Time & Timepieces: Historical artefacts and what they tell us about labour history
A relative of mine* posted a photo on Facebook of a Gledhill clock in/clock out device. She told me that her son discovered a cache of letters from 1925-1945 between members of the Gledhill family. Apparently, the machines were so reliable that the company went out of business because they never needed replacing. This caught my interest as a confrontation between two types of historically illuminating artefacts.
The letters found will provide, no doubt, interesting social history. Though not the typical object of an historical archive, they are nonetheless a traditional source of historical enquiry. Conversely, the clocking in and out machine discovered by the relative in a junk shop is invested with great importance as a cog in the workings of the capitalist economy. I've worked in jobs that require clocking on & off, albeit on more modern machines, and I can vouch for the widespread cheating of the machine's attempted omniscience. Many of the Gledhill's machines, apparently, have kinks at the bottom where employees have attempted to jolt the hours forward, wishing the hours away.
In 'Time, Work & Industrial Capitalism', E. P. Thompson questions how shifts in time-sense instigated by mechanisation influenced inward comprehension of time, in relation to the restructuring of working habits during the Industrial Revolution. Thompson discusses work carried out by anthropologist Pierre Bourdieu (whose theory of Habitus greatly influenced social and cultural historians) and I particularly enjoyed his discovery of Algerian Kabyle peasants description of a clock as "the devil's mill" (Thompson p. 59).
Thompson relates how daily life in pre-Industrial societies was contingent upon nature - tidal patterns, daylight and wind direction. Since social intercourse and labour intermingled, there was less of a demarcation between work and leisure. The broad thrust is that industrialisation led to the monetisation of time: employees started to experience a distinction between their employer's time and their "own" time, as the value of time became more important than the task at hand.
From the 14th Century onwards, the reliance on public bellringing for timekeeping also reminded men of their judgement - for whom the bell tolls. Transport for London have recently introduced a clock on their buses' digital display, which has the effect of constantly reminding the common commuter of their proximity or otherwise to 09:00. My first sighting of one on a weekday morning a few weeks ago instantly reminded me of E. P. Thompson - the clock was constantly reminding me of my 9am judgement, and though not at work, I not only felt my fate getting closer by the minute but was forced to countenance the countdown.
The invention of the pendulum in 1658 advanced household clocks, and grandfather clocks spread from the 1660s, though minute hands didn't spread until well after this. Pitt the Younger's clock and watch tax, lasting just 9 months during 1797, indicated their perception as a luxury - recorded time belonged to the gentry, the masters, and the farmers.
It wasn't until the economic developments of the Industrial Revolution necessitated a greater synchronisation of labour that there occurred a further diffusion of timepieces across different classes of society. Yet Thompson later points out that in workplaces where time was most rigorously imposed, such as textile mills, workers were forbidden to have watches, lest time be disputed and conflict break out between the employers and workforce.
Working patterns became one of "alternate bouts of intense labour and of idleness" (Thompson p. 73). Moral judgement was cast through these prisms; the tea table seen as a "devourer of Time and Money", as is "that slothful spending the Morning in Bed" (Thompson p. 83). Early rising on the other hand was an antidote to the danger of midnight revels.
The introduction of leisure time amongst the working classes concerned the leisured classes greatly - "in what manner is this precious time expended by those of no mental cultivation?" asked one 19th century moralist.
These days most work and leisure time is not distinguished by clocking in and out machines, and many workers find the distinction blurred. Just as the public bell-ringing and Church clock has been privatised to the wristwatch and mobile phone, the decision on how early or late we clock off is often left dubiously to the employee. Yet the decision is not really with the worker - although there is no clock to record whether I leave at 5pm or stay late, there is the watchful eye of the boss and the pressure to impress, not codified in a contract but obligatory nonetheless. Twenty-First century labour is such that an order does not have to be verbally given for it to be apparent, indeed mandatory.
Objects such as the Gledhill can help to illuminate the historical significance of historians such as E. P. Thompson, and to reflect on how our own working conditions have been affected by the technological progress of something as commonplace and generic as a watch or clock. The heritage sector may focus on National Trust properties and objects of artistic value but for most of us, the lowly clock has had a much more significant presence in the formation of our daily life; the public tolling of bells, the grandfather clock, the Gledhill and now the illuminated clock on all London buses marking our time, work, leisure or somewhere inbetween.
*indebted to my father's cousin for the image and backstory - her blog can be found here.
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