If Your Grandfather Clock Has A Brass Face And This Maker's Mark, Dont Let Anyone Touch The Movement

The most valuable grandfather clock in the room is the one the family has stopped winding. The one that runs perfectly, chimes on the quarter and keeps time to within a minute a week is almost always the one worth the least. That makes no sense until you understand what a dealer checks first. A dealer does not listen. A dealer does not open the trunk door. A dealer walks straight to the face, looks at the bottom of the chapter ring and reads a name. That name, cross-referenced against two details on the brass dial, tells the dealer in under 10 seconds whether to make an offer or walk away. Thomas Tompion, London, number 222. That name, on a brass dial attached to its original movement, sold for £1,935,000 at Bonhams in June 2019. The clock had not run in years. Nobody cared. If your grandfather clock has a brass face and a maker's mark, eight of these clocks are standing in hallways tonight. Four of them should never be touched by a repairman. The other four should never be touched by an appraiser. You are about to find out which column yours belongs in. Number Eight Emperor Kit Clocks Emperor Clock Company of Fairhope, Alabama sold mail-order grandfather clock kits from the 1960s through the 1990s. The buyer received a pre-cut case in cherry, oak, or walnut, a set of brass-finished hardware, and a German-made Hermle 451 movement with Westminster chimes. Assembly took a weekend. Tens of thousands were built. The case is solid wood. The movement keeps time. The chimes sound full. From across a room, an Emperor Kit clock looks like a 200-year-old English long case. That is by design. The arched hood, the fluted columns, the brass-finished dial with Roman numerals and applied spandrels all follow the pattern of an 18th century London maker. What the dealer checks first? The dial. On an Emperor, the chapter ring is not a separate silvered brass component pinned from behind. It is a single stamped sheet with numerals printed or etched in a uniform pattern. Lift the hood and look at the back of the dial plate. You will see a flat, machine-pressed brass disc, not a hand-finished casting with individual dial feet bolted through the front plate of the movement. The Hermle movement behind it carries a stamped model number on the back plate, usually 451-050 or 451-053, and a date code. The screws are identical. Every one. An Emperor Kit clock in good running condition sells today for between $150 and $400. The movement alone, if clean and working, sells for $60 to $90 to someone who needs a replacement. The case is furniture. The clock is not an heirloom. If yours chimes on the quarter and keeps perfect time, it is doing exactly what it was engineered to do, and your grandmother built it with her own hands, which is worth something that has nothing to do with the secondary resale market. 7. Korean Movement Oak Grandfather Clocks Between roughly 1975 and 1995, department stores across the United States and the United Kingdom sold floor-standing grandfather clocks with cases made in the Far East and movements manufactured in South Korea or Taiwan. Brands included Ridgeway, a division of Howard Miller in Zeeland, Michigan, and several unbranded imports that arrived through furniture wholesalers. The case is often solid red oak, sometimes with a medium dark stain meant to approximate walnut. The brass dial carries no maker's name or a retailer's name rather than a clockmaker's name. The movement, visible through the trunk door, is a spring-driven unit with a decorative pendulum that does not regulate the timekeeping. In many of these clocks, the pendulum swings for appearance only. The rate is controlled by a quartz oscillator or a simple balance wheel. What the dealer checks first. The weights. On an 18th century eight-day long case, the weights are lead cylinders encased in brass shells, each weighing between 9 and 14 pounds, hanging on gut lines or steel cables. On a Korean Movement department store clock, the weights are hollow brass-finished tubes, light enough to lift with two fingers. Some are purely decorative. If you can pick up a grandfather clock weight with one hand and it feels like an empty tin, the clock is not a period piece. These sell for $50 to $200 at estate auctions. The family often pays more than that to have them removed. Number six, 30-hour provincial brass-dial long case clocks. This is the first clock on this list that a dealer will buy, and it is the one most often dismissed by the family standing in front of it. A 30-hour long case is smaller and simpler than its eight-day counterpart. It typically has a single hand, no seconds ring, and a single weight on a rope or chain wound by pulling rather than by key. The brass dial is narrow, usually 10 inches across, often with a square top rather than an arch. The spandrels in the corners are small winged cherub heads, a design used from about 1670 to 1710. The maker's name, if present, is engraved at the base of the chapter ring, often a provincial maker from Yorkshire, Lancashire, or Somerset, rather than a London workshop. What the dealer checks first. The chapter ring markings. Half-quarter hour marks on the inner minute band, small lines dividing each quarter hour in half, disappeared from London dials by approximately 1740, but persisted on provincial 30-hour clocks into the 1760s. If your clock has a single hand, a square brass dial, cherub head spandrels, half-quarter marks, and a name you have never heard of, you may be looking at a clock from the early 18th century. So why does the family walk past it? Because it does not chime. It has no moon dial, no elaborate case, and it looks crude next to the emperor in the next room. But a genuine 30-hour brass-dial long case from a documented provincial maker, in its original oak case, with movement matching the dial, brings between 1,500 and 4,000 pounds at a specialist clock auction. The emperor, with its perfect Westminster chimes, brings 200. Sometimes, the clock you've already stopped winding is the one you should have been protecting. If you've got one of these standing quietly in a back hallway, and you've been thinking of donating it because it only has one hand, do not move it until you have read the name on the chapter ring and checked it against Bailey's Watchmakers and Clockmakers of the World. Number 5. Marriage Clocks A marriage clock is assembled from parts that did not start life together. A brass dial from one clock mounted on a movement from another, the pair sitting inside a case built for a third. Dennis Radage, writing in Clocks Magazine, stated that many, if not most, long case clocks found today are marriages or otherwise substantially modified. This is not a fringe opinion. It is the working assumption of every specialist dealer in the trade. This is the entry on this list that does not fit the pattern you have been following. The previous four clocks could be sorted cleanly. Keep or release. A marriage is neither. Its individual components may have genuine period value, but the assembled whole is worth a fraction of an intact original, and the family almost never knows. What the dealer checks first? The front plate behind the dial. On a genuine unaltered clock, the brass dial is attached to the movement's front plate by four dial feet passing through four holes. If there are additional holes, plugged with brass or left open, a different dial was once mounted here. The clock is a marriage. Next, the dealer checks the winding arbors. On a correctly matched movement and dial, the winding holes sit cleanly within the center of the dial, well clear of the chapter ring. If the arbors cut into the engraving, or if the key must be inserted at an odd angle, the dial was made for a different movement. Raddage documented exactly this defect on a George Prior long case clock. The winding arbors cut directly through the chapter ring and into the quarter circle, revealing a dial 70 to 80 years older than the movement it sat on. Nobody's trying to deceive you with a marriage. Most were assembled decades or centuries ago by repairers who needed a working clock and used whatever parts were available. But the difference between a matched Simon Willard and a marriage with a Willard dial on a replacement movement is the difference between $60,000 and $3,000. The dial feet tell the whole story. Four holes, no spares, no plugs. That is what the dealer needs to see. If you're standing in front of your hallway clock right now, wondering whether the name on the dial matches the movement behind it, the answer is behind four brass bolts. Slide the hood forward and look. Number four. Victorian carved long-case clocks with replaced gong strike trains. In the second half of the 19th century, English cabinetmakers produced large, heavily carved long-case cases, often in dark-stained oak or mahogany, with movements bought in from suppliers rather than made by a named clockmaker. These clocks are imposing. They are also, from the dealer's perspective, the least interesting grandfather clocks in the room. What the dealer checks first. The strike. Before approximately 1820, all English long-case clock movements struck the hours on a cast bronze bell mounted above the movement plates. After about 1880, manufacturers switched to a coiled steel rod called a gong. Cheaper to produce and easier to fit. If your brass dial long-case strikes on a gong, the striking mechanism dates to the Victorian period at the latest, Regardless of what the dial implies. Why does this matter to value? A count-wheel strike train on a bell, the older system using a slotted disc to govern the number of blows, is consistent with a pre-1780 movement. A rack and snail system on a bell, invented by Edward Barlow in 1676, is consistent with a later 18th century movement. Either system on a bell supports a period date. A gong does not. If the clock has a brass dial with early spandrels but strikes on a gong, the strike train has been replaced or the clock is a later assembly. Either way, the value drops sharply. A Victorian carved long case with a bought-in movement and a gong strike sells at auction for between 300 and 800 pounds. The carving adds nothing. In fact, Pendulum of Mayfair, the Mayfair-based clock dealers, note that they have never seen an original fully carved pre-1820 long case clock. The Victorians loved carving Georgian period cases after the fact, and the later carving dramatically reduces value rather than adding it. Five more marks and signals that separate a hallway clock from a retirement fund go up on this channel every week. Number 3. Simon Willard Federal Tall Case Clocks. Simon Willard was born in Grafton, Massachusetts in 1753 and established his workshop in Roxbury Now part of Boston, around 1780. He is considered one of the finest American clockmakers of the federal period. His tall case clocks feature weight-driven eight-day movements with brass faces, typically housed in figured mahogany cases with fluted quarter columns, pierced fretwork on the hood, and bracket feet. What the dealer checks first? The signature. Willard signed his movements, usually on the front plate or on a plaque behind the dial, and the signature should read Simon Willard in a hand consistent with late 18th or early 19th century engraving. His brother Aaron Willard also made tall case clocks in the same Roxbury tradition, and the two are sometimes confused. Aaron's work is valuable, but commands lower figures than Simon's. A Simon Willard tall case clock, circa 1800, in a figured mahogany case, sold for $63,250 at Morphy Auctions in Denver, Pennsylvania, against an estimate of $40,000 to $60,000. A Simon Willard Lighthouse Clock from approximately 1825 was appraised at between $75,000 and $100,000 on Antiques Roadshow. The movement was original. The case was original. The brass dial matched the front plate with four holes. No spares. That alignment is everything. The secondary resale market for Willard Tall Case Clocks has held steadier than almost any other category in American furniture. They are among the very few objects that appraisers still describe with confidence at probate valuation. The federal period, roughly 1780 to 1820, produced the highest concentration of named American clockmakers with documented workshop histories, and Willard's Roxbury output is the benchmark against which all others are measured. You're worried you already sold one of these. If the case was mahogany, the dial was brass, the name read Willard, and the movement had eight-day duration with a seconds ring, the answer is yes, you should be worried. Daniel Quare Walnut Marquetry 8-Day Long Case Clocks Daniel Quare was born around 1648 and worked in London until his death in 1724. He held the title of Royal Clockmaker and produced movements for the courts of William III and Queen Anne. His long case clocks are among the most prized in English horology, distinguished by their mechanical ingenuity and the quality of their cases, which were typically veneered in walnut with floral marquetry panels of exceptional refinement. What the dealer checks first. The backplate. On a Quare long case, the backplate of the movement is engraved with scrolling tulip and foliate designs of a quality that matches the case marquetry. The engraving is not decoration. It is a signature of the workshop's standard. The dealer looks for the name Daniel Quare, London, and often a serial number. Quare and his partner Stephen Horstmann numbered their output, and surviving inventory records allow cross-referencing. A George I walnut longcase by Quare and Horstmann, No. 256, circa 1720, appeared at Christie's with later marquetry inlay and blind fret additions, details which reduced its value but did not eliminate it. A Daniel Quare walnut and floral marquetry eight-day longcase from approximately 1695 sold for £14,000 at Druitt's in Donington Priory. His complete watches sell in the 20,000 pound range, and his bracket clocks exceed 100,000. The long case clocks fall between, depending on condition, originality, and the survival of the original marquetry. Collectors still argue about whether later marquetry additions to a Quare case diminish or enhance the object. The Christie's lot suggests they diminish, but the argument is not settled, and may never be. Quare's movements are constructed entirely by hand. The wheel teeth are individually cut, each one fractionally different from the next under magnification. And the pinions are lantern pinions, made from drawn steel wire seated between two brass discs. This is pre-industrial metalwork. The brass plates are hand-filed to a finish that reflects light unevenly, a quality that no machine process reproduces and no reproduction attempt has ever successfully faked. If your clock carries the name Daniel Quare, and the backplate engraving is consistent with late 17th century London workshop standards, you are holding a piece of applied metallurgy and cabinet work that predates the founding of the United States by 70 years. Do not oil it. Do not wind it. Do not move it. Number 1. Thomas Tompion Long Case Clocks Thomas Tompion was born in 1639 in North Hill, Bedfordshire, the son of a blacksmith. He established his workshop in London and over the next five decades became the most celebrated clockmaker in Europe. He made clocks for Charles II, James II, William III, and Mary II, and Queen Anne. He made clocks for the King of Spain and for Leopold I, Holy Roman Emperor. When he died in 1713, he was buried in Westminster Abbey, an honor given to no other craftsman of his era. What the dealer checks first? The number. Tompion numbered his clocks in an inventory maintained during his lifetime and preserved by the Clockmakers Company, now held at the Guildhall Library in London. If a brass dial reads Thomas Tompion, London, and there is no number consistent with the Tompion inventory, the dealer stops. A genuine Tompion without its number is an extraordinary rarity. A clock bearing Tompion's name without a verifiable number is, in the overwhelming majority of cases, a later addition of the name to an unrelated dial. Tompion No. 222, the Q-Clock, a silver-mounted, quarter-repeating miniature table clock made for Queen Mary II in 1693, sold at Bonhams in London on June 19, 2019, for £1,935,062, including buyer's premium. The clock had been commissioned alongside a companion piece, the K-Clock, for King William. Robert Hooke, the physicist and architect whose diary survives at the Guildhall, visited Tompion's workshop and recorded seeing both clocks in progress. His diary entry for Friday, June 16th reads, Called at Tompion. Saw K and Q clocks. The silver domes carry cast lion and unicorn heads, royal heraldic symbols that only appeared on clocks made for the Sovereign. A Tompion long case does not appear at auction every year. When one does, the price depends on the number, the survival of the original case and movement together, and the provenance chain. A late 17th century ebony-veneered Tompion long case with a 10-inch dial, accompanied by a 1942 receipt from the dealer Walter J. Eyden, sold at Bonhams at a later date. The receipt itself added value because it documented the clock's whereabouts during the During the war years, extending the chain of custody by a critical link. If your grandfather clock has a brass face and a maker's mark, you now know the sequence. The chapter ring. The spandrels. The dial feet. The strike. The backplate. The name. Those six checks, performed in that order, are exactly what the dealer Four of these eight clocks were worth making tea for. performs in your hallway The other four were not. The difference was never the case, never the chime, while you are making tea. and never whether the clock still runs. It was always the name at the bottom of the chapter ring, and whether the movement behind it agreed. Which of these eight is standing in your hallway right now? Just say the number.