Peal Grabbers

Captains, in your towers, how many

Human beings ring, if any?

"We're six", you say, or, "eight", or "ten".

You may be wrong; survey your men.

Within that close knit band of brothers

A few may be unlike the others.

So pay attention to these lines

And learn to recognise the signs.

Their brains are clear, their eyes are bright

Oh, they're intelligent alright.

At opening time they're down there first

(They're permanently crazed with thirst).

They don't mix much with other folks,

They have a score of private jokes

That no one else can understand.

If you've got grabbers in your band

On Sunday evenings no one's there

They all go ringing peals elsewhere.

Apologise, as well they might,

They come in hoards on practice night.

They've looked up "Lincolnshire" no doubt

And learn their "Glasgow"sitting out.

A grabber never simply rings -

They do the most peculiar things.

They blow their noses, air their views

They scratch their heads and lace their shoes

And casually remove their ties

When ringing peals of "Spliced Surprise".

The way they spend their Saturdays

Just never ceases to amaze -

They drive themselves to distant towers

And ring the bells for hours and hours.

They drink the pubs dry, then

Quite soberly drive home again.

I fear the wrath that this unleashes

But boy, are they a crazy species!