by Gordon Rendell
Bells, you know, have been my life,
Long before I met my wife.
I was walking through the churchyard, late
One September evening, after eight.
When I heard a constant muffled thump
From high above, it made me jump.
I hurried home to Rectory lane
To tell my Mum, who would explain
The reason for this unearthly thing
Was Daddy teaching a man to ring.
“Do you think he’ll teach me? I’m only nine.”
“Why don’t you ask if he can spare the time.”
That was Monday, Wednesday came
And I started on this ringing game.
I thought I’d never master it,
The bell rope wouldn’t behave a bit.
But eventually I got things right
And eagerly awaited practice night.
The Trouble was I was only small
And couldn’t reach the rope at all.
This was a problem, it seemed unfair,
‘til Father stood me on a chair.
Thus encouraged, full of hope,
I could at last reach the Treble rope.
Now began a life long joy.
I had been given the ultimate toy.
Any day of the week, whether wet or fine
I can indulge this love of mine.
I make new friends, with the same desire
To experience this internal fire.
We ring for hours and hours on end
My companions and my metallic friend.
You really cannot understand
The power that drives this eager band
Of ringers who will leave their tea
And climb a draughty tower with me.
We ring for service, weddings too,
Funerals, birthdays that’ll do.
Any excuse you’ll find us there
On the end of a rope, perhaps one on a chair.
Balancing bells, just for fun,
Bells that can weigh up to over four ton.
You should try it, and if you get the bug,
You’ll always have a bell rope to hug.
You’ll have years of pleasure, many a friend
And keep alert and fit right to the end.
If you remember Father, he
Rang ‘till he died at 93.