The scene of Slightly’s bell-ringing shame
Slightly Bemused writes:
So there is a new grotto in town.
I have only lived here for forty years or so, but it took a new arrival for me to find out about this. Back behind my church, where apparently mobile coverage does not work, there is a little sanctuary to Mary.
Finely ensconced in a glass cage, she looks out over my daughter as she sits and thinks and reads, and peruses her day’s thoughts.
When I found out about this place I realised something. In order for this grotto to be here, something had to go. That something was the convent of the Presentation Sisters.
Many of them were teachers to us, through the years. I am not sure they liked us. One famously took a ruler to my sister, who promptly took it from her and whacked back. Our family do not take lightly, so tread carefully where you may.
The grotto where the convent once stood looks out across a lawn to the room I used study science in. I will tell you of the blue water another time. The main school is now a shopping venue, but once my doctor was shot there. Thankfully he survived, and I am still able to tell people that I went to school in a field. And a one-armed man who taught me science found evidence of an old settlement there, sadly now buried under signs of saving.
The sad thing for me is I recognise the statue. It used be in the hall of the convent, welcoming all in. Or at least as many as never took a rule to a sister. I am not a believer, but I do respect those who do, so I am glad to see her recognised by the community.
But just down from her place of fame is my place of shame. There is still the old bell tower, which still rings out the Angelus, and the tidings for the Mass. You can see the bell from Little Slightly’s window, and it bongs each day at the noon and the hour. Actually, it is early these days, about ten to. Back in the day old Skinner, the sacristan of those times, would only chime in time. And God help the late.But Skinner was also just a man, and he got sick as do the rest of us. So when he did, an altar boy was sent out, in his rainments of crimson and white, to sound the bells and bring the faithful to their true home. The church wherein I was wed, but that was a few years later.
On this day when Skinner (the local barber, by the way. Hence the name) coughed in sick, a certain young lad of the very slightly build was asked to ring the bell. So out I went, past the convent where a grotto now stands, and I faced off on the bell. These days it has a solenoid, an electric ringer. But of course, not then.
Back then, it was old school. The bell still sports the rather big circle ring whereupon used rest a chain. And to get it ringing, a seasoned campanologist would pull the chain, let it go, and pull again on the backswing. Gaining momentum. Eventually it got to the point where the clapper sounded out the call to the worthy to come and pray.
Funnily enough, this was not one of the lessons in altar boy training. So here I am, looking at the bell and chain. There was a low wall around the base, now extended to the top. And I thought if I grab the chain as high as I can and then pull, it will work. So to get as high as I could I clambered up this little wall. I reached high, grabbed the chain, and jumped.
Now, here is a lesson in both physics and momentum. A one ton bell will move when a ten-pound altar boy pulls. But it pulls back, as it swings. And it is a lot heavier. So there is me, swinging up and down the side of the bell tower, not letting go for fear of my life. And the Mass bell went bong… bing… bong…
And Skinner got out of his sick bed to make it right for the next Mass, and never let me near his bell again.
Slightly Bemused‘s column appears here every Wednesday.
Pic by Slightly
Good stuff Slightly, cheers.
Great again, very much a Beano or Dandy image! Thank you Slightly.
Lovely vignette.