I've taken up bellringing again. I'm quite surprised. The last time I bellrang was about thirty years ago. What has also surprised me is how difficult it is to ring a bell - I'd forgotten - but also how satisfying it is when you get it right. There is a lovely rhythm to pulling on the end of the rope and then the sally (the fluffy bit), and the bells make a nice noise too. Quite an ancient sound, echoing across the centuries. I was also surprised to end up feeling sea-sick. When I was sitting watching the experts ring I realised with some unease that the floor was moving around and making my chair wobble. I tried to focus on the windowsill to see whether the whole tower was going to collapse, but it is impossible to tell whether it was me moving, or the bricks. I realised that it would take quite a while to escape the tower in a disaster, the winding staircase seemed to go on for eons, and was specially built to avoid stairwell confrontations with swords or something, so only one of us at a time could squeeze down.
I put these morbid thoughts to one side and decided to have a read of the boards, which were jiggling around ominously. They explained who rang a peal of what and when and how long it took. About 5 hours for Grandsire Triples in 1804 apparently. I secretly hoped that one day I would be in a pub quiz team and there would be a round (forgive the pun) on campanology, and I would triumph to congratulatory slaps on the back and smile generously as the bottles of wine and handfuls of money came our way.
I wasn't deemed ready for Grandsire Triples or even Plain Bob. I did manage some straight rounds and even received some applause at the end for getting my bell dinging in the right place. I would have said 'round of applause' but you can have too many types of round and it gets confusing.
You can hear the ropes flicking on the floor.
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