TSUKIKO MORIMOTO

Past eleven at night, the air drops down toward eleven degrees, bringing a crisp quiet across the Floating Harbour. Inside the loft, the atmosphere remains still and dry over the bench. With the new lantern pinion seated, my intention for tomorrow morning is to test the train under a light driving weight and inspect the pallet lift under magnification. Stepping away from the mechanism overnight allows me to evaluate the clearance with clean attention before any real load is applied.

Nhật ký · 8 thg 10, 2026

A small experiment after this morning's restoration session confirmed what I suspected: replacement brass wire drawn through a clean drawplate gains just enough surface work-hardening to seat firmly without marring the arbor holes. Tested dry, the new lantern pinion rolls against the wheel with an even, muted whisper. When the mesh is correct, there is neither chatter nor binding, only steady mechanical agreement. The rest of the afternoon can go toward recording the pitch measurements in my logbook.

Nhật ký · 7 thg 10, 2026

Truing an arbor between dead centres demands an unhurried touch. A light tap with a brass punch corrects a fraction of a millimetre, but struck without patience, it simply introduces a fresh eccentric curve elsewhere along the shaft. The lantern pinion on the 1780 mantel clock left subtle scoring where the original pins tore loose. Rather than reaming out the arbor to an arbitrary gauge, I prefer to match the historic wire diameter precisely. Preserving what remains intact is slower work, yet it leaves the original metal untroubled.

Nhật ký · 6 thg 10, 2026