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We
dithered a bit, then downed tools and jumped in the car, weaving
through the lane past Limekiln Farm, past our “local” the Yew Tree Inn
basking in the sun, past Lovers’ Farm and into the shade of the giant
chestnut trees by Ripe churchyard. This is the same churchyard where we
gather on a dark November morning for Remembrance Sunday. Small clusters
of families huddle together in the sharp winter air to hear a solitary
bell tolling as for a death and a voice reciting the list of 14 names on
the small stone war memorial; names of village sons who can no longer
hear us or the bright trumpet shattering the freezing silence.
This day, though, was high summer and we had come to hear the bells
again, ringing for joy, not sorrow. Most of our churches and
cathedrals have bell towers with anything from one to a dozen bells
housed high in an enclosed chamber or belfry. At Ripe, the bells swing
and ring in the church tower from a frame of solid oak dating back to
1676 (the church itself is 13th century).
Bellringers, with their pulling ropes, can work at ground level
or in an enclosed loft, but our 5 village ringers stand in a circle on a
high gallery within the tower. It is open and visible to everyone in the
church below. So we have the pleasure of seeing the whole ringing
process and hearing the quiet commands from the bell captain calling
changes in the ringing patterns.
The 5 Ripe bells comprise a kind of musical scale, from treble down
to a deep tenor. They do not ring actual tunes, but a melodious set of
note “changes”. There are hundreds of variations of these changes, some
of extreme complexity requiring great concentration and, when it comes
to virtuoso peals that can last many hours, real physical and mental
stamina.
The Ripe team includes a teenager who started ringing at the age of
9. Jim, the current captain, and his wife Lynda are the third and fourth
generation of ringers in their two families. They gather twice a month
to practice. When I was visiting Old North Church in downtown Boston
USA, where Paul Revere was one of the ringing team, they told me they
have to muffle their bells on practice days so as not to disturb local
residents! Not so in Ripe and especially not on that July day when some
800 churches all over Britain would be ringing on that same afternoon to
celebrate, not a victory but the sixtieth year since the ending of World
War Two, and the ending of pain and suffering for so many.
It was cool inside the church, with the heat of the day framed in
the open church door.
Jim and his team rang 30 or so changes for about half an hour.
Eventually they stopped for a breather and greetings flew up and down
from listeners to ringers. When we came out into the green peace of that
perfect summer day and drove back to our Sunday gardening, we knew that
what we had participated in was both celebration and sacrifice, all in
the sound of those ringing bells.
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