Chapter 45

The bell-ringing tea was in full swing. Mavis was helping out behind the serving hatch of the village hall kitchen. She completed cutting the fifth slice of lemon drizzle cake with her thin plastic, gloved fingers and turned her attention to the next round of tea, which had just been called for.

There was a group of Tower Captains, situated close to the biscuit and sandwich table, discussing the merits of having more than one bell ringing tea a quarter, and the new additions to the district were busily utilising the hand-bells at the stage end of the hall.

Seated on three chairs, staring intently at each other, the Clackett sisters held a hand-bell in each hand. The sisters were in the midst of ringing a quarter peal on the six hand-bells held by the three of them. It was a quarter peal of spliced minor so, as each method was just about to come round, a call was made for the next method, whereupon the three ringers would continue onto yet another memorised pattern, always being sure to ring their bell at the right time whilst keeping the rhythm as steady as possible.

Such was the regular rhythm of their ringing, and the near perfect striking maintained over the full three quarters of an hour of the quarter peal, that the sisters had built up a crowd of local district members. Most of the members had pulled up a hall chair to form a small amphitheatre of spectators taking in the scene and quietly enjoying the spectacle.

At the other end of the hall were tables and chairs arranged for the tea in groups of four or six. These were currently partially filled, but being taken rapidly as ringers trooped in from having rung the bells within the adjacent St. Mary’s tower.

David was helping out with the pre-tea ring and was standing in the ringing chamber calling the district ringers to order. Many of the ringers were still talking to each other and he had to raise his voice to be heard.

“All those who have not rung, please grab hold, let’s ring some Plain Hunt with a half course of Yorkshire Major after that.”

David took the seventh of the ring and took his place next to the Portsmouth Cathedral Tower Captain, who was ringing the tenor.

“We need to talk,” he whispered.

“Not now,” said the Tower Captain. “Let’s go for a stroll after the ringing.” He mumbled so quickly that none of the other ringers in the tower would have noticed that he had even spoken.

The Plain Hunt commenced and was a little lumpy as there were a number of learner ringers all finding their feet within the district ringing community and, whilst confident in their own tower, in unfamiliar surroundings their ringing was hesitant and did not flow.

Scowling and huffing and becoming agitated, for he was having to work harder than many of the ringers, being on the heaviest bell, the Portsmouth Tower Captain called “Rounds” and “Right, that’s enough of that, David, c’mon, we’re going to ring some Yorkshire Major now.”

The Yorkshire Major produced a much higher quality of striking as only the better ringers knew the method. The natural rhythm and sound started to flow, and all who were involved drifted into the concentrated, dream-like state that typifies quality ringing from good bands. There was no shouting, pointing or directing. The ringers got on with it, and perhaps provided the odd nod or wink here and there, but the sound that was being produced was uplifting, joyful and inspiring.

The ringers brought the method to an end, ringing rounds prior to the Portsmouth Tower Captain calling, “Stand.”

The Tower Captain again whispered to David, “Meet you outside in five minutes.” David knew well not to ignore the request.