Photo: Mark Henry, bartender and cook of The Bath and Turtle, with the Chelsea clock.

Working on Woodwind in the Virgin Gorda boatyard was a sweaty, buggy business, tolerated only by the progress Bruce made on the boat and a mid-day break in one of the local establishments, The Bath and Turtle. Situated in the middle of the Yacht Harbor compound, it seemed a likely place to begin this daily ritual.

On his first visit, Bruce took a seat at the dark, British style bar, ordered a cold drink from the friendly West Indian bartender and sat back to check out the place. The drab green walls are filled with an eclectic collection of memorabilia that have clearly been there for years, perhaps decades: a USMC flag, odd bits of artwork, photos and a few commercial signs.

Bruce’s eyes slowly worked their way around the room until they landed on a small piece of wood nailed three-quarters up the wall. On it was a hand-painted mullet fish and under that, his own name. He had painted that fish on driftwood collected at nearby Beef Island 32 years ago. His mind was slipping through all that time when he spotted another stray item on the wall … a ship’s clock. Mark, the bartender, came around and Bruce asked, “When’s the last time that clock was wound?”

“I bin ere five years, so at leese dat long. It got no key,” said Mark.
“I’ve got a similar clock on my boat,” Bruce replied. “I’ll get the key if you’d like.” “Yes, mon. Dat would be good.”

Bruce returned 20 minutes later with a small brass. “This is a ship’s clock,” he explained. “It rings one bell for each half-hour until it gets to eight, then it starts over.” Climbing on a stool to reach it, he placed the key in the hole and wound the time. Next, he wound the chimes, swinging the hands into place. But no bells. “Mark, something’s wrong. Can we take it off the wall?”

“Sure mon, here,” and he handed Bruce a screwdriver. Off the wall and on the bar, Bruce could see the problem. This heavy clock had never been wound. Never once been started. He ran back to the boat again to fetch a miniature screwdriver, and after returning opened the back, pulled out the protective silencing device and the clock chimed in his hands. Bong-bong. Bong-bong.

The next afternoon Bruce returned with his laptop. “Mark, look. Here’s your key. I’m going to order it.”

“Yeah, mon, good. But how ya goenta git it ere?”
“I’ll send it to my house in the states. My wife’s coming down next week and she’ll bring it with her.”

It was nearly dark when I and the key landed, or we would have immediately sailed to Virgin Gorda. So early next morning we set off to deliver a $29 key that would keep a $1,000 clock ticking.

Mark saw us coming and shot out from behind the bar to give Bruce a hearty handshake. “Hey mon, glad ya back. You must be de madam,” he said as he kissed my cheek. As he put two beers on the counter, Bruce produced the key. Mark handed him the clock, then pounded a nail into the wooden bar where the key would hang.

Bruce wound the time and chimes, set the hands and the clock chimed twice. With a grin on his face, Bruce said to Mark, “Two bells. Five o‘clock.!”

A short while later, Rose, the owner of The Bath and Turtle, came in and was introduced to us. “He de man brought de key fah de clock,” Mark told her.

“Oh, good. That clock’s never run,” she said. “It never had a key.”

Rose and her husband, football legend Mike Giacinto, were married on nearby Marina Cay in 1988, taking up The Bath and Turtle lease from the Rockefeller family the same year. Among the belongings they brought to Virgin Gorda was a box containing the keyless Chelsea clock.

When Mike passed away in 1992, Rose decided to continue their dream with The Bath and Turtle. A striking woman, always dressed in black, she runs the place hands-on and is currently overseeing the construction of an outdoor marina-side bar to be completed in time for the Caribbean 1500, a cruising rally originating from the east coast of the U.S. When the ocean sailors arrive here the third week of November for the Phat Virgin Rendezvous, catered to by Rose and her crew, they most certainly will have the time of their lives. Bong-bong.

Jan