Conversations in Horology
Ichabod was the (posthumous) son of Phinehas (1 Samuel 4.21, 14.3), but as usual this OT stuff is a bit obscure.
" Ichabod Crane, the schoolmaster in Washington Irving's classic tale 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow' is one of the earliest portrayals of a country schoolmaster in U.S. fiction -- and very possibly the best. The tale captures the essence of the town, its inhabitants, and its comic schoolmaster with skill, insight, and humour. "
" Irving most likely borrowed the name from a real-life Ichabod Crane, a soldier from the American Revolutionary War " http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Ichabod_crane.jpg
But I digress...
>> No alcohol !
>Please enlighten me. I wasn't considering that, but, why?
Probably not important here (in the Hermle clock), as the ruby bushings are an interference fit in the balance 'staff' tube. Ethanol is a poor solvent for oils and greases, Methanol is more aggressive but rather toxic, attacking the optic nerve (ulp...). The pallet rubies and impulse pin in most watches over 30 years old are held in place with shellac, which is soluble in ethanol. Out of place (in the bottom of the dish), there are probably very few professionals who can put them back again, the shellac being softened by heat to make the sub-millimetric adjustments required.
Watches are usually cleaned, either by hand or in the machine, in proprietary concentrates which are diluted in White Spirit (Turpentine Substitute). I always used one called 'Sony White' (no, not that Sony) which is excellent, and so cheap that I was never curious enough as to its composition to find out how to make it. A good specialist supplier would be able to recommend an American equivalent. However, for clocks...
>What about removing the mainsprings and dunking the whole mvt. in strong
>detergent, then rinsing with distilled or DI water, then baking in a cool
>oven? Lube has to follow *soon*. I know it sounds wacky, but calcs. (and
>Tek. tube 'scopes) were washed. For the record, I don't think that the way
>to do it, but you'll probably have a water-based witch's brew.
You'd be surprised! Let me tell you a tale - in the summer of '95, having lost our house and workshop through an unscrupulous property deal, and being dog-tired myself after running workshop-social-centre-soup-kitchen-rehearsal-rooms-marriage-counselor-library-all-comers-all-hours for many blue moons, I went "on the road" for a summer in the West of Ireland, with just a box of tools. The itinerant clock-mender. I don't know if it could be done now - with the coming of the EU rural Ireland has lost almost all of the innocence which was its very charm.
Typical, and oft-repeated, scenario; I would arrive in a village in the late afternoon. There are a great many bars in Ireland, indeed, small shops often had a "3-stool" bar in the back, where the clients would relax after buying their paraffin, sheep wire and nails... Arrive in the bar, sit, order a pint o' the dark stuff. The 19th Century-stylie toolbox, with brass corners, is noticed. There's always a clock on the wall, most usually what is called there "a Dollar Clock", of American manufacture. I'm sure you are familiar with them - cheap, robust, stamped gears, lantern pinions and open mainsprings, production-line before the Model T, and, 95% of the time, stopped at five minutes to the hour. You would often see several colours around the edges ; the walls were re-painted without ever taking down the clock for fear it would never go again afterwards. A member of the family.
This is iso-8859-1, so you must imagine the accent...
-"That's a fine oul' clock you have there !"
-"Oh God, aye, me Grandfather brought that back from Boston..."
-"Pity it doesn't go though !"
-"Aye, this twenty year..."
-"Well isn't this your lucky day! I've been sent to repair it !"
-"Ah, bejazus, you'll not be takin' it away, now !"
-"Not a bit of it ! I'll do it here, I'll do it now, and the first one in the village is free !"
Now of course your man has nothing to lose. The clock's not going anywhere, it doesn't work anyway, it's not going to cost him anything, and, sure, he's just burning with curiosity. The clock comes down onto a corner table - pendulum, hands, dial... The whole household is there to watch.
-"Have you a saucepan, Missus?"
-"Oh, an old one?"
-"No, the best in the house! And a tea-towel!"
The tightly-wound mainsprings are contained with flat bootlaces, the power let off and the plates are opened. All the wheels and mobiles tumble out onto the cloth, the springs being set aside. Into the saucepan they go with water and some "dish drops", and the whole is set to boil while I finish my pint. The filth and grease of fifty years rise to the top, and are skimmed off. It seems extreme, I mean, who ever would think to boil a clock? But neither brass nor steel are soluble, even in very hot water. Rinsed with a boiling kettle-full, the parts are dry within minutes. The reassembly appears, to the layman, like a act of magic ; he imagines trying to get all those pivots back in their holes at the same time, impossible, but of course we approach the plates at an angle so that the wheels drop into place one by one. Within the half-hour the clock is oiled and back on the wall - leave the dial off for now, you can see its little heart beating away...
Now of course you won't accept any money, but isn't your man a publican? So I sit there all evening for a "feed o' drink", and a meal, and every half hour everyone is reminded, bong !, bong !, that the clock lives again.
-"Sure and it was the quare fellah with the beard an' the hat..."
Almost without exception I would be taken home to a soft bed by someone, so as to have me handy in the morning to fix their clock, and the sewing machine, and sometimes the tractor, and then on to the daughter's, or the aunt's.
" Ichabod Crane, the schoolmaster in Washington Irving's classic tale 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow' is one of the earliest portrayals of a country schoolmaster in U.S. fiction -- and very possibly the best. The tale captures the essence of the town, its inhabitants, and its comic schoolmaster with skill, insight, and humour. "
" Irving most likely borrowed the name from a real-life Ichabod Crane, a soldier from the American Revolutionary War " http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Ichabod_crane.jpg
But I digress...
>> No alcohol !
>Please enlighten me. I wasn't considering that, but, why?
Probably not important here (in the Hermle clock), as the ruby bushings are an interference fit in the balance 'staff' tube. Ethanol is a poor solvent for oils and greases, Methanol is more aggressive but rather toxic, attacking the optic nerve (ulp...). The pallet rubies and impulse pin in most watches over 30 years old are held in place with shellac, which is soluble in ethanol. Out of place (in the bottom of the dish), there are probably very few professionals who can put them back again, the shellac being softened by heat to make the sub-millimetric adjustments required.
Watches are usually cleaned, either by hand or in the machine, in proprietary concentrates which are diluted in White Spirit (Turpentine Substitute). I always used one called 'Sony White' (no, not that Sony) which is excellent, and so cheap that I was never curious enough as to its composition to find out how to make it. A good specialist supplier would be able to recommend an American equivalent. However, for clocks...
>What about removing the mainsprings and dunking the whole mvt. in strong
>detergent, then rinsing with distilled or DI water, then baking in a cool
>oven? Lube has to follow *soon*. I know it sounds wacky, but calcs. (and
>Tek. tube 'scopes) were washed. For the record, I don't think that the way
>to do it, but you'll probably have a water-based witch's brew.
You'd be surprised! Let me tell you a tale - in the summer of '95, having lost our house and workshop through an unscrupulous property deal, and being dog-tired myself after running workshop-social-centre-soup-kitchen-rehearsal-rooms-marriage-counselor-library-all-comers-all-hours for many blue moons, I went "on the road" for a summer in the West of Ireland, with just a box of tools. The itinerant clock-mender. I don't know if it could be done now - with the coming of the EU rural Ireland has lost almost all of the innocence which was its very charm.
Typical, and oft-repeated, scenario; I would arrive in a village in the late afternoon. There are a great many bars in Ireland, indeed, small shops often had a "3-stool" bar in the back, where the clients would relax after buying their paraffin, sheep wire and nails... Arrive in the bar, sit, order a pint o' the dark stuff. The 19th Century-stylie toolbox, with brass corners, is noticed. There's always a clock on the wall, most usually what is called there "a Dollar Clock", of American manufacture. I'm sure you are familiar with them - cheap, robust, stamped gears, lantern pinions and open mainsprings, production-line before the Model T, and, 95% of the time, stopped at five minutes to the hour. You would often see several colours around the edges ; the walls were re-painted without ever taking down the clock for fear it would never go again afterwards. A member of the family.
This is iso-8859-1, so you must imagine the accent...
-"That's a fine oul' clock you have there !"
-"Oh God, aye, me Grandfather brought that back from Boston..."
-"Pity it doesn't go though !"
-"Aye, this twenty year..."
-"Well isn't this your lucky day! I've been sent to repair it !"
-"Ah, bejazus, you'll not be takin' it away, now !"
-"Not a bit of it ! I'll do it here, I'll do it now, and the first one in the village is free !"
Now of course your man has nothing to lose. The clock's not going anywhere, it doesn't work anyway, it's not going to cost him anything, and, sure, he's just burning with curiosity. The clock comes down onto a corner table - pendulum, hands, dial... The whole household is there to watch.
-"Have you a saucepan, Missus?"
-"Oh, an old one?"
-"No, the best in the house! And a tea-towel!"
The tightly-wound mainsprings are contained with flat bootlaces, the power let off and the plates are opened. All the wheels and mobiles tumble out onto the cloth, the springs being set aside. Into the saucepan they go with water and some "dish drops", and the whole is set to boil while I finish my pint. The filth and grease of fifty years rise to the top, and are skimmed off. It seems extreme, I mean, who ever would think to boil a clock? But neither brass nor steel are soluble, even in very hot water. Rinsed with a boiling kettle-full, the parts are dry within minutes. The reassembly appears, to the layman, like a act of magic ; he imagines trying to get all those pivots back in their holes at the same time, impossible, but of course we approach the plates at an angle so that the wheels drop into place one by one. Within the half-hour the clock is oiled and back on the wall - leave the dial off for now, you can see its little heart beating away...
Now of course you won't accept any money, but isn't your man a publican? So I sit there all evening for a "feed o' drink", and a meal, and every half hour everyone is reminded, bong !, bong !, that the clock lives again.
-"Sure and it was the quare fellah with the beard an' the hat..."
Almost without exception I would be taken home to a soft bed by someone, so as to have me handy in the morning to fix their clock, and the sewing machine, and sometimes the tractor, and then on to the daughter's, or the aunt's.
posted by Simeon Lapinbleu at 20:28
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