Dear reader, for your amusement, purely your amusement I assure you, I had a dabble at bell ringing at the weekend. This experiment exercise lasted 3 seconds. I carried out this experiment exericse in the centre of Horsham on the Bandstand, as I'm not one to shirk an audience. Beer had been brewed especially for this calamitous cacophony and earmuffs had been knitted for the general populace of Horsham.
I mounted the podium with thoughts of Adele ringing in my ears.
I would not let Mr Him down. Mr Him who I'd told, 'I've bell rung before.' Once that pulley thing was in my hands it came back to me in a flood. I was at one, at one with the knowledge I'd never rung a darn bell in my life. Horsham put on its multitude of knitted earmuffs. Words fell from Mr Him's lips. They were dizzy words. Words misplaced and backwards. I left the podium.
Mr Him marched me to Horsham church and shoved me up the bell tower. I was to be shown bell-ringing. Real bell ringing.
Why was Horsham subjected to my serenade? Read on dear reader for now my write up gets interesting.
Horsham was celebrating 250th anniversary of the hanging of its church bells, so the quarter millennial of its peal of bells, in English. Mr Him's father used to be a ringer in the local church, the very tower Mr Him marched me up. Mr Him's father's name is mentioned on a plaque in the tower against Treble. My name has gone up against Trouble.
Last Saturday there was a 'free' ring as part of the celebrations. This meant that I couldn't charge Horsham to listen to my melody clanging. It also meant Mr Him's dad could once more ring in the tower on the tenor bell. (Free ring means that any experienced bell ringer could go up the tower and have a go.)
Jesting aside it was fascinating being in the tower as the ringers rung out across the town and watching them pull to time. One of the ringers did the calling whereby the bells switched places. The ringers lips moved as they counted their time. A complicated business. I had told Mr Him it was complicated when I got off the bandstand!
You may recollect I had written a blog on Horsham before. You will find it here
Jealous thoughts. No bells here, and campanolody has long fascinated me. I have read some excellent murder mysteries around the theme too.
ReplyDeleteThe sound of bells in the English village on a Sunday is a cross between quaint and a nuisance. No chance of a lie in.
DeleteNow that was a fascinating post, a bit confusing but still interesting!
ReplyDeleteThank you. I try to bring you England in my blogs.
Deletea bit of fun it sounds like.
ReplyDeleteIt was, until I realised I couldn't do it.
DeleteIsn't there an Agatha Christie (or maybe Sherlock Holmes) mystery about bell ringing and the sounds being deafening? Maybe you missed your calling....
ReplyDeleteI do not for one moment think bell ringing is my calling. Nor does Mr Him.
DeleteWhat are you doing, pulling bell ringers at your stage in life?
ReplyDeleteI have mutton moments.
DeleteSuch tiny pictures! Really hard to see.
ReplyDeleteI'll go back and enlarge them. I hadn't realised. Thank you.
Delete