Clocks order our days. They dictate where we need to be, remind us if we fall behind in our duties, and periodically demand that we reassess our priorities. In return for how they help us organize our lives, we craft them into diverse shapes and sizes, using an infinite variety of materials. Clocks tick upon our mantles. Intricate fretwork clocks guard our shelves. Noisy cuckoo clocks and cat-clocks with roving eyes and swaying tails hang upon our walls. Grandfather clocks dominate our entryways and rooms. Cities build monumental clocks in which life-size figures move and dance and interact with each other. But all of these, regardless of size or quality of workmanship, are banished from our minds in the presence of Big Ben.
This indomitable clock rises from the north end of the Palace of Westminster. It towers above government officials, busy Londoners, and tourists. It has become as recognizable a symbol of London and England as the Statue of Liberty is representative of New York City and the United States. But Big Ben does not belong solely to just one city or nation or people. In a strange way, it exerts its power and dominion over all of us. And in return, we adore it.
Visual storytellers recognize its hold over the viewer. Peter Pan lands atop Big Ben before heading off to Neverland. Events in “The Great Mouse Detective” and “Shanghai Nights” climax with a fight in the clock’s workings or out on its faces. In the movie based on the British TV show “The Avengers,” when Sir August de Wynter attempts to hold the world to ransom with his weather-control machinery, he demonstrates his weapon's effectiveness by using lightning to destroy Big Ben. In the science fiction comedy “Mars Attacks!” and the Doctor Who episode “Aliens of London,” invading aliens cannot resist destroying this famous landmark. And when Big Ben appears in the opening of the TV sitcoms “The New Statesman” or “Yes Minister,” we know that we are about to watch a show about the British government at work.
As I wrestle with my camera to cram as much of Big Ben as I can into frame, I feel the tight knots inside me begin to loosen. Before, as I walked past buildings displaying London’s diverse variety of architectural styles, I could have been in any city enriched by centuries of human habitation. Westminster Abbey’s treasures inspired a sense of awe, but I have visited many beautiful churches. For varying reasons, both experiences reminded me that I was a foreigner. Now, in Big Ben’s presence, I know where I am.
I may have traveled halfway around the world, but strangely, I now feel more at ease in this immense and bustling city.
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