{"id":3533,"date":"2026-10-02T17:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-10-02T16:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/?p=3533"},"modified":"2026-10-01T13:57:27","modified_gmt":"2026-10-01T12:57:27","slug":"at-85-he-still-winds-the-church-clock-by-hand-twice-a-week-in-a-kilkenny-town-and-has-never-missed-a-sunday","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/at-85-he-still-winds-the-church-clock-by-hand-twice-a-week-in-a-kilkenny-town-and-has-never-missed-a-sunday\/","title":{"rendered":"At 85 he still winds the church clock by hand twice a week in a Kilkenny town and has never missed a Sunday"},"content":{"rendered":"

The stone<\/strong> tower watches a small<\/strong> Kilkenny town, and every week an old<\/strong> pair of hands keep its heartbeat<\/strong> steady.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Before the shops<\/strong> lift shutters, before the bakery<\/strong> exhales warm breath, he is already climbing<\/strong>, counting steps the way a fiddler<\/strong> counts beats.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

"Time doesn\u2019t hurry<\/strong> me," he says, "I walk<\/strong> with it."<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

The keeper of borrowed minutes<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

He is eighty-five<\/strong>, a wiry gentleman<\/strong> with a cap set square<\/strong>, shoes polished to a soft<\/strong> glow. He\u2019s not a priest<\/strong>, not a caretaker<\/strong> on any payroll, but a neighbor<\/strong> who treats the hours like guests<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He calls the clock his companion<\/strong>, the way some call a dog<\/strong> or a well-worn bicycle<\/strong>. "It\u2019s a stubborn<\/strong> friend," he laughs, "but a faithful<\/strong> one."<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

In a town where the river<\/strong> curves and the fields<\/strong> lift like folded quilts<\/strong>, he has become the measure<\/strong> people trust when their phones<\/strong> die or their watches<\/strong> drift.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

A climb that measures a life<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

Twice a week<\/strong>, he scales the narrow<\/strong> stairwell with its cool stone<\/strong> and its tidy cobwebs<\/strong>, each step an echo<\/strong>, each landing a brief truce<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

At the top, the hatch<\/strong> yawns like a mouth<\/strong>, and he steps into the bell<\/strong> room where dust floats like pollen<\/strong> in a summer field<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He winds the weights<\/strong> by hand, feeling the old cogs<\/strong> listen, the thick rope<\/strong> rising slowly, as if lifting a net<\/strong> from deep water<\/strong>. "You don\u2019t force<\/strong> it," he says, "you coax<\/strong> it."<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

What the chimes carry<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

At the hour<\/strong>, the sound drifts like a postcard<\/strong> through open windows<\/strong>. It lands on porches<\/strong>, touches washing lines, crosses roads<\/strong>, finds the patient faces<\/strong> in the square.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Some hear a summons<\/strong> to work, some a permission<\/strong> to rest, some a small prayer<\/strong> they didn\u2019t know they were saying<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

"It\u2019s the town\u2019s<\/strong> second hand<\/strong>, really," says a market trader<\/strong>, arranging apples with fussy grace<\/strong>. "He keeps us together<\/strong>, minute by minute<\/strong>."<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Tools, tricks, and tender care<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

He carries just a few<\/strong> things, practical as bread<\/strong>, sentimental as a postage<\/strong> stamp.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n
  • A dented tin<\/strong> of light oil, a faded rag<\/strong>, a dog-eared notebook<\/strong>, and a peppermint for the breath<\/strong> you need when the steps feel steep<\/strong>.<\/li>\n

    \n<\/ul>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He makes small notes<\/strong> in tidy script<\/strong>, logging a rain-slow Wednesday<\/strong>, a stubborn spring<\/strong>, a bell\u2019s brief sulk<\/strong> after a cold snap<\/strong>. "Machines have moods<\/strong>," he says. "You listen for the mood<\/strong> before the fault<\/strong>."<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Never missing a Sunday<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He tells you he has never missed<\/strong> the walk for the Sunday<\/strong> chimes, not once, not for weather<\/strong>, nor a cracked boot<\/strong>, nor a cranky knee<\/strong> that barks like an old dog<\/strong> on damp mornings<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    "When it rains, I add<\/em> five minutes<\/strong>," he winks, "for the puddles<\/strong> and for the creak<\/strong> of the gate that pretends to be a fiddle<\/strong>."<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    A granddaughter brings him soup<\/strong> on winter evenings<\/strong>, and he smiles at the steam<\/strong> like a man reading a letter<\/strong> from across the sea<\/strong>. "They think I\u2019m stubborn<\/strong>," he says, "I think I\u2019m just borrowed<\/strong> by the bells<\/strong>."<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    A pact with the tower<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    The tower is not grand<\/strong>, but it has a temper<\/strong> and a quiet pride<\/strong>. On summer days<\/strong>, swifts cut scars<\/strong> into the sky; on winter nights<\/strong>, the stones keep a small warmth<\/strong>, as if the clock were a hearth<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He touches the frame<\/strong> before he leaves, a small habit<\/strong>, like blessing a door<\/strong> or patting a loyal horse<\/strong>. "There you are<\/strong>," he murmurs, "steady as a north<\/strong> wind."<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Outside, the town shakes its shoulders<\/strong>, and the day sets its humble table<\/strong> with letters, chores, and small mercies<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Why the hands keep turning<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Ask him why he does<\/strong> it, and he shrugs as if the answer<\/strong> were already ringing in your pocket<\/strong>. "Because time is shared<\/strong>," he says. "Because a good sound<\/strong> makes a better day<\/strong>."<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He doesn\u2019t talk about legacy<\/strong>, doesn\u2019t plan a speech<\/strong>, doesn\u2019t chase a gleaming plaque<\/strong>. He just keeps the hours honest<\/strong>, one crank, one breath<\/strong>, one gentle click<\/strong> at a time.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    "Someday," he admits, "someone else will learn<\/strong> the climb, and the tower will teach<\/strong> them as it taught<\/strong> me."<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    The town that listens back<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Market days<\/strong> bring noise, music, and the clatter<\/strong> of cups, yet the chimes still thread<\/strong> the weaving of voices<\/strong>. At funerals, the sound drops a soft veil<\/strong>; at weddings, it tosses confetti<\/strong> no one has to sweep<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    People nod on the street<\/strong>, tip a cap<\/strong>, raise a quiet hand<\/strong> when the hour steps forward<\/strong>. They listen because listening is a kind of keeping<\/strong>, and keeping is how a place stays itself<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    The tower knows the weight<\/strong> of his foot on the stairs<\/strong>. The clock knows the gentle<\/strong> of his grip<\/strong>. And the town knows the shape<\/strong> of his care<\/strong>, marked out in chimed circles<\/strong> wider than any wristwatch<\/strong> could ever hold<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3559,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3533","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-news","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-50"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3533","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3533"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3533\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3546,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3533\/revisions\/3546"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3559"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3533"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3533"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3533"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}