Marking Time: The Clocks and Bells of Tabor

Before a page turns in the classroom or the first oar hits water in Sippican Harbor, time at Tabor has long made itself known—not just by what was seen on a clock face, but also by what was heard.

For generations, it was the sound of bells that shaped the day. Not bells marking class changes or alarms, but bells that followed a rhythm older than the school itself. Bells that told time the way sailors once knew it—one ring at 12:30, two at 1:00, three at 1:30, all the way to eight at 4:00, when the morning watch would change and the cycle would begin again. At Tabor, that system of eight bells every four hours rang out not from a ship at sea, but from the top of Lillard Hall. 

The Howland Clock Tower Bell

In the fall of 1927, a new tradition echoed throughout Tabor’s recently established waterfront campus. Atop Lillard Hall, dedicated the previous spring, stood a clock tower with a ship’s bell and timekeeping mechanism—a gift from Silas Howland in honor of his father, Clark P. Howland, Tabor’s first principal. Mr. Howland had helped guide the school alongside Elizabeth Taber in its earliest years, carrying her legacy forward after her passing in 1888 and serving until 1893.  (Read more about Elizabeth Taber in "The Testament of Elizabeth Taber.")

The bell was struck using the traditional eight-bell naval system. At Tabor, that rhythm carried across dormitories and classrooms alike. The commitment to using this system on land showed how deeply Tabor established its nautical identity under Lillard. The cadence of the bells didn’t just tell students when to wake, eat, or study—they mirrored a seafaring life, anchoring Tabor’s daily rhythm in naval tradition.

For some, that rhythm became second nature. Jim Henry ’75, a day student, recalled that “knowing how many bells corresponded to what time” gave him a head start later as a Navy officer. But not everyone was as enthusiastic. A writer in the 1954 issue of The Log grumbled: “Tabor’s clock is dependent only and mainly for its being at least five minutes ahead of radio time and always off-time for breakfast ... Four bells may strike for twelve noon and eight bells for one PM; or more horrifying still, when, at three AM, an enduring cacophony of as many as twenty-five bells causes to awaken the dormant world.”

Former Headmaster Jay Stroud once referred to it as “Cap’n Lillard’s ship’s bell”—a tribute not only to the sound itself, but to the enduring legacy of nautical rhythm that helped shape the modern Tabor.

The bell and clock remained in place atop Lillard Hall until 2005, though the bell striking mechanism had ceased to function properly some years earlier. While the large clock face continued to be visible and the bell itself remained behind the tower vents, the familiar chimes that had marked naval time for decades had fallen silent. In 2005, the original bell was removed from Lillard Hall and installed inside Wickenden Chapel. Since then, it has been rung by the student co-heads of school at the beginning of each Chapel program. The moment of quiet following the resonant bell tone creates an atmosphere of contemplation and community—establishing a tradition that binds Tabor students of today to those of a previous era. The bell is no longer heard hourly, but in that single deliberate note, a century of tradition resonates.

The Chelsea Clock

Meanwhile, The Chelsea Clock, a second and equally storied timekeeper—a Chelsea Ship’s Bell Clock, distinct from the tower bell—has its own history.

Donated to the school by Mrs. Grace Parker Makepeace—wife of John Crocker Makepeace, a trustee and treasurer of the school (then a trustee role)—the 12-inch brass clock was shipped to Tabor on November 22, 1926 and originally hung in Lillard Hall. The face featured an inscription of “Lillard Hall 1926” and a ship under full sail, drawn by Edward Marvin, Class of 1928. If one looks hard enough, the clock altogether resembles the design of the school seal.

In 1984, the clock was removed from Lillard at the same time as a major refit of the Tabor Boy and installed aboard the schooner where it continued to announce naval time. There, it became more than a symbol of maritime tradition—it became part of it. Captain James Geil later estimated that the clock had traveled the equivalent of two trips around the globe, accompanying students on nine voyages to the Virgin Islands, multiple trips to Bermuda and the Bahamas, and a 1993 journey to Panama and the Pacific. It also spent 21 summers along the coast of Maine.

Eventually retired from active duty, the clock was restored and now hangs over the fireplace in the Carlson Room of the Stroud Academic Center—its movement still reliable and its design still striking. Mounted on teak by Tabor’s own craftsman, Rodney Fielding, it remains a testament to workmanship, legacy, and Tabor’s enduring connection to the sea. It still chimes every half-hour.

The Final Bell

Alumni still remember the bell sounds vividly. Robert Boon ’73 recalls hearing the hourly chime from his dorm room in Lillard. Tom Buffinton ’68 recalls living as a child with his family in the faculty apartment over the Lillard living room, thus directly under the bell tower. Alex Erving ’99 still remembers the smaller ship’s bell aboard Tabor Boy being struck when the mooring line was secured in Sippican Harbor. This is something that still happens today aboard the vessel, typically when anchoring and again hauling back the anchor according to Captain Jay Amster.

These sounds may no longer structure the day at Tabor, but they remain both present and etched in memory. The Howland Tower bell still rings for the entire community in weekly chapel gatherings, and the Chelsea clock continues marking time in the Carlson Room of Stroud Academic Center. They speak to something deeper than punctuality. They call to tradition, to continuity, to belonging.

Because at Tabor, time was never just kept. It was rung. It was felt. And it was remembered.