My little Gnudren,

When one is old, one wishes Time didn’t pass so quickly with so many things yet to be done and little time to do them. But Old Gnu records one occasion when he wished time didn’t stand still – the fateful night of the 31st December 1979. At that time Gnu’s many duties that launched his illustrious career in the Church of England were toilet cleaning, vacuuming and cleaning the Crypt and winding of the Church Clock.

Up to the last two decades of the 20^th Century it was the habit of the community at Christ Church Clifton  to celebrate the coming of the New Year by holding a Midnight Watch Service. It started at 11pm and aimed to finish the administration of Communion just before midnight. At that point we were all deep in silent prayer and so we could hear Clerkenwell, the Church Clock (so named by Gnu because he was made in Clerkenwell, London, in 1849…well at least it was better than calling him 1849 or London…) ring out midnight on his sonorous bell.

Clerkenwell: his bell is one floor up in the louvred bit which is open to the elements and pigeons. 

This was accompanied outside on Clifton Down and the Clifton Suspension Bridge by folks gathering, but not to celebrate Holy Communion. Whatever it was, it certainly involved the imbibing of wine in more generous quantities than is permitted at Holy Communion according to the Anglican Rite.

Inside Church

Outside Church

                           

Unless it was raining, and especially if it was snowing, members of the neighbourhood would often gather in small groups, glass in hand waiting for Old Clerkenwell to chime midnight. (Many more were hanging over the suspension bridge expecting to hear his chimes very often with fireworks to hand.) Clerkenwell wasn’t always that accurate in his time keeping but no matter, the wine made up for any discrepancy.

Early on the evening of the 31st December 1979 young Gnu climbed the stairs of the tower, wound up and set Clerkenwell to the correct time. At 10.45pm he sat at the organ and provided quiet music as the congregation gathered. The service started well, but at approximately 11.15pm a church warden crept up during one of the readings and placed a note upon the organ stool where young Gnu’s eyelids were heavy with sleep. The note read: The church clock has stopped. Can you do anything about it? More hymns and metrical psalms were about to happen; Gnu could hardly leave the  organ and rush up the tower. Panic-stricken he sat paralysed.

But then the word of the Lord came into him, just as it did to Jeremiah and others who were in a bit of fix. So he quickly scribbled down runes on a piece of paper as the Lord had commanded him. He then crept up to an unsuspecting Mrs. Gnu sitting on the back row of the Choir and deposited this note in her hand. It read roughly as follows but in a more succinct manner: Clerkenwell has stopped. All Clifton expects him to strike midnight. So if thou slippest out of the service without commotion and takest unto thyself the transistor Radio 

that resideth in our kitchen plus a great torch …

… then thou shalt climb the stairs of the tower even unto the third level which be-eth the one at which Clerkenwell’s bell resideth.  Tarry there in the dark with thy loins girded in order to avoiding the pigeon droppings. Thou shalt do this with the Radio tuned in to either BBC Radio 2 or 4. In good time before midnight, see that thou takest into thy hand the chord attached to Clerkenwell’s hammer and as Big Ben striketh over the air waves so shall thou strike with him. Take heed to thyself that thou strikest not unto 11 only, or worse still to 13. 

N.B.Gideon used a torch, but substituted a trumpet for the transistor Radio (Judges 7:15-18), alas not to get a clock working but to slaughter Midianites

Together with the note Gnu deposited his bunch of keys for Mrs. Gnu to get access to the tower. As Mrs. Gnu quietly set out on her mission in a most unflustered manner it must be said, the minister’s daughter, a certain Margaret, somehow joined herself to this mission of mercy. Was she bored out of her mind with the progress of the service and wanting some excitement ? No doubt the congregation thought they were suffering from Post-Yuletide digestive disorders.. By now Gnu was wide awake and no longer functioning on auto-pilot. The adrenaline was flowing fast and he eagerly anticipated what might happen in the silence that followed the administration of Communion albeit without not a little trepidation. He praised God that there was a low mist that night and Clerkenwell’s face was not clearly visible unless you looked up as you entered the church. And so the moment came. Not having a watch, the silence after Communion seemed all too long. A cold sweat came over Gnu’s brow. Had Mrs. Gnu broken a leg, dropped the transistor Radio, or simply decided to go to the pub for a drink instead? Then just as the silence became unbearable and young Gnu thought he was going to have a heart attack with stress, just then, the first sonorous stroke of Clerkenwell’s bell rang out! There was momentary relief, but now there was the stress of counting the strokes. In panic Gnu prayed most fervently that they would amount to 12 and certainly not 13. In even more panic he prayed earnestly that no one would be counting. When the striking of midnight was successfully done, the relief was enormous!! Never has been counting up to 12 be so important; not since Gnu was 3 years old.

The last hymn that followed, Lord for the Years your hand has kept and guided, was played with such flourishes and extravagant harmonies such as have never been heard in history of hymn accompaniments. One member of the congregation, Trevor, commented: You seem to have got more excited about the new year than Christmas. Now I knew for the first time how the servants must have thought and felt at the Wedding of Cana: If only you knew what has happened!!  The same thought came to my head as I emerged from the Church to find groups of neighbours on the green with glasses raised still singing with much portamento (many slurs and slides) about an Old man from Zion… Gnu never understood this traditional Scottish song.

And finally, Mrs. Iris Stephens who resided in 7 Vyvyan Terrace, Clifton, and was of advanced years later told me that never in her life and all her years in Clifton had she heard the Church clock strike midnight so in step with Big Ben. The surprising thing is that the mist had cleared by midnight, and no one stopped to ask how a clock that said 11.15 had struck midnight so precisely. Well there we are, miracles never cease to happen. Alas, in more recent years the voice of Clerkenwell has been permanently silenced. Was it complaints of the the good people of Clifton, or was it the Church deciding he wasn’t required ? Well whatever it was he seems to have met the same fate as the Midianites of old at the hands of Gideon. Alas he has had a tortured history. He once had a set of at least 8 tubular bell chimes that were capable of playing tunes. The good Cliftonians of the Edwardian Era had a grudge against Clerkenwells bells and thought they were in bad taste. But nil desperandum, the First World War was soon to provide the ideal opportunity to have them melted down for the cause of the our great nation.  Just think, he would have been a city treasure today. At the last day he shall ring the praises of the Almighty in Heaven and those wicked people will hear them for all eternity.

Vetus Pater Gnu
Academiae Musicorum et Theologia
Turris [LA]
IX Augustus MMXVII