This story is fiction and resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely co-incidental

Greg Thomas was a watch and clock repairer in a small market town in the north of England.

He was single and lived with his elderly mother who was always complaining he should get out more and spend less time messing about with broken timekeepers.

“Nobody bothers with these old fashioned contraptions anymore, they’re all quartz these days!”

Greg hated her constant nagging and was tired of having this same old argument.

“You’re totally missing the point mother, I am old fashioned, I will always be old fashioned, I prefer old fashioned values and what’s more my old fashioned mechanical clocks were around long before the quartz revolution and will still be here long after quartz has been forgotten!”

Dead on cue an old Viennese Regulator wall clock struck the hour and Greg glanced up at it lovingly. Then a mantelpiece clock started Westminster chimes. And then a long case clock went into the Whittington Chimes. It was pure music to his ears.

Old Mrs. Thomas shuddered at the cacophony of sound and covered her head with her shawl in disgust as she retreated into the parlour where there was no clock.

But this was Greg’s life and she knew he wouldn’t change, since a small boy he had been fascinated with small brass mechanical movements and she once caught him dismantling his father’s gold half hunter to see how it worked. The tiny wheels were all over her best dark red chenille tablecloth, the one with the fancy bobbles, and not only had he removed the whole movement but managed to put it all back together and had meticulously cleaned each piece into the bargain. She didn’t dare tell her husband but he remarked soon after that his faulty watch had somehow started working again after being broken for several weeks, and was now keeping perfect time. He just couldn’t understand it. She’d smiled ruefully to herself and that’s how her only son Greg had started on his lifelong obsession. He was now in his mid forties and she despaired of him ever getting married and settling down with a family of his own.

Greg Thomas had a small lock-up shop just around the corner from the High Street and it was from here that he earned his living. Things were getting tight and he knew he could earn much more in the pickling factory but had no wish to join the rat race. He was content with his meagre income and hoped it would continue to the end of his days. Of course he had ambition but it was more of a dream really, and it concerned clocks of course. He attended house clearing auctions hoping to come across a genuine find but so far had never seen that elusive gem. Now he locked up shop for Wednesday lunchtime closing and was to spend the afternoon at the local Cattle Market Auctions.