.
When my wife’s parents sold their home in a small town in Nova Scotia in 1996, they passed on a wall clock, which had been given to my father-in-law by a patient and had hung on the wall in the main hallway of their home, to his son, my wife’s brother. It has been in storage ever since then.
I hadn’t seen the clock in nearly 30 years though I have vivid memories. In the 1980s and 1990s, my wife and I would bring the kids to visit their grandparents on weekends. The clock would resonate throughout the house. It was unforgettable, by its loud ticking and the four-hammer strike marking the hour and half-hour.
Made by Mauthe, it is a 1930s-style German box clock, dark in color, reminiscent of one in my own collection. In fact, except for minor details on the case, it’s almost identical to mine.
German “box” clock by Mauthe, in my collection
My father-in-law loved the clock and had it for years, winding it without fail once a week. When it stopped, he would have someone local service it for him. He cherished it deeply, though I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps, as a doctor, he valued it as a thank-you gift from one of his patients, or maybe he simply had a passion for clocks.
Sadly, my father-in-law passed away in 2012, and my mother-in-law passed away this year. While settling the estate, my wife and her brother started communicating on a deeper level, and the subject of the clock came up. Would I fix it?
Not this clock but a similarMauthe movement
The clock has now been passed to me for repair. I picked it up in mid-June, and my first impression was that the case was in excellent shape for its age. While the case has minor nicks and scratches that can be easily addressed, the dial is rough. Otherwise, the movement appears intact with no missing or damaged parts.
Overall, I believe the clock is definitely worth restoring. Once I evaluate the clock further I can determine what needs to be done, make any necessary repairs to the movement, and the case, test the movement, and return it to my wife’s brother. To have it displayed prominently on a wall and running again would be a testament to my father-in-law’s memory.
Although I have other projects on the go and cannot tackle this project until the fall, I am pretty excited about working on this clock. It is a perfect candidate for restoration but more importantly, it has great sentimental value.
In future posts, I will describe a step-by-step process of revitalizing the case and another on servicing the movement.
Antique and Vintage Mechanical Clocks 
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