The Top of the Tower

Jan 26, 2016
3 min read

I was eternally in awe of it when I saw it, but especially when I could see it from the other side. My Papa, dressed always in a black suit with matching hat, worked there. I thought he must have the most special job in the world; going there to see him, I remember thinking that he was very important. I could feel the excitement and anticipation bubble up inside of me at the thought that, perhaps, because of him, I too, might have something very important inside of me.

When my mother would pick me up from class at the end of the day, she would walk me over to him, on the days that she wouldn’t be home. She would always be dressed impeccably, in some gown with some headpiece on; she always looked luxurious, but it embarrassed me too. Most of the other girl’s mothers were plainer than mine, but she was not as old as them. When we would arrive, my Papa would meet us outside. He and my mother would talk for a few minutes before she would leave, and I would stare up at the greatness of the structure, which I believed was owned by my Papa. I would never even hear what it was they were saying; I would just stare up. My papa would look down at me with his mustache curled up with his smile. And he would put out his hand to me and say are you ready Mon Chere? I never did wonder where my mother was going. I would just take his hand and run off toward the stairs, and he would hold my hand back, to slow me.

The stairs were dark, narrow and winding, so I understand now why he wanted me to slow down, it always seemed to take too long to get there. But when we did. Mmm. Oh I remember the light. You would have to see it to know, but when we’d reach the top of the dark stairs and walk out into the top floor of the tower, the light filled the space; it was as if everything glowed. The room was narrow too, not as narrow as the stairs but not really a full room either. It was long and the ceiling rose; oh it must have been more than thirty feet in the air.

To my right, the tall white wall was covered in hinges and mechanical looking things that would move. There were notches and gadgets but the most important thing I would look to see was if papa had pulled the ladder out. If I saw that ladder there my excitement would grow.

To my left was, what all the fuss was about: thirty feet wide and thirty feet tall, a perfect circle of paneled glass. To me, it was the most beautiful of all the art I had seen, not that I had seen much. Within the circle, were many more circles and fragments, all made of the same frosted glass with black steel outlining the shapes. My Papa would take the ladder to the glass wall and post it upon the small ledge along its base. His black suit, I remember I liked the way that it stood tall on the ladder like he was a part of the black steel framing. Tinkering about with some gadgets and gears, I would watch. I would look and admire the greatness of it with it murmur of its winding and the ticking of its hands. Oh how grand I thought those days were to spend them with my Papa.

Photo Inspiration.

Image found on History in Pictures on Facebook.

Behind the clock face of Elizabeth Tower, often referred to as Big Ben, 1920s.