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The Daimyo Clock Museum, or 大名時計博物館, is one of the more prominent sites on any tourist map of the Yanaka neighborhood of Tokyo. While it’s hardly among the top ten must-sees in all of Tokyo – to be honest, hardly on the radar at all – it came up for me on my very first day living in the neighborhood, as I took a walk to just wander and explore, and ended up seeing it pop up on Google Maps as I walked past. It was already too late in the day at that time to try to visit, but I figured I would make it back eventually. Weeks passed, and on another such explorational wandering, I passed by again, this time noticing the architecture of the place – large tile-roofed wooden buildings behind a high wall which caught my eye and inspired me to take a photo before I even got around to looking to see what building that even was that I had stumbled across (oh, the Daimyo Clock Museum! Ah, I knew it was in this area somewhere!).

Stele marking the former site of the Katsuyama domain’s lower mansion (shimo yashiki).

Today, I finally decided to stop in and give it a look. The museum is located on the former grounds of the Edo mansion of the lord of Mimasaka-Katsuyama domain, which kind of makes sense given the size of the space, the high walls, and the attractive, traditional-looking (but most likely 20th century) architecture. Interestingly, though, once you enter through the gate, you quickly find that most of what’s inside those walls seems to be (near as I can tell) private homes. The museum itself is just one small room, and the large two-story buildings peering up over the walls remain a mystery.

I stopped to take off my shoes and change into the slippers provided, and then struggled with the door. Were they closed? It’s 1pm on a Friday. Surely they’re open, right? A young man comes up, apologizing, and unlocks the door. Ah, I see. The place is so sparsely visited that they don’t even bother staffing it (or leaving the door unlocked) throughout the day. Well, either that or he just stepped out for lunch. I dunno.

In any case, I had somehow had in my mind an image of a very sleek, nicely maintained, very modern-looking museum. Like the Tokyo Bike Rentals places I’ve seen elsewhere in Yanaka, retrofitted into old machiya storefronts, and looking very new, sleek, chic, very 21st century hipster/gentrification style. Instead – and I don’t mean this in a critical or negative way, but only to say that for no reason at all I had somehow imagined it differently – we find an older display room, looking a bit run-down but that’s just fine, with thin carpeting, hand-drawn signage, and catalogs just a slight step up from being printed out in the back room and stapled by hand. A more cozy, local, sort of feel, helping us to appreciate that this is just some guy’s personal collection, that he so wanted to share with the neighborhood.

Hard to tell from photos, but between these two images, hopefully maybe you can get a sense of the size of the small, one-room, museum. Click through for more photos of the exhibit, from Takachi’s Japanese-language blog on LIG Inc.

Sadly, they don’t allow photos – I would have loved to have captured and kept some sense of the experience myself; there really is something about having your own photos, and not just finding photos online… But, in any case, it is one room, with a few tens (maybe as many as one or two hundred? I’m terrible at estimating these sorts of things) of clocks, most of them from the Edo period, some of them quite large and impressive. Some bear the crest of the Tokugawa family on them. Some are still running, their mechanisms opened up making it clearly visible for the visitor how they work. Labels on the walls explain how time-keeping was considered in the Edo period, not on a system of twelve or twenty-four evenly spaced hours like today, but rather (as I’ve discussed in a previous blog post) a system of six hours of daylight and six hours of night, which lengthened and shortened with the seasons. Mechanical clocks were first imported from Europe, their mechanisms copied and reproduced, and adapted to serve this Japanese mode of telling time.

It’s interesting – we don’t tend to think of the Edo period as a time of machines. And, granted, the vast majority of people – even relatively well-to-do townspeople – had no such possessions. But, daimyo certainly seem to have had clocks, and not just a single official clock for the mansion’s business, but actually relatively small ones to keep by one’s bedside as well. European fashions enjoyed a major boom in popularity among the top echelons of the samurai for about 80 years or so, from c. 1550 to c. 1630, and then disappeared almost entirely, but some things, a few things, such as these clocks, remained.

As for the museum itself, as much as I adore sleek, shiny, beautiful small museums – as much as I might have loved to find a Daimyo Clock Museum that’s… I don’t really have the words, but, a place closer in aesthetic to the Nezu Museum, or the Okinawa Prefectural Museum, totally up-to-date, 21st century, but retrofitted into this old, historical, traditional space, a jewel of the postmodern, giving me the feeling that I was taking part in something very new, very cutting-edge 2017-Tokyo, at the same time, though it gave me a sort of record-scratch feeling internally in my mind, in a very different way, it’s also kind of wonderful to feel I found, and experienced, something very small, and old, and local. A corner of Tokyo very few tourists (or even locals) have ever bothered to go see. A piece of the decades-old past that’s still running, just quietly, over in this obscure corner of things. Kind of like the clocks themselves, I guess.

All exterior photos my own. Interior photos by Takachi, from LIG Inc. blog.

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