Bellringing is more like riding a bike than riding a bike.
I tried riding a bike after decades of not riding one. It
wasn’t like ‘riding a bike’. It was unpleasant and scary as I tried tentatively
to get on and pedal away. I managed to tweak my hamstring, skin my calf with
the pedal and bash my chest on the handlebar. And that was before I made it
near the road. I won’t be trying it for another few decades if at all.
Last night I went bellringing after three decades of
campanological inactivity. I went because of the power of twitter to connect
people who have no connection and make you feel like friends. Bellringing had
been part of my school days (lunchtime sessions to learn to ring at Hereford
Cathedral) and part of my undergraduate days (our reputation was that we drank
more than the rugby club). And then it pretty much stopped.
I went last night because I still feel vulnerably unconnected down
South. Empirically, I am better connected than many people. If someone carried
out a quality of life or community connectedness audit with me, or checked if I
was ‘accessing the community’, I’d score higher than most. I guess the clue is
in the ‘vulnerably’. Mental health wise,
I thrived being embedded in a number of different social networks in North
Wales. My multiple arenas of connectedness felt like safety nets for my safety
nets for my safety net for my immediate close family and friends. It shared the
burden when I was unwell, and it grounded me in reality when I was finding it
difficult to locate myself without reference to outside points. “I am Anne. I
live in… I am part of…” style grounding is highly effective for me when I
dissociate. Saying “I am Anne. I used to live in, but now I live in… I was part
of, but now I’m just beginning to be part of...” doesn’t have the same
grounding effect. It can feed the sense of dislocation.
Connected is not just the knowing, it’s the being known by others.
It’s knowing that others know you well enough and in enough contexts to hold
your identity when you are finding it difficult to hold it yourself.
Bellringing. If you’d
asked me to remember anything about how to ring, I’d have struggled. Never mind
whether I could remember the mathematical patterns to ring methods, I couldn’t
have reliably said how to pull off or set the bell, or what senses you use to
make sure you keep your place in the bom ti tum ti tum ti tum ti bom rhythm of
plain rounds. (and, yes, I know it should start with a ti, but for whatever
reason, I’ve always started with the bom of the tenor bell – as if the first
set of ti tum ti tum ti tum ti – is just leading up to the first solid
reassuring bom.
I’m greeted with enthusiasm as if I am already part of the
community. I am given so much support and encouragement. I’m given
consideration. I’m not treated as an outsider, but as part of the tower from the
moment I’m invited to raise one of the bells ready for the start of practice.
And it’s all so familiar. The people are like ringers I grew
up with. I could almost match them to
the people I knew. After a reminder to coil the rope before starting to raise
the bell, my body remembers how to ring. We are fine as long as I don’t try to
think, and just feel. After standing the bell, I tie the tail end (dangly end of the rope) without thinking. When I think about it, though, I have no
idea how to do it. We ring some rounds. I try some called changes. We play with
the simplest method – Plain Bob. Later I have the fun of being the ‘bom’ keeping time
and marking the end of each round while the others have the fun of ringing a
method in front of me. I remember that you can either ring the method by remembering your
place in the dance of the bells and just ‘feeling’ the pattern of the others moving around you, or by
learning which bell to follow and watching their ropes so you know when to pull
yours. I can’t remember the patterns to be able to follow by eyesight. But I
can remember my place, I can feel the pattern of the others (thanks to the
others being skilled at keeping their own places) and, as I keep my eyes
unfocused, I start to see the pattern of the ropes and so be able to see who
I’m following.
It's an addictive feeling for me, that sense of being part
of a harmonious whole. I will be back next practice night. I have much to rediscover. I need to
relearn how to hold the sally and tail end gently so I don’t earn myself ‘rock
climber fingers’ next week from gripping too hard. As with weightlifting, I need to re-learn
to adjust my movement fractionally. It was too easy last night to over-correct for being fractionally early by over-pulling and then needing to
haul the bell back to prevent me being seriously late.
But bellringing, unlike bike riding, proved to be just like ‘riding a
bike’. And I feel as if I’d added another layer to my connectedness. Bit by
bit, the interlocking web of safety nets will come into place.
So, thank you Chris for your enthusiasm. And thank you
Twitter for enabling strangers to connect. And thank you Square Peg because
Chris and I only met in cyberspace through a shared love of your work. And
thank you to the tower captain and ringers for being, simply, awesomely awesome
at welcoming in the stranger.
