Candace Nippolt is a military brat born in Coronado, California. She lived all over the U.S. finally settling in Hawaii. She was managing editor for several publications and Food Editor for the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. She now lives in rural Oahu with her husband who is a teacher, painter and master woodcarver.
The clock my father inherited from his German-American mother was an ornate carved, dark wood piece, made
in Germany in the late l800's, I think. It stands about a foot and a half high and seven or eight inches across. It was very old fashioned
looking when I first became aware of it as a child in the l950's. Carved like a little temple, it had a pitched roof, pillars, a broad
base, and a large face with gold scroll work and Gothic style black enamel numbers.
It was so different in
character from all our other furniture which ranged from carved dog beating sticks my father bought in the 30's in Shanghai for protection
on Chinese night streets to an l8th century chest of drawers. It was a voice out of my father's past which went with us from duty
station to duty station, for my father was a naval officer. It always had a place of honor although it never "went" with the rest
of the decor in the room in which it was placed. It was a member of the family following us from state to state.
Several times we
lived in big three-story quarters and the clock would be placed in the downstairs or upstairs sitting rooms. It didn't really matter
where it was put because you could hear it strike throughout our quiet home. It's tone was round, soft, bell-like, and at night had
a silvery quality. It marked the hours through the night until dawn and during the day reminded us of what we should be doing and
when to do it.
When I heard it chime at night, it seemed to be a sentinel, watching over us.Its sound was
calming, reassuring to hear. Later in life I read about watchmen who walked through a town at night with a lantern assuring citizens
of the time that all was well. This clock was like that long ago watchman. It was a seven-day clock, and once a week my father would
open the glass front with a little gold key and solemnly wind it. Then he would check and tap all the barometers --we always had several
in the house. These were checked daily even when he was not going to sea.
Where is the clock now? Deep in
storage with my parents things, surrounded by furniture and china and paintings and such, carefully wrapped, waiting to be taken out
and restored to its rightful position in my house. Ready to guard and protect me, just as my father always did.