Big Ben marks big birthday

LONDON —  Defiantly low-tech yet accurate to the second, Big Ben is having its 150th birthday Sunday, its Victorian chimes carrying the sound of Britain into the 21st century.

It’s a birthday the world can share in. The peals are carried globally by BBC radio, and its 315-foot tower, about 16 stories, is the city’s most famous landmark.

But getting inside and seeing Big Ben, the sonorous main bell that gives its name to the whole edifice, isn’t easy. Security measures mean few are granted admission, and there’s no elevator, so those who are escorted in must climb 334 winding limestone stairs.

Catherine Moss, who took journalists on a pre-anniversary tour, said that in one year as a Big Ben guide, she had climbed three times the height of Mt. Everest.

No special events are planned, other than an exhibition opening Sept. 19 in the nearby parliamentary offices.

Although the tower above the Houses of Parliament is covered in a riot of gilt crowns, sculpted masonry and coats of arms, the interior looks functional. The 14 foot-long minute hand casts a faint shadow over the pale white glass of the dial. The 5.6-ton clock mechanism, like a giant wristwatch, is wound three times a week. In the age of atomic clocks, its near-perfect time is regulated by heavy old pennies added to the pendulum.

The chimes, supposedly based on four notes from Handel’s “Messiah,” ring out every quarter hour from the intricately ornamented belfry. The bongs of Big Ben itself are heard every hour.

It is rare -- and a matter of citywide consternation -- for the clock to go mute. But wars and accidents happen. Initial construction was one disaster after another, and in 1916 the chimes were stopped for two years lest they guide German bomber zeppelins to the parliament building.

Carried on BBC radio since 1924, the chimes took on added significance in World War II. Every night Britons kept a minute’s silence as the clock struck nine. The solemn chimes were a metaphor for Britons unflappable under fire, says ex-lawmaker Tam Dalyell, 76.

In May 1941, an air raid wrecked the parliament building. A small explosive shattered the clock’s south dial and damaged stonework, but the clock didn’t skip a second.

Its durability was “as great a boost to the morale of the British people as the speeches of Winston Churchill,” according to one author.

But the clock and tower got off to a bad start. Construction was marred by delays, budget overruns and squabbling.

The clock officially started keeping time on May 31, 1859.

But as the bad memories faded and London’s collective ear became used to the bong of the great bell, the tower became a cherished part of the city’s landscape.