oddstruck

I was delighted when I was appointed Vicar of St Edmund’s. It was my first incumbency; it was a delightful village in an attractive part of the country, but most importantly the church had a ring of six bells. I had previously been curate at a hideous red-brick Victorian Church in a not very attractive part of an industrial city, with only a single bell in a turret and my opportunities for ringing had been limited. I certainly intended to make the most of my new appointment. I had a good look around when I was interviewed. The church was set on the outskirts of the village, away from most of the houses; even the Vicarage was a few hundred yards away. The closest house was a small thatched cottage tucked away amongst some trees down a short lane on the way out of the village. The church was not exceptional architecturally but it was pleasant enough. I noticed the six bell ropes hanging in the ground floor ringing room and went for a closer look. There was obviously an active band; the room was well-kept with notices of meetings and activities and plenty of quarter peal cards and a few striking competition certificates. A framed print gave details of the bells; the five lightest bells had been cast towards the end of the 19th century and the tenor was mid-18th century by a local founder. Excellent. I looked forward to joining them. I did notice there were no peal boards though.
Back home, I checked the tower details on the internet. The Guild website was excellent and Dove confirmed details of the bells. Campanophile showed they had rung quite a few quarter peals in the last few years. Still no details of any peals though so I checked on the Felstead database. Amazingly, just one had been rung, nearly 100 years ago. But perhaps the local ringers did not ring peals. Intrigued by now, I checked some of the names from the quarter peals. I was wrong; nearly all of them had rung peals; a couple were quite prolific. I was baffled; why did such a strong band not ring peals in their own tower??
Still, there would be time to discover that after my Induction and I had plenty to occupy myself. I put it out of my mind; for the time being at least.
Almost before I knew it the night of my Induction had arrived. I had moved into the Vicarage a few days previously and had spent the time sorting out and unpacking. The bells started ringing about an hour before the service was due to start; obviously a quarter-peal. The bells were quickly raised and went straight into changes. From the start the ringing was good; confident, brisk and with very few mistakes. The bells themselves were a little disappointing. They seemed to have no tone to them and were dull and somewhat lifeless. But no matter; perhaps they sounded better inside and the ringers themselves were first class. I looked forward to joining them.
After the service was over I introduced myself to the Tower Captain, a distinguished-looking man aged about 60, I guessed. He had heard that I was a ringer and was delighted that I planned to ring with them as often as I could. I complimented them on the standard of their ringing and invited him to the Vicarage the following week to find out more about the band. And of course I also hoped to find out why there had been no peals for nearly 100 years.

“Come in. Excuse the mess. Have a drink.” Nick, my new Tower Captain, stood on the doorstep, clutching an old book. As we settled ourselves comfortably in the study, I could sense he was slightly wary. I had met most of the band at practice night a few evenings before and had enjoyed my first ring with them, but had been unable to resist mentioning peals. They had been evasive and had avoided giving me a real answer, which had made me determined to find out the reason tonight. By now I was convinced there was some mystery here and I was anxious to discover what it was. I handed over a generous whisky and for the next half hour we chatted amicably about ringing. After a second drink Nick seemed to have relaxed and I judged the time was right. I went straight to the point.
“Tell me,” I said, pouring another drink for us both. “Why have there been no peals at St Edmund’s for nearly 100 years?”
He was silent for a while, staring at his glass. Then he took another sip of whisky and finally looked directly at me.
“I was afraid you were going to ask that, but I suppose you have a right to know. It’s a long story, though, and you may find it hard to believe.”
“Try me. I’m a good listener and I’m used to incredible stories.”
And this is the story he told.
“As you have discovered, there has only been one peal on these bells. Since that peal, there have been many attempts but none have succeeded. The last one, twenty years ago now, ended in tragedy so we decided there would be no more attempts. As you have seen, the bells were recast and augmented to 6 in the late 19th century. A new band was formed and made good progress. They lacked a conductor though, but then, in the early years of last century, a well-known ringer moved into the village who had called quite a few peals. He arranged peals at nearby towers for the ringers to gain experience, and then arranged the first peal here with an all local band.
“They met one evening after work, raised the bells and tried a few rounds. While they were adjusting the ropes, someone came into the church.”
He paused and had another sip or two of whiskey.
“You know that thatched cottage down the lane just beyond the church?”
I nodded, though as yet I had no idea who lived there.
“A lady known locally as ‘Mad Meg’ lived there with her daughter. I don’t think she was mad; just one of these ‘wise women’ people tend to be wary of. Anyway, she appeared at the entrance to the ringing room.
‘Gentlemen, I would ask you to cease your ringing tonight.’ she said
The ringers all looked a t her in some amazement.
‘Madam, we are here to ring a peal, and that we intend to do,’ the tower captain told her.
‘My daughter is dying,’ she replied. ‘Ring your peal another night.’
“But the ringers were adamant that they were going to ring the peal and asked Meg to leave. She looked at them long and hard for a minute or so: a striking figure; tall, with long red hair and dark eyes. Then she said: ‘Then it will be the last peal you all will ring. And never will another peal be rung on these bells.’ Then she left.
“They rang the peal, of course. It was a good one; 7 Surprise Minor. But Meg’s daughter died shortly before the peal was completed. The ringers, though, quickly forgot about this but her parting words would soon come back to haunt them. Things started to go wrong for the band soon afterwards. There was a scandal involving one of the band and he was forced to move away from the village and never touched a bell rope again. Another ringer had a tragic accident on the farm where he worked and was thereafter unable to use his left arm. Several of the other ringers, including the conductor, attempted peals at other towers, but they were all unsuccessful for one reason or another. Then World War One broke out. One ringer was killed at the Somme and another was gassed; he was never fit after that. The oldest member of the band died in the ‘flu epidemic just after the war ended. That just left the conductor. Undaunted, he set about training a new band, including his young son. By the mid 1920s, they had reached the standard the conductor thought acceptable for a peal attempt. It was to be 7 Surprise Minor again. All went well for the first 6 extents, but at the start of the 7th, all hell broke out. Mistakes were made in increasing numbers and the bells became difficult to control. Eventually, about halfway through the 720, ‘Stand’ was called; a couple of bells were totally adrift which was unacceptable to the conductor. Nothing much was said, though; no mention was made of that first and only peal. The bells were lowered but as the ringers walked through the churchyard they noticed a figure at the end of the lane; a young girl; tall, with long red hair, watching in silent condemnation as they left the churchyard. Mad Meg had died the previous year, but her granddaughter, Young Meg, born on the night of the peal and the cause of her mother’s death, was now about 16 and living alone in her grandmother’s cottage. The conductor – well, I might as well say now that he was my grandfather, faltered for a second or two before recovering and saying that they would attempt the peal again. It took some years, though, before another attempt could be made. A couple of ringers left the area to find work and replacements had to be trained. Eventually another attempt was arranged; the conductor’s son, my father, was again in the band. This time the ringing was poor right from the start; the bells seemed to be very difficult to ring and the striking was awful. Just after the start of the 7th extent my grandfather, on the tenor, became increasingly erratic, turned deathly pale and called ‘Stand’ just before collapsing onto the pew behind him. My father took him straight to the doctor; I think he must have had a minor stroke for he was never the same again. And that was the last time he touched a bell-rope. As they left, one of the other ringers was heard to say ‘Mad Meg strikes again’ and that was when the ringers started to believe that there was some kind of curse on the bells. There were no more attempts before World War 2, but after the war my father and others tried again. Every peal was lost for a variety of reasons, no matter who was in the band; ropes broke, bobs were missed, previously reliable ringers could not keep right or the bells were just too hard to ring. They were never a problem on other occasions though. None of the peals got beyond the start of the 7th extent and I discovered later that this was the time that Meg’s daughter had died………
“The final attempt took place about 20 years ago. My father had rung a fair number of peals all over the country and even though he was just past his 70th birthday was still as good a tenor ringer as you could find and as fit as a fiddle. I was ringing the 5th and all went well until the start of the 7th extent. I saw my father open his mouth to call the change of method as the bells ran round at backstroke but no sound came out. His face turned blue and he pitched forward. I think he was dead before he hit the floor.”
Nick drained his glass and I quickly refilled it. After a while he was able to continue.
“That put an end to any more peal attempts, of course. We just could not risk it. We rang a peal in memory of my father at a neighbouring church and luckily the press never heard the story of Mad Meg and her curse upon the bells of St Edmunds. Young Meg’s daughter Margaret now lives at the cottage and we ring our peals elsewhere.
“Well, that’s the story. Of course it may all just be co-incidence. I don’t know what I believe myself, and you must make up your own mind. But no-one is willing to attempt a peal here again.
“It’s getting late – I must go. You can read the bellringers’ log book if you like – everything has been written down so you will see I am not making it up or exaggerating in any way.” He handed me the battered old book which had been on his lap throughout his story.
He finished the rest of his drink and made his slightly unsteady way to the door. In silence, I showed him out. I returned to the study, poured yet anther drink and read the logbook from beginning to end. It was late when I finished, and I sat for a while, thinking over what I had heard and read that evening. The logbook confirmed Nick’s story in every aspect and added more detail, especially the regret felt by Nick’s grandfather over his decision to ring the peal 100 years ago. After the death of his father Nick had written: “A young man’s thoughtless determination to achieve his aim; a woman’s intolerable grief; now I feel the same pain as she did and I wish I could right the wrong that was done all those years ago. But it is impossible and this situation will continue.”
Of course I could not believe in a ‘curse’ on the bells. A clergyman cannot accept such things. But the human mind is a strange thing and susceptible to such influences. I was determined to find a solution, and for the next few days it was always at the back of my mind. I kept hearing Meg’s words in my head; ‘Never shall another peal be rung on these bells’, and at last I thought I had the answer.
The next day I walked up past the church and down the lane to the cottage where Meg had lived and which was now occupied by her great-grand-daughter Margaret. The door was slightly open and I knocked gently upon it.
“Come in,” called a voice from within. I entered a small living room and saw Margaret sitting in a chair by the fire. She stood up as I entered and I could see that her hair was greying but had once been a fine dark red and her eyes were dark and penetrating.
“I’ve been expecting you,” she said. I wasn’t really surprised by her words. “I think I know why you are here.” She indicated a chair opposite her. I sat down and handed her the bellringers’ logbook. She read it through in silence, taking particular note of the regret felt by Nick and his grandfather. I waited until she had finished before I spoke.
“This situation must end, and I think I can see a way to do it. I want to know if you think it will work.” I put forward my idea to her and waited for her response.
“You are right,” she said, after hearing me out. “It is not right that it should continue. It will end, in a way, with my death, as my daughter will not live here. She has made her life away from this cottage and this village. So be it; nothing lasts for ever. But it is beyond my power – and that of any mortal – to remove this….”
Here she paused. The word ‘curse’ hung unspoken in the air. Eventually she continued: “this prohibition on peals being rung on these bells.” She looked directly at me and repeated emphatically: “On these bells. I think we are in agreement.”
I nodded as she handed the book back to me. It was all the answer I needed and I took my leave.
At ringing practice that night I handed the book back to Nick at and told him I thought I had the answer. He looked amazed but said nothing and I said no more. In the pub after ringing I put my proposal to the rest of the band.
“I notice the bells are still on plain bearings,” I said. “They are fine to ring now, but will need some work fairly soon. I think we should get some quotes for re-hanging them on ball bearings.” I looked quickly round at them all, trying to judge their reaction. Then I added: “And while we are at it I think we should have them recast as well.” I watched Nick’s face as he slowly realised what I meant. I decided I might as well get it all out into the open.
“Nearly 100 years ago a peal was rung on these bells with unfortunate consequences. With new bells we will be able to wipe the slate clean and start again.”
It has taken a while, but it has been done. Now we have replaced the frame and fittings and a completely new ring of eight bells has been cast. It was a lot of money for a village to find, but we received a large cheque in the early stages of the appeal from Margaret. The only words she said were: “I should like one of the new bells to be called ‘Margaret’.” I was happy to meet this request.
The bells were dedicated last night by the Bishop. Most of the village came to the service and the bells rang out for over an hour afterwards. I went to listen to them outside; they had lost their dull mournful tone and were bright and cheerful. As I listened I noticed a tall figure standing at the end of the lane. The last rays of the sun shone on her hair, restoring its colour to its former glory. Margaret had not come to the service and I had not expected her to, but she looked at me and raised her arm in salute before walking back to her cottage. Tomorrow we are ringing the first peal on the bells. I am absolutely certain we will be successful.

Piczo