oddstruck

It was warm in the conservatory. January 1st 2000 had arrived at last and the sun was shining as if it were midsummer. James dozed. Naturally he had been up half the night; he was a bell ringer and it was traditional to ‘ring out’ the old year with the bells half-muffled, then to remove them and welcome the New Year joyously. The half-muffled bells, with one side of the clapper covered by a leather pad, always sounded hauntingly mournful as the old year died, each loud change being followed by a muted echo. Then the tenor bell slowly struck twelve: the New Year had arrived and was welcomed by the bells restored to normal. After ringing there was the compulsory party and it had been nearly morning by the time he got home. Now he could relax for an hour before driving to the Minster for more ringing. For 100 years the Minster had welcomed the New Year with a Quarter Peal lasting nearly an hour and this year was no exception: he couldn’t sleep for long or he would be late. He could hear faintly the sounds of his wife clearing up in the kitchen after lunch but the noise of traffic on the bypass seemed to be lulling him deeper into sleep.
He awoke suddenly, aware that a noise had disturbed him, but even the rumble of traffic seemed to have stopped. Then it came again; a train’s whistle followed by the unmistakable sound of a steam engine pulling away from a station. James began to feel vaguely uneasy. Ignoring the part of his mind that was telling him that everything was fine, he forced himself to think. The sound of the train increased, then gradually died away. But he couldn’t be hearing a steam engine; the station and indeed the entire line had closed nearly fifty years ago! Before he had time to consider this further, his wife called from the kitchen.
“Jim! It’s time you were off to the station to catch the train. You need to be at the Minster for 3o’clock for this special New Year’s ring, don’t you?”

James opened his eyes. His still thought that things were not quite right; the conservatory seemed to be different; he was never called ‘Jim’, but the part about having to be at the Minster by 3o’clock seemed familiar. His worries began to recede as another part of his mind took over, swamping the strange feelings he was having and assuring him that everything was perfectly normal. He grabbed his hat from the stand in the hall and found himself walking to the station without a second thought. As he reached the end of the lane he had another of those strange feelings but could not, this time, put his finger on what was wrong, so he waited for the cart to pass, crossed over and entered the station. The odd split in his mind vanished as he waited to buy his ticket and was replaced by anticipation for what lay ahead. It was a great honour that he had been asked to join the ringers at the Minster and he hoped all would go well; it would be the first time the ringers had welcomed the New Year in this way, but it seemed an appropriate thing to do; it was the start of a new century, after all!
The ten-minute train journey was uneventful and soon Jim was walking up the hill that led to the Minster. He met his fellow ringers at the foot of the tower, and when all ten had arrived, they climbed the steep, twisting stairs to the ringing chamber. With the minimum of fuss, the conductor told everyone which bell to ring and the ringing began.
The bells sounded magnificent. Deep and resonant, they pealed over the town, telling everyone that this was the start of a wonderful new century. Hopefully mankind would learn from the mistakes of the previous hundred years and would achieve great things. So the bells seemed to be saying. Jim, ringing the tenor bell to a steady rhythm after the other nine, was occasionally haunted by those strange double memories that had bothered him at home, but he ignored them by concentrating on the task in hand. At first he had thought the ringing room
seemed altered but he could not remember what was missing. He had also expected to see different ringers; where was Judy and that promising young lad Adam? But they were only fleeting glimpses of something he didn’t understand and soon the ringers resumed their old familiarity and the strange names and faces vanished from his mind.
After nearly an hour of excellent ringing the conductor called out “This is all”. The bells came back perfectly into ‘rounds’, cascading down the scale from the high-sounding treble to the booming tenor. A few minutes later the bells stopped at the command “stand” and there was silence again. The conductor congratulated the other ringers on a fine performance.
“ We’ll have to record this on a special plaque” he told the others. “It may be the first of many more!”
After their exertions, the band quenched their thirst in the local pub before leaving for their various homes. As he walked down the hill in the twilight, Jim suddenly remembered what was missing from the ringing room. He was sure that one wall of the ringing chamber was covered with commemorative plaques. He could see the earliest one now, in his mind’s eye, dated January 1st 1900, with the tenor ringer’s name listed as ‘Jim Smith’ Their performance that day had indeed been the first of many. He was still disturbed by this thought as he boarded the train for home. His mind seemed to be dividing in two again; these strange double memories were taking over his consciousness. Somewhat dazed, Jim (or was he James?) got off the train and set off for home. As he turned into the lane he seemed to hear a voice in his head, one which was familiar but which he couldn’t quite place:
“What a funny co-incidence; someone else called James Smith lived in your cottage, ages ago. He was a bit of a local hero and he was a ringer, too.” Then it faded away.
Behind him, the train whistled prior to its departure. Ahead of him, the lane crossed the railway line as the track curved round from the station. In the gathering gloom, Jim saw a sight which filled him with horror. He could just see the outline of an overturned cart on the track and could hear someone groaning. Jim ran towards the cart. Back at the station, the train slowly began to move, coming towards them. It wouldn’t see the cart in time and would have no time to stop. The driver was trapped underneath. Jim tried to lift it off, but it was no good; it was far too heavy for one man to lift. For one man. Now he understood. The double memories became clearer as the train came closer. Without thinking or knowing how he did it, part of him seemed to slip out sideways and suddenly there were two men lifting the cart up and pulling the driver out just seconds before the train smashed it into matchwood.
Everything became very hazy then. The only thing that remained clear was the words of the injured driver as he was being helped by the train’s crew.
“Jim couldn’t do it on his own, then this stranger appeared and they pulled me out together. Who was he? Where’s he gone?”
But of course no one knew what he was talking about and Jim was in no fit state to explain.
At last he found himself walking up the path of his cottage. He ignored the concerned words of his wife, collapsed into his chair in the conservatory and fell asleep.
A sudden bang woke him. One part of his mind told him it sounded like a car door, but what had happened to the train? His wife appeared in the door to the kitchen.
“So you’re awake at last, James,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’ve been asleep all afternoon? I just couldn’t wake you when it was time for you to go to the Minster; you just snored even louder! So I went and rang instead. I hope you don’t mind!”

Piczo