Patterns
There’s been an ugly, horrible death in our little local bell ringing world. I didn’t know him—Niall did—but I regularly ring with two other members of his family. The accident happened several days ago—and I heard about that from someone who’d seen it—and he’s been in intensive care, and in and out of surgery, and the word I’ve heard is that they’ve kept him under heavy sedation while they decided what to do—what they could do—so he never regained consciousness. They were prepping him to go into surgery yet again . . . and his heart gave out. We heard about it this morning at service ring. Young man—not much past thirty—recently married—and a good guy. Life sucks sometimes, especially when it ends too soon. Vicky is organising a quarter peal for him, because that’s how ringers’ minds work, but the hole in the fabric is still there. Dead is gone. His poor new wife. His poor old family. I didn’t know him, as I say, but you still feel it when someone falls out of the pattern near you; you feel the shock through the threads that connected you. I’ve had my head down over PEGASUS all day but I keep being aware of a grey looming background of Something Wrong. And then I get up to make myself another cup of tea and I remember—someone died. Someone who shouldn’t have been due for decades yet.
Meanwhile, yesterday a friend sent me a link to an unusually good article, in the NY Times of all places, about bell-ringing. And I’ve been thinking for two or three weeks now that I could legitimately post the ‘line’ for Kent as an example of the strained and straining upper reaches of my bell ringing; and after last Friday I can just about claim a plain course of Stedman Triples . . . on a good evening with a great band and a kindly following wind. . . . I’ve hesitated about posting plain bob doubles or Grandsire or even Stedman doubles—I want to scare you, okay? And I suspect that anyone who hasn’t held a bell rope in their hot, sweating hands, who hasn’t felt how heavy, awkward and eccentric a change-ringing bell is, who hasn’t been there when everyone pulls off and you realise just how frelling fast change-ringing happens . . . isn’t going to be hugely impressed by the line for bob doubles. You have to remember that while you’re ringing? you’ll say. La di da. —I think any sane person, however, is going to look at Kent or Stedman Triples and go ‘yeeep’.
So I’m going to do tonight what I was planning to do before I heard the news this morning. I’m going to post the link, and yack about it a little, and then I’m going to post a diagram of a scary method. And I’m going to say that it’s tonight’s blog entry, but it’s also a tiny, absurd tribute to the fellow who died, who isn’t going to ring any more bells.
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So this is the link: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/05/arts/music/05bells.html *
It’s so much better than most articles about change ringing by ordinary journalists, who way too often give the impression that they’d rather be covering the national paint-drying championships, and haven’t asked any questions or taken any notes, that I can hardly bring myself to do any cavilling. Maybe just a little. And Daniel Wakin may merely be using the New York City variation of some of the bell jargon.** But the gap between your pull on the rope and the sound of your bell is a lot less than a full second—it’s basically just enough to throw you out. I think they usually say a third of a second—which feels about right to me—although it’s going to vary with your peal of bells. Tiny bells ring noticeably faster than bigger bells. It’s one of the many adjustments ringers have to make, tower to tower and bell to bell within a single tower. And this is the quibble of someone who struggles badly with her timing: it’s a sense of rhythm that you want worst. Timing is intellectual: you know you go out to the back slowly and come down to the front quickly; you know you dodge over slowly and under by yanking your bell in quickly. But it’s your sense of rhythm that’s going to let you do this accurately. Or not. Sigh.
And please please please let’s not go on promulgating the tired old myth that the people who are attracted to bell ringing are mathematical. No. Wrong. Cheez. How to keep potential ringers at home with their knitting: tell ’em they have to be good at maths. Having a mathematical brain is a great perk but it’s not required—saying you have to be mathematical is like saying that to learn to ride a horse you have to have long legs. No. Long legs are an advantage. That’s all. *** And I’m walking proof you can get to . . . well, Kent, or Stedman Triples, on no mathematical brains whatsoever. †
But the article does give you some sense of what ringing is like. Although—the Trinity tower is AIR CONDITIONED???????!!!??? Good gods. Well. Hem. Yes, bell ringing is sweaty work. And yes, moisture does make the ropes stiffen. As me how I know this.
So, you’ve read the article, right? And you’re ready to be impressed? Okay. Here’s the line for . . . oh, let’s say Stedman Triples. This is out of a little home-printed book called ‘Ringing Circles’ that pretty much every ringer who’s ever got past call changes owns a dog-eared copy of. The black line is the route through the pattern, drawn for the first bell.†† All ‘working’ bells follow the same pattern, but they start at different points within it—like running a relay race. Every bell has to strike once before you move on to the next row; and bells can move only one place per row. They don’t necessarily have to: usually—not always, but usually—you hang around at the front and the back for longer than one stroke, or ‘blow’ as it’s called. Also you can ‘make places’, which is when you stay in the same place in the row that isn’t the front or the back for more than one blow. You make a lot of thirds in Stedman: you can see a series of thirds down the middle here.
Okay? Ready? This is the line you have to memorise to ring Stedman Triples. And remember clearly enough to stick to, standing there with a bell rope in your hand, and your bell going dong every third-to-half a second, while a lot of other bells are going dong all around you. . . .†††
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* ravenclawgirl on the forum also posted this:
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2009/09/04/arts/music/200 90905_BELLS_SLIDESHOW/index.html
Which appears to be part of the same story about the North American Guild of Bell Ringers holding their annual meeting at Trinity Church in New York . . . but there are better examples of change ringing in progress already on the web—start with ‘about’ on this blog—or google it. I don’t think any of these photos were taken when people were actually ringing. There’s one where I guess the fellow is demonstrating what happens when you ring: if he were ringing, he’d be about to be decapitated by the great loop of loose rope while he has his hands over his head. But that is certainly what a ringing chamber in a bell tower looks like, yes. (Although a lot larger and tidier than some. Fortunately our tower has Vicky.)
** If anywhere is going to develop their own unique bell jargon, it’s going to be New York City.
*** I wouldn’t argue with the fellow who says the commonest characteristic among ringers is a little eccentricity, however.
† Obstinacy to an idiotic degree is quite helpful I find.
†† Usually the first bell—called the treble—has an easier route to follow than the other bells. Not in Stedman.
††† And remember, if you ring handbells, you have to memorize two lines. A bell in each hand. I’ll post a handbell pair for you too some day.
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