The Grandfather Clock

The old Tudor house was half-timbered and gaunt,

Was gloomy and dim in the hall,

And time had stood still, since my father was born,

In the clock that had stood by the wall.

Its pendulum hung, never making a sound

I’d never so much heard it chime,

But then, on the day that my Dad passed away,

Its tick had begun to keep time.

 

My mother was dead and my father was gone,

The half-timbered house passed to me,

I wandered its passages, sad and distraught,

As lonely as one man could be!

I’d sit in the lounge and I’d read by a lamp

With the rest of the house cloaked in gloom,

And heard the dread tick of that grandfather clock

As it echoed in time through the room!

 

Each tick was a portent, the passing of life,

Each tock brought me nearer to death,

I’d listen for noises, the timber that creaked,

Sit terrified, holding my breath!

The warm summer showers pit-pattered the thatch,

The wind would sough-sough at the eaves,

And summer passed quickly to autumn that year

In a thick golden carpet of leaves.

 

I never once wound up that grandfather clock,

I waited for it to wind down,

But like a tap dripping, it never would stop

I felt I was starting to drown.

I found in the library’s masses of books

An ancient collection of tomes,

And one that was covered in leather, I looked,

And read, and I wished that I’d known!

 

Sir Richard FitzWalter had lived in that house,

And he it was, ordered the clock,

He’d fought against Cromwell for Charlie the First

‘Til Charles lost his head on the block!

He’d fled to the country, was caught in the house,

And hanged on the tree by the gate,

His wife, Lady Mary, had begged for his life

But the Roundheads had jeered: ‘You’re too late!’

 

She left them, went sobbing back into the hall

And she clung to the grandfather clock,

But just as her husband, his heart ceased to beat,

She heard that the ticking had stopped.

That clock never ran for the rest of her life,

But showed just a quarter to four,

The time that Sir Richard was pinioned and hung

At the gate, on the tree by his door.

 

The clock began ticking when Mary had died,

Had taken her grief to the grave,

And each generation it stopped or began

When the master was born, or was saved!

I knew then the clock had been ticking for me

And I wanted it never to stop,

I’d wake in the night and I’d tremble to hear

If my heart was still pounding, or not.

 

Then one winter’s night I was restless, and rose

From my sleep, and walked down to the hall,

A Cavalier soldier stood facing the clock,

Adjusting the pendulum pawl;

Resetting the weights on that grandfather clock

So my heart would continue to beat,

From that time to this, I have lived here content

While Sir Richard returns as I sleep.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[roarke]

Clocks. Ingenious and insidious at the same time. Usually sounds in stories give existential angst or foreboding to the main character, of Poe-ish flavor. But here you've turned it and the main character strives to hear the ticking continue. I'm not a fan of measured time, unless it's by the seasonal changes. Man tinkers too much I think.

[Kenneth The Poet]

Master storyteller you are. I need to read up on English history a bit too.

Awesome work as always, David.

[Tate Morgan]

Well now I know the place this came from beautiful intricate .A great telling of a soon to be timeless tale .that from the immortal soon to be known in all circles high and low as the poet who speaks to us all ,simply Paget!!

[shultzfeather]

such mystery and legend, tittilated me, good golly

[Lena M. P.]

What a fabulous tale you have woven with this poem. David I loved this one! The twist you gave from being a bad omen to understanding and realizing that the clock stood for his mortality not his death was outstanding. Well penned.

[Valentine]

Fantastic..I am getting into ancient wars and clan wars in Great Britain and have Monarch of the Glen.the ancient history and the beauty of that place is felt..I know you were born there and have this love of the olde things from your youth..you are a master story teller and I love to read what ever you write..Thank you again David..love and God bless Lyn and you..Kathie

[Marie]

Very good. Time and life measured by the ticking of a clock...coincidence--I have just been reading of the heir of a lonely castle...