SHORT STORY
The time of the talking clock and a very restless night ROBYN O’HARE recalls her attempts to keep calm under the pressure of a timepiece that was only doing its job!
M
um had just been released from rehab after a broken hip, so my husband Mike and I agreed to stay the night with her. As is quite usual for me in a strange bed, I did not settle down to sleep for many hours. I was just drifting off when I heard a distant American woman’s voice, “It is 12 o’clock, precisely” repeated over and over. I thought this must end soon, so continued trying to drift off, only to hear the same voice, “It is 12.01 a.m., precisely”, followed by “It is 12.02 a.m., precisely”. After a few more minutes of this, I got up and started feeling around on mum’s dressing table for the offending talking clock. I had an inkling of what Mum’s life must be like as a blind 90-year-old. I didn’t know what size or shape the offending timepiece was, or where she kept it. Mum got up, which I had been trying to
E W L SA NO ON
avoid. She can only walk a few steps, and the whole reason for our presence was to prevent a fall, particularly in the middle
of the night, which I knew for sure it precisely was! Mum switched the light on, a very bad move in my attempt
to remain drowsy enough to get back to sleep. She directed me to the drawer of her dressing table, where I found the object of my annoyance. I took it out to the garden, where there was a little light, pressed a button which I was not at all confident would switch off the alarm, and placed it in the garden, hopefully far enough from my bed that I would not hear it. I returned to bed, forcing myself to relax into a state of unconsciousness for what remained of the night. “It is 1 a.m., precisely”, came the now distant American drawl. Up I got again, out to the dew dampened grass to retrieve the object of my by now extreme ire. The birds were twittering and the sky was a pretty pink hue, leading me to believe my American foe was not even accurate at telling the time. What to do? The idea of placing it under the wheel of the car and driving over the
top was shelved, only because Mike would have woken up and raced outside to foil an attempted robbery of his beloved car. Instead I stowed it safely inside the car and went back to bed. I woke after eight to the reassuring tinkle of Mum and Mike enjoying breakfast and a chat together. Pretty soon, my American foe was taken in hand by Mike, who readjusted her settings. She lives on, silently I hope, except when asked for the time by Mum. *Sixty-five-year-old Robyn O’Hare has written her autobiography and selfpublished it. She has conducted memoir writing classes at U3A and facilitates discussion groups based on her memoir. Her big family, including three granddaughters and regular travel keeps her busy. *The above story relates to a night spent with her blind 90-year-old mother at her retirement village.
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10 YOUR TIME MAGAZINE / June 2022
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1/06/2022 3:01:19 PM
