Clara Blake
Chief Documentation, The Pilgrm
“Four o’clock means four. Write it down.” — Clara Blake
You already know the names that have been endlessly rewritten—Paddington, Holmes, Watson. They return each decade with a new coat of paint. The Pilgrms are different. They work in the back office with the missing “i”: four useful misprints who keep the room running while the famous get the lines.
These short notes fill in their side of the story—how they read signs, keep time, and make the day work. First up is Clara Blake, Chief Documentation at The Pilgrm: steady hand, light on attention, strong on order—and learning to trust her first thought.
Clara Blake writes things down because it steadies her. When a room gets busy, she doubts her first thought, then the next. A page helps her choose. Jacket sleeves up. Pencil behind the ear. Glasses nudged with the back of a wrist. Simple habits; steady hands.
She keeps a few notebooks on the go. Plain labels in a careful hand: Doorways. Waiting Rooms. Temple Street (night). The paper is thin; the corners lift; she smooths them flat before she starts. In the front sleeve there’s often a cloakroom ticket she found on a floor or a bus. Numbers help. They make the day feel held.
Clara doesn’t interrupt; she underlines. Wet Paint means don’t touch. Later she may circle Wet if the job felt unfinished. She notices small things: a second teaspoon and the minute it arrived; a brush hair left in the paint; a missing stroke on a sign. Once, before anyone saw, she slid a visitor’s hat away from a coffee ring and noted the time. That was her way of being kind.
No one is quite sure how she became a Pilgrm. One story says a meeting invite went to the wrong Blake. She turned up, took minutes, and left them unsigned. The minutes were better than the meeting, so they asked her back. Another says she fixed the labels in the Pilgrm’s basement, where Fragile had been stamped on everything and meant nothing. Either way, it happened in the back rooms, and she was kept because the room worked better with her there.
You can tell she’s been somewhere by the small things she leaves right: a label straightened, a time noted, a way in that doesn’t put anyone out. She carries two pencil sharpeners because one might break. Her London map marks back entrances. She keeps a roll of blank labels to sort confusion on the spot—or to buy a few seconds before naming something. On a café receipt she once wrote: rice + soy = truth told. She had seen plain food make a hard talk easier.
Clara reads signs literally first, then with care. Four o’clock means four. Write it down. (Paddington would approve.) Staff Only means go gently—or wait. She remembers the day she did wait and watched a chance leave without her. It wasn’t only rules; she didn’t want to be in the way. Since then she checks the sign and the room.
A small kindness on record: a wet afternoon by St Pancras, one dry seat on the bus. She put her notebook on the seat and stood, so the next person’s notes would stay legible. Later she drew the station clock—twelve marks, one left blank—and wrote: remember which door we used, and why. One mark left blank: enough absence to remember.
She has the skills. Confidence is the part that still wobbles. Paddington helps without trying—he thanks her for small things, reads her notes, and keeps his promises. It adds up. Holmes is sparing with praise, but he uses her timings and trusts her labels; that matters more than words. Watson checks she has what she needs and backs her first draft.
What the other Pilgrms think. Wilkins says the day runs smoother when Clara has the list—“saves me two wrong turns before coffee.” Keene calls her minutes “clear enough to inhale.” Marsh says she makes everyone look tidier than they are. There’s no jealousy in it. Clara doesn’t ask for attention, and somehow the rest of them look a little better standing next to her order.
About drafts—scraps and almost-stories—Clara keeps a simple rule: don’t read a line against the person who wrote it. Intention is fragile before a second pass. If a fragment could do harm, she writes Not Yet on the box. Sometimes she gives herself the same grace.
What’s ahead, without the details. There will be rooms where timing and labels matter more than talk. When that hour comes, Clara will do what she always does: check the sign, check the room, and make it easy for the right door to open.
Clara’s talent is modest and necessary. She keeps the record clear enough for people to do the right thing next. She won’t make a speech. She will put the right label in the right place and open the door at the hour. The rest of us will walk through.
“Right on time, then.” — Paddington