In London, few sights command the same quiet reverence as the clock face of Big Ben. It’s not just a timekeeper-it’s a silent witness to centuries of change, from the clatter of horse-drawn cabs to the hum of electric buses rolling past Parliament Square. Every morning, as mist rises off the Thames and the first commuters hurry past the Victoria Tower, the great hands of Big Ben begin their slow, steady sweep. And for those who live here, it’s more than a landmark. It’s part of the rhythm of the city.
People often say "Big Ben" when they mean the whole tower, but technically, Big Ben is the 13.5-ton bell inside. The clock face? That’s the masterpiece. Four dials, each 23 feet in diameter, are made of opal glass and backlit by gas lamps that were replaced with LEDs in 2022. The hands are cast iron-hour hand 9 feet long, minute hand 14 feet-and they move with a precision that’s kept by a team of clockmakers who still use the same 1850s mechanism.
The design isn’t just functional. It’s a statement. The Roman numerals are bold, the minute markers crisp. Each numeral is 23 inches tall, carefully spaced so they’re legible from the far side of Parliament Square. The frame is wrought iron, painted in a deep Prussian blue that matches the House of Lords’ upholstery. This isn’t random decoration-it’s deliberate. When architect Augustus Pugin designed the clock face in 1854, he wanted it to reflect the dignity of the British state. And in a city where tradition is woven into daily life, that dignity still holds.
Big Ben doesn’t just tell time-it tells it with character. The clock is regulated by a stack of old pennies placed on the pendulum. Add one penny, and the clock gains two-fifths of a second per day. Remove one, and it slows. The clockmakers, who still work out of a tiny room at the base of the tower, have been doing this since the 1860s. In 2017, when the tower was closed for repairs, the clock was temporarily silenced for the first time since 1941. Locals noticed. The silence felt wrong, like a neighbor stopping mid-conversation.
Even today, when the clock chimes, it’s heard across Westminster. The sound travels farther on cold, still mornings-a fact that’s well known to taxi drivers who time their pickups by it. In summer, when the parks are full of picnickers, you’ll hear people checking their watches against the chime. It’s a quiet ritual, like checking the tide at Brighton or the price of a pint at the local pub.
What makes the clock face so enduring isn’t just its age-it’s the craftsmanship. The glass for each dial was made by a single firm in the Midlands, J. & E. B. Blyth, which still supplies replacement panes today. The numerals were hand-painted with gold leaf, and when the paint faded over decades, restorers used original pigment recipes to match the exact shade. The minute hand’s tip moves at a speed of 0.8 inches per minute. That’s slower than a snail-but precise enough to keep London’s trains running on time.
And the maintenance? It’s meticulous. Every three years, the clock is fully disassembled. The gears are cleaned with distilled water and dried with soft brushes. The oil is replaced with a special synthetic blend developed by Horological Society engineers. Even the wind speed is accounted for-strong gusts can slightly alter the pendulum’s swing, so the clockmakers adjust the pennies accordingly. It’s not automation. It’s art.
If you’ve ever stood on the South Bank at sunset, watching the clock face glow against the purple sky, you’ve felt its pull. It’s been the backdrop to royal celebrations, political protests, and quiet moments of reflection. During the 2012 Olympics, the chimes were broadcast globally as athletes entered the stadium. In 2020, during lockdown, the clock kept ticking while the city was empty. People filmed it from their windows. It was the only thing that hadn’t stopped.
For Londoners, Big Ben isn’t a tourist attraction-it’s part of the background noise of life. It’s the sound you hear when you walk past the Tube station at 8:05 a.m. It’s the time you set your phone to when you’re meeting someone near St. James’s Park. It’s the clock you glance at when you’re waiting for a bus on Whitehall and the real one is just out of sight.
There’s no public access to the clock mechanism itself-security and preservation keep it off-limits. But you can still experience it up close. Walk around the base of the tower at any hour. At dawn, the light hits the glass just right, making the numerals glow like amber. In winter, frost clings to the iron frame, and the chimes echo louder through the crisp air.
If you’re a tourist, skip the crowded guided tours that bundle you with 20 others. Instead, go early. Arrive at 7 a.m. on a weekday. Watch the clockmakers arrive in their dark coats, carrying toolkits. See the way the light catches the minute hand as it passes the 12. Sit on the bench near the statue of Winston Churchill and just listen.
And if you’re a local? You already know. You don’t need a guide. You just need to remember to look up.
Other cities have modern clocks-digital, glowing, automated. But none have the soul of Big Ben. Its design doesn’t try to impress. It doesn’t flash or beep. It simply is. And in a city that’s constantly changing-new skyscrapers rising, old pubs closing, Tube lines expanding-Big Ben remains unchanged. Not because it can’t be updated, but because it shouldn’t be.
The clock face is a quiet rebellion against speed. It reminds us that some things are worth waiting for. That time, when measured by craftsmanship and care, isn’t just a number on a screen. It’s a moment. And in London, that moment still belongs to the clock.
Technically, Big Ben is the name of the great bell inside the tower, weighing over 13 tons. The tower itself is officially called the Elizabeth Tower, renamed in 2012 for Queen Elizabeth II’s Diamond Jubilee. But most people, including Londoners, use "Big Ben" to refer to the whole structure-including the clock face. The confusion is so common that even official maps and signs sometimes use "Big Ben" for the tower.
Public access to the interior of the Elizabeth Tower is extremely limited. UK residents can apply to attend a guided tour through their Member of Parliament, but these are rare and require a security clearance. Tourists cannot book tours directly. The tower was closed for major renovations from 2017 to 2022, and while it’s now open for maintenance, public tours remain suspended indefinitely. The best way to experience it is from the outside-especially at sunrise or sunset.
The pendulum is regulated by adding or removing old British pennies-yes, actual coins-on top of it. Each penny changes the clock’s speed by about two-fifths of a second per day. This method, used since the 1860s, is more reliable than modern electronic adjustments. The clockmakers still use this technique today. A single penny is enough to correct for slight drift caused by temperature or wind. It’s a perfect example of how old-world ingenuity still keeps one of the world’s most famous clocks accurate.
Yes. Each of the four clock dials is made of opal glass, originally manufactured by J. & E. B. Blyth in the Midlands. The glass is translucent, allowing light from the LED bulbs behind it to glow softly at night. In 2022, the old gas lamps were replaced with energy-efficient LEDs, but the glass itself was preserved. Replacement panes are still made to the original specifications, ensuring the clock face looks exactly as it did in 1859.
The best time is early morning, just before or after the chime at 8 a.m., when the light hits the glass dials just right and the crowds are thin. Sunset also offers a stunning view, especially from the South Bank, where the clock glows against the twilight sky. Avoid midday-too many tourists, too much noise. For a truly local experience, visit on a weekday when the Houses of Parliament are in session. You might hear the chimes echo through the corridors of power, a reminder that time, in London, is still measured by tradition.
