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It could only happen in a story, of course. Once upon a time Claire Bell met Anthony Ringer at a bellringing practice, and they fell in love and got engaged. After University they married. Both sets of parents were bellringers, so before the wedding the six of them they rang a family peal of minor. Someone (no-one could later remember who) mentioned that it would be nice when Claire and Anthony’s children were able to ring so family peals could be on higher numbers….
The wedding was a splendid ringing occasion. Most of the congregation were ringers. A number of peals and quarters were rung before the service and the ringing for the wedding was exemplary. The food was excellent, the beer and wine plentiful, and no-one was surprised when Claire and Anthony announced hat they had decided to combine their surnames and would be known as Claire and Anthony Bellringer. The honeymoon (a peal tour of Australia) was a great success and on their return they set up home near their parents and rang with them at the local Parish Church.
Their first child, a boy, was born just over a year after the wedding. They called him Septimus, because he was the seventh ringer in the family, but he was always known as ‘Tim’. Claire and Anthony thought one more child would be nice as that would enable them to ring peals of major, but fate decreed otherwise, and eighteen months after Tim was born Claire gave birth to twins, a girl and a boy. Officially they were named Robert and Sarah, but they were always known as Bob and Sally. (This is a fairy tale, remember!). No-one fancied ringing a family peal of caters without a cover bell, so after a decent interval, their fourth child arrived. As he would enable them to ring a peal of Royal, he was called Richard, usually shortened to Rex. They did plan to stop at four, but again fate stepped in, and a romantic birthday dinner led to the birth nine months later of Erin. They really had no choice after that but to complete a Maximus band. Claire and Tony did not really mind; they had both been only children and were enjoying their large (albeit chaotic) family. In due course they celebrated the arrival of their 6th (and final) child. Luckily it was a boy as they had already decided on a name: Maximilian. But of course he was usually just called ‘Max’.
By the time Max was born, the elder children had already started to learn to ring, first on the mini-ring Claire and Antony had installed shortly after their marriage, then at the local church where their parents and grandparents rang. By great good fortune this church possessed 12 bells and the lighter ones were just right for teaching youngsters to ring. All the children learnt quickly and were soon ringing rounds and plain hunt, then moved on to more advanced methods and all promised to develop into excellent ringers, as were their parents and grandparents.
All except Max, that is. He found the mini-bells terrifying and impossible to control so would not ring them. His parents were not too concerned and waited until he was big enough to learn on ‘real’ bells. But Max found tower bells just as difficult. Catching the sally was almost impossible; either he caught it too early or too late, and if by some miracle he did get it right, his backstrokes were terrible; he let his arms go up before the rope, or he was too slow pulling it down and it ‘snaked’ dreadfully, or he was too quick, or too slow. It was almost as if he had been cursed, but his Christening had been uneventful and as far as his parents knew, they had invited everyone who should have been on the guest list and no bad fairy had arrived, cursing him with being unable to handle a bell……
After much perseverance, Max did eventually manage to handle a bell on his own, just about (but someone always hovered nearby ‘just in case’), but rounds were a chancy affair and plain hunt was not even on the horizon. His parents were not worried and did not put any pressure on him. “He’s only young,” they said. “There’s plenty of time.” But Max did worry. He knew his family were set on ringing a family peal of Maximus and he was the one who was preventing this by his poor ringing ability, but the more he tried, the worse he seemed to get. To his frustration, he found the theory of change ringing very easy; he could follow coursing order by the age of 10 and was producing simple compositions before his 11th birthday. Unknown to his parents and siblings, he could also ring a pair of handbells to various methods using the software on his computer. It was only on the end of a rope that he felt so useless.
Just after his 11th birthday, things came to a head. He had rung particularly badly one Sunday morning. Somehow the rope had caught on something and his bell had gone out of control, and he had to be rescued by his eldest brother. Humiliated and fighting back tears, he decided the only solution was to run away. Back home, he packed a few essentials into his rucksack and while his parents were busy cooking lunch, he slipped out of the front door and started walking.
He had no idea where he was going, but had a vague idea that most people headed for London when they ran away. He had heard of some mythical ringers called ‘College Youths’ whose ability was legendary and wondered if they would be able to help him. Or perhaps he could find a place where they did not have bells. But even as he had the thought, he realised he would miss the majestic sound they made and wanted to be able to ring more than anything. For an hour he walked, past the parish church where his parents had been married and where all the family – except him! - rang with such distinction. Gradually the streets became unfamiliar and he suddenly realised he had not any idea where he was. More importantly, he had not the faintest idea how to get to London. He stopped walking and looked around. In front of him were a tall hedge and a pair of wrought-iron gates.
Behind the gates, at the end of a long drive he could see a strange, exotic looking house, full of turrets and unusual features.
It looked as if it was straight out of a fairy tale and for some reason he felt irresistibly drawn to it. He pushed open the gates and started to walk down the drive. Soon he was in front of the porch, and hanging in front of the door was a bell rope. A large notice said “Please Ring For Help”. So he did. He closed his eyes and gave the brightly-coloured sally a good pull. From somewhere came the sound of bells pealing in rounds. They sounded wonderful and eventually he opened his eyes. As if by magic, a woman had appeared, wearing a strange colourful robe. A turban wrapped round her head added to her mystical appearance.
“Who are you?” Max stuttered. “How did you get here? Are you a genie?”
“The Genie of the Bell-rope?” she replied. “Possibly! And maybe your Fairy Godmother.”
Max looked at her hopefully. “The kind that gives three wishes?”
“I might be able to!” she replied. “Do come in. How can I help you?”
Max followed her through the open door. The hallway was full of strange, foreign-looking furniture and pungent smells. Max followed the woman into a small room and sat down on the couch.
“I’m running away from home,” he said.
“I thought that was the case,” replied the Genie-cum-Fairy Godmother. “Why?”
“Because all my family are such good bellringers and I am hopeless,” Max replied. He was beginning to feel very tired and near to tears again. He told Jeannie everything; how he could not control a bell and how he longed to be as good a ringer as all the other members of his family.
“Don’t worry,” Jeannie said. “I think I can work some magic which will help you.” While he had been speaking she had opened up her laptop (she was a very modern Fairy Godmother) and had done a quick Google search. Soon she had grasped the basics of bellringing. She walked over to Max who was now lying down on the couch amongst the brightly-coloured cushions. She put her hand on his forehead and spoke soothingly.
“I want you to imagine you are ringing a bell,” she said. “ You are ringing it perfectly; arms straight, nice long pull down at back-stroke, catch the sally, hold it on the balance, pull and let go……..Can you see yourself?”
Max closed his eyes and tried. At first, he was ringing just as badly as he usually did, but, with Jeannie’s soothing voice guiding him, he soon improved. Gradually his backstrokes stopped snaking. He caught the sally in the correct place and did not bump the stay or let the bell drop. It felt wonderful! He really felt he had mastered bell-handling at last. Jeannie’s voice kept talking, telling him how well he was doing. Max carried on ringing perfectly in his mind until he fell asleep on the couch.
As soon as she was sure he was asleep, Jeannie retrieved Max’s mobile phone from his rucksack and dialled the number listed under ‘Home’. Then she removed the turban from around her head (her hair was dry by now) and replaced the robe with jeans and a jumper. Very soon his parents had arrived, picked him up without waking him, drove him home and put him to bed. When he woke up some hours later, he only remembered running away and his meeting with the Genie-of the Bell-rope as a vague dream. But he did clearly remember that he had rung a bell perfectly and somehow he knew he could do it again.
Next Sunday, Max walked to church with the rest of his family, a confident expression on his face. Sure enough, he rang better than he had ever done in his life, much to the amazement – and delight - of the rest of his family. He knew that in due course he would be good enough to ring the treble to a peal. (And so it came to pass). Standing at the corner of the road Jeannie noticed with satisfaction the happy look on his face. She walked slowly back to her house and paused next to the bell rope hanging in the porch. Behind it was the large sign Max had seen, and underneath it was a brass plate. It read: ‘Jean Fairey: Hypno-therapist. She smiled as she walked through the door. Although disguised, magic is still alive and well………….
And they all rang happily ever after.
