The name of Lord Peter Wimsey should need little in the way of introduction. He was one of the most well-known private detectives of the 20th Century, featuring in a number of well documented cases. But as well as being a detective, Lord Peter was also a knowledgeable collector of Incunabula, a first-class cricketer - and a bellringer. Most people will know of his bellringing ability from his participation in the long peal at Fenchurch St Paul, but will know little else. How did he become a bellringer? Recent discoveries in the archives at Duke’s Denver, his ancestral home, and elsewhere, have shed new light on his ringing career, which is summarised below.

Lord Peter was born in 1890, the 2nd son of the 15th Duke of Denver. He spent his early years at Duke’s Denver, in Norfolk, which is about 15 miles further on from the ‘original’ Denver, just outside Downham Market. According to a brief interview which appeared in the Paggleham Parish News when the new bells were dedicated (more of this later), he learned to ring at Duke’s Denver aged 13 or 14. Duke’s Denver church was an Estate church and possessed an excellent ring of 8 bells, and a good band, largely comprised of Estate workers. Several ‘situations vacant’ adverts have been found in Bell news, asking for gardeners or coachmen who were also change ringers. Lord Peter describes how he came to learn to ring:“I was a morbidly curious child. I saw the bellringers every Sunday morning when I attended church. The bells are rung from the ground floor, so I used to watch, fascinated, as the ringers first of all rang the bells up, then rang ‘Bob Major’, ‘Grandsire Triples’ or ‘Kent Treble Bob’. It looked quite easy to a child; gradually start the bell swinging, then begin to control the coloured ‘sally’ until the bell turned in a complete circle and back again. I longed to try it - with the arrogance of youth I was sure I would be able to do it without any sort of instruction. So one summer, just before I went to Eton, I went down to the church, and took hold of one of the bellropes, coiling the rope as I had seen the ringers do, and set the bell swinging. At first all went well; the bell gradually swung higher and higher, but when I tried to catch hold of the sally I found it harder than I expected, and the rope started to fly all around the ringing room. I don’t know what might have happened, but the Estate Manager, who was also the Tower Captain, was working nearby and heard the bell ringing. He rushed into the church, saw what was happening, clouted me round the ear, took the rope off me and brought it under control. He was furious with me, explaining that I could have killed myself, but calmed down after a while when I asked if he would teach me how to ring properly, which he did, and taught me very well. Very soon I was able to join the rest of the band at their practice night. They were a little dubious at first at having the Duke's son ring with them, but they eventually treated me as a normal novice ringer when they saw I was eager to learn. The Tower Captain shouted at me just the same as he shouted at the rest of the band when they made mistakes, which helped.”

Lord Peter made rapid progress in method ringing, and the tower record book, now in Duke’s Denver Library, records various performances of ‘P Wimsey’, first on the treble to triples and major, then inside, culminating in a number of peals, mostly at Christmas or Easter, including several of Treble Bob. It appears he rang regularly when he was back at Duke’s Denver, but does not say anything about ringing anywhere else. He was at Eton from 1904 to 1908, and it seems likely that he rang at the Curfew Tower, given his family connections with the Royal 

Family. There were a couple of weddings which his family attended, so knowing Lord Peter, he is likely to have joined the local ringers on these occasions. 

In 1909 Lord Peter went up to Oxford and read History at Balliol College. The Oxford University Society appears to have been in abeyance at this time so it is uncertain if he did any ringing while he was at Oxford. However, he chose to get married at St Cross Church in 1935. Why did he choose this particular, quite unfashionable church? There was a band of ringers there at the time, and it was only half a mile from Balliol, so it is possible that he rang there at some point during his time at Oxford and retained fond memories of the church, but we cannot be certain.

The Great War of 1914-1918 put a stop to Lord Peter’s ringing for quite a while. It took him some time to recover from the effects of shellshock, but by the mid 1930s it seems he was again ringing occasionally when he went home to Duke’s Denver. The next record of Lord Peter’s ringing is when he is persuaded by the Rev Theodore Venables to ring in the 15,840 Kent Treble Bob Major, starting at midnight on New Year’s Day. Lord Peter writes about this peal in the Paggleham Parish News:

“I suppose I have achieved a certain degree of fame (or maybe notoriety) by ringing in the 15,840 Kent Treble Bob Major at Fenchurch St Paul. It happened totally by chance; my car ran off the road near Fenchurch St Paul, and the Vicar offered to put me up until my car could be repaired. He then told me that the bells would be ringing all night! But then he was told that one of the ringers had gone down with influenza, which was endemic at that time, and as several ringers had already succumbed, they would be unable to ring the peal as planned. However I had during our previous conversation divulged some knowledge of change ringing, and the Vicar realised I was a ringer and persuaded me to ring, even though it was years since I had rung even a normal length peal! The story of that night and the events which followed was recorded by Miss Sayers in her well-known book*, but not without a certain amount of poetic licence and exaggeration. The weight of the tenor, for instance, was less than half the weight given by Miss Sayers, and Hezekiah Lavender was nowhere near 75 - I would guess he was about 60, but looked older, as did many Fenlanders at that time. But it was still a fantastic performance.”

This interview in the Paggleham Parish News  with Lord Peter dates from 1947. Paggleham, in North Hertfordshire,  was where Lord Peter had bought an old farmhouse, Talboys, on his marriage to Harriet Vane in 1935. Harriet Wimsey spent the greater part of World War II at Talboys with her children, and Lord Peter joined her for the final few years of the war after his ‘special service’ came to an end. His nephew, Viscount St George, was a fighter pilot and was stationed nearby, and was a frequent visitor until he was killed in action, leaving Lord Peter heir to the Dukedom. After the War, he and Harriet suggested to the Vicar, Revd Simon Goodacre, that the unringable three bells at the church be restored and augmented. He would give one bell in memory of his nephew, and Harriet would give another in memory of her parents; her father was the local doctor for many years. He suggested that another bell should be in memory of those villagers who had died during the war and would be paid for by the village as a whole by subscription. 

This was achieved by the summer of 1947. The three new bells were blessed before being installed in the tower and a Service of Dedication was held, attended by most of the village. Then, of course, ringers had to be found. Lord Peter was the only ringer in the village, and was persuaded to teach a new band, though he did have help from some of the ringers at nearby Great Pagford. One of the first to learn was Lord Peter’s eldest son, Bredon, then aged 11. In the following years Lord Peter’s two younger sons, Roger and Paul, also learned, and all three became competent ringers. Lord Peter rang a few more peals, all at Paggleham. In 1948 the first peal on the bells was achieved, with his eldest son Bredon ringing his first peal. Over the next few years he rang in the first peals of Paul and Roger, and his final peal was rung for the Coronation in 1953.

Lord Peter succeeded to the Dukedom on the death of his elder brother, Gerald, whose only son was killed in WWII. He rang at Duke’s Denver on Sundays, but running the estate took up most of his time, and his son Bredon became Tower Captain, and instigated the rehanging of the bells a few years later. Roger became Tower Captain at Fenchurch St Paul, following his marriage to the daughter of Hilary Thorpe. Hilary had first met Lord Peter following the events at Fenchurch St Paul after the long peal, and had kept in touch with him. At the age of 15 Hilary had told Lord Peter of her ambition to become a novelist and she had done so, and when her only child married Roger she handed over The Red House to the Thorpe-Wimseys and went travelling around the world. Paul eventually inherited Talboys and carried on ringing at Paggleham.

 As Lord Peter grew older, he felt he could no longer ring up to the standard he wanted, so only rang infrequently, for special occasions. He gradually handed over more responsibility for running the estate to Bredon, Viscount St George, who succeeded to the Dukedom on the death of his father. Bredon continued ringing at Duke’s Denver for many years, and eventually taught his own children to ring, thus continuing the family tradition. He added two additional bells to the ring, making them up to 10, which were dedicated to the memory of his parents: a fitting memorial.

*The Nine Tailors, Dorothy L. Sayers, Gollancz, 1934

 

The Mystery of the Missing Bellropes

The Mystery of the Missing Bell-Ropes

or

Too Many Detectives.

A story for New Year by Oddstruck

New Year’s Day. A time of celebration and tradition and at St Joseph’s the tradition for the last 20 years had been to ring a peal. But it seemed that this year the tradition would come to an end. When Mike, who had been Tower captain for most of those 20 years, opened the door to the ground floor ringing room just before 11 o’clock, he immediately noticed that something was missing; in fact, six somethings. There were no bell ropes………………………………..

He stood and stared for a few moments, then shut the door. He could hear someone at the far end of the church and turning round, saw it was the vicar. He called him over, opened the door and pointed at where the bell ropes should have been.

“What on earth…..?”

“That’s just what I thought,” said Mike. “They were there last night – well, early this morning, really, when we finished ringing half an hour or so after midnight. You were here as well and saw us all come out of the ringing room.”

“That’s right,” said the vicar. “The congregation applauded you as usual and we took the empty plates and glasses through to the kitchen to deal with this morning –that’s why I came over. Then we all left together and I locked the church.”

By now the other ringers were arriving and were voicing their shock and indignation at the missing bell ropes. Mike and the vicar opened the door to the belfry stairs and went up into the clock chamber. The ropes ended about 3’ above the floor, which dashed Mike’s hopes that they had simply been pulled up into the clock chamber. A quick glance around soon showed him that the severed parts of the ropes had not been left there. They went back downstairs.

“Well, I’m afraid there will be no peal today,” Mike said. “We don’t have enough spare ropes and there is no sign of the missing ones. If we could find them then we could splice them, but they don’t seem to be anywhere around –they would take up a fair amount of space and I think we would have noticed if they had been lying around in the church. But let’s have a good look just to make sure.”

They spent the next 10 minutes looking round the church; in the pews, the pulpit, the kitchen area and toilet, but to no avail. Eventually they gave up and resigned themselves to not ringing a peal that New Years Day. The other five ringers disappeared (probably to the pub to drown their sorrows), leaving Mike and the vicar staring at each other in bewilderment.

“I have absolutely no idea who could have done this,” said Mike. “It has to be someone with a key, but who on earth would want to stop the peal?”

“I’ve never had any complaints” said the vicar. “Not serious ones, anyway. You don’t start the peal till 11 so most people will be awake by then, and if they have hangovers, well that’s their fault! I will mention it at the next service but I cannot think of anyone who has a set of keys who would do such a thing."

As there was nothing more that they could do, the vicar went into the kitchen to start the washing up and Mike went home. He found some wine in a bottle left over from the previous night, so decided a drink would be a good idea. It was warm in the living room and the chair was comfy; he had not had much sleep the night before and soon he was sound asleep.

He was woken by someone shaking his shoulder and shouting “Wake up, man!” He opened his eyes and saw Lord Peter Wimsey, monocle fixed in his eye, staring at him with an urgent expression on his face. He was vaguely aware of a few other people in the room behind Lord Peter.

“That’s better,” said Lord Peter. “There is a crime to solve. You can’t stay asleep!”

“That’s right,” said someone behind him. “We need to start interrogating the suspects.” Mike looked past Lord Peter and saw that the second speaker looked very much like one of those TV detectives – Inspector Morse, that was who it was. Next to him, Sherlock Holmes sucked on his pipe and nodded agreement. On the other side of the room, Hercule Poirot was twirling his moustache.

“We must get our little grey cells working and soon we will solve this heinous crime,” he declared.

Lord Peter took charge. “We need a list of suspects,” he said. “Who had the means to commit the crime, and the opportunity, and what motive did they have?”

Mike still felt half asleep. “I can’t think of anyone who could have done it. Not many people have the keys to the church. I do, of course, and the vicar, and the church wardens and Verger, but none of them would want to stop us ringing a peal. I can’t see any of them creeping back late last night after we had all left the church, finding the key to the belfry door and cutting the bell ropes without pulling one of the bells off, as we had left them up ready for this morning.”

“I expect it was the vicar,” someone said confidently. Mike looked around and saw that the speaker was Morse. “It’s the sort of thing vicars do,” Morse continued in the same dominant way. Mike ignored him; he had never rated the Oxford Inspector that highly; he always seemed to be on the wrong track most of the time and only managed to solve the crime by luck in the end.

Miss Marple now spoke for the first time. “Are you sure that everyone actually left the church when you did?”

“Excellent suggestion!” said Lord Peter. “Is there anywhere to hide in the church?

“Well, yes, I suppose if someone really wanted to, they could have done it. They could have locked themselves in the toilet, or even hidden in a corner -- not all the lights were on and parts of the church were quite dark. They would not have needed keys to leave the church; they would just have left by the tower door, which has a Yale lock. But I still can’t see why anyone would do it,” exclaimed Mike.

“Never mind ‘Why’ for now,” said Lord Peter. “Let’s consider ‘How’, and when you have ‘How’, you usually find ‘Who’ is easy.”

By now the room was becoming uncomfortably full of detectives. A couple from various TV series were arguing in a corner; possibly Inspector Wexford and Commander Adam Dalgliesh, Mike thought. Maigret and Hercule Poirot were conversing in fast, excitable French. Father Brown and a monk (Brother Cadfael?) were contemplating silently.

“I find that jealousy and revenge or resentment are often motives for a crime of this type,” suggested Miss Marple quietly. “Have you, perhaps, upset any of your bellringing team recently?”

“Of course not!” said Mike. “We are a really happy team.”

“Not even unintentionally?”

Mike thought for a few seconds. “Well, I suppose I might have upset old Fred just after last year’s New Year Peal,”

Sherlock Holmes took his pipe out of his mouth. “Aha! We are getting somewhere at last! What did you do?”

“Fred is -- or rather, was -- our Steeple Keeper. He was responsible for maintaining the bells in good order. He’s getting on a bit now – he must be well into his 70s and I think that last year he was finding it all a bit too much. We nearly lost last year’s New Year peal as a rope actually broke just as we were ringing down. Fred should have checked them and noticed it was starting to wear. So shortly afterwards I appointed young Bob as Assistant Steeple Keeper and he gradually took over most of the maintenance. Fred has rung in most of the New Year peals but last year he rang really badly, and didn’t want to ring in the peal we had in the summer. I assumed he would not want to ring today, so I’m afraid I didn’t even ask him and replaced him with young Bob. He didn’t say anything about Bob taking over and I thought I was being very tactful! But surely he could not have minded so much that he would cut the ropes? And what did he do with them? I can’t see someone of his age managing to remove six 25ft long ropes from the church! But he was ringing the New Year in with us last night and I can’t remember if he left with us or not; there was quite a crowd all leaving at the same time.”

As soon as Mike finished speaking, pandemonium broke out. All the detectives spoke at once, giving their opinions on the latest developments. Mike could now hear several American accents and thought he could see Kojak and Starsky and Hutch amid the growing multitude. And surely that was Dixon of Dock Green quietly mouthing “evening all” in the corner? Mike was beginning to feel overwhelmed and felt that the situation was getting out of hand. Eventually, Lord Peter called them all to order.

“”Quiet! I suggest we all go back to the church and have another look for the ropes. I remember when I was last involved in a crime involving bell ropes, a chest held the key to part of the mystery.”

Mike stared at him. “Of course!” he shouted. “We do have an old chest, tucked away in a corner. None of us thought of looking in it this morning.” He led the way out of the door and back down to the church, followed by all the detectives. Gradually he left them all behind and by the time he got to the church, only Lord Peter was still with him. He almost ran into the church and nearly collided with the vicar who had just finished clearing up from the night before, and made his way to the far corner where the old chest was kept. He flung open the lid and there were the bottom ends of the bell ropes. He turned round to say something to Lord Peter to find only the vicar was there, but it did not really matter.

“I know who did it,” he told the vicar. “I shall have to think about how I am going to deal with it later, but now, I need to make a few phone calls. We have a few ropes to splice, and then a peal to ring. It may start a little later than usual, but we will certainly ring it. And we will dedicate it to Fred, to thank him for all his years of loyal service to the tower.”

 Be Careful What You Wish For (you may get it)

A Pantomime Story for Christmas.

The Tower Captain of St Bibiana, Greater Clattering, was having a sort-out in the intermediate room between the Ringing Room and the bell chamber. Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t have been there on his own, due to the Health and Safety Policy which stated that at least 2 people should be present at all times, but the person who had been due to help sort out had cried off at the last moment, after the tower captain had arrived at the church, and it seemed a pity to waste the opportunity. After all, he wouldn’t be working up among the bells; he would be perfectly safe, and he had his mobile phone with him.

For an hour or so he worked industriously. Half a dozen broken stays were piled into a box to be taken home to use as kindling; a can of incredibly old grease which had solidified was put in another box to go to the tip, along with some pieces of worn-out carpet; some old pulley blocks, riddled with woodworm, also went in the kindling box. An ancient vacuum cleaner, which certainly wouldn’t pass an electrical safety test, was put next to the box for the tip.  By now the room was showing a distinct improvement. The next thing to tackle was the large number of old ropes. Some had just been tossed in a corner, and others had been more neatly coiled and had been  hung on some hooks on the wall. He decided to sort through the ones on the floor first. Some were totally rotten and were added to the Tip box, apart from the sallies which he cut off. They might come in useful sometime as draft excluders. Rope which seemed reasonable he coiled neatly and put in another box to take home to use for splicing practice. Once the floor was clear he turned his attention to the ropes on the hooks. Two or three were in quite reasonable condition and could be donated to a nearby tower which couldn’t afford new ones, with a bit of judicious splicing. Then he noticed a strange-looking rope. It was quite a short length, smoother than a normal bell rope, and the sally was very odd. It appeared to be made up of multiple colours, - at least 10 he thought, in swirling stripes, and as he touched it it felt silky. Intrigued, not realising why, he gave it a tug. Instantly, the room seemed to shimmer and ripple. After only a few seconds, everything cleared, but standing in front of him was a strange woman. She was wearing a long dress in the same colours as the sally, and made from the same silky fabric. Her jacket matched her dress perfectly, and on her head she wore a neat turban made from coiled rope. Her expression was at once sardonic and slightly bored. She spoke, in the same slightly bored, sardonic manner.

“Good afternoon. I am the Genie of the Bell-Rope. I am commanded to give you four wishes. What is your name?  She sounded as if she had said the same thing many times before (and probably had, which explained the bored voice)

“Er.. my name is Sam,'' stammered the tower captain, not quite believing his eyes - or his ears, for that matter. “What’s yours?”

“My name is ‘Sally’, of course,” said the genie crossly. “Though I prefer to be called just ‘Genie’.”

This was obviously a sore point for Sally. Sam could understand that.

“Well, Sam,” continued the Genie, “You are now obliged, by the terms of the enchantment which confined me to that bell-rope, to make four wishes. Yes, I know it is usually three according to tradition, but this contract is different to the normal one, as Genies got fed up with people trying to get around the 3-wish limitation.” She was now holding a piece of parchment with the words ‘Contract and Agreement’ in large swirly letters at the top.  

“Basically, you are contracted to making four different wishes, all of which must be related to ringing. You have the right to cancel any wish within 30 days of making it, but you will not be allowed any additional wishes if you do decide to cancel; you will just move on to the next wish. All wishes must be completed within a year, or sanctions will apply. It's all set out in the Terms and Conditions.” A malevolent glint was now apparent in the genie’s eyes, though Sam was so amazed that he failed to notice. The genie held out the contract and a quill pen.

“Sign here. You can read the small print if you want, but it probably won’t do you much good. And I don’t want to rush you, but I would be grateful if you could make your first wish in the next 5 minutes. I want to be off- I’ve got a headache.”

Sam realised that his mouth had been open all this time in sheer amazement, so he shut it firmly while he tried to gather his thoughts. He was certain that this wasn’t really happening, but even so, he was determined to make the most of his wishes. Fairy stories were riddled with tales of people who had totally wasted their wishes, so he was determined to avoid this. He considered for a full 4 minutes 50 seconds, and the genie was just starting to tap her foot impatiently when Sam finally spoke. He had been thinking that the bells of St Bibiana’s were getting a bit difficult to ring, and they sounded a bit clunky, to be honest. So:

“I wish that the bells of this church were easier to ring - I’d like them to go like tops, and sound incredible. As if they were cast in Heaven,”  He did wonder whether this might count as two wishes, but the genie didn’t raise any objection.

“Are you sure?” was all she said. Sam nodded.

“Done” said the genie.``You will notice the results at practice night tonight.” And she vanished, leaving Sam holding the strang-coloured sally. He hung it carefully back on the hook, convinced he had dreamt it all, and went off home, carrying the box of kindling.

Sam discovered he had got it wrong when his ringers tried to ring the bells up that night. The bells certainly went like tops. Spinning tops. The result was just - indescribable. And the sound was certainly different; ethereal, echoey, distant; it was impossible to describe exactly, but they certainly didn’t sound like any bells Sam had ever heard before. His band abandoned ringing up and stood in baffled silence, as if they were under a spell. Perhaps they were. Sam headed for the staircase, shouting “I’ll sort it - stay there, everyone”.

He almost fell into the intermediate room in his haste, and grabbed the multicoloured sally and pulled it hard. The genie appeared, a wine glass in one hand, and did not look too pleased.

“What is it?” she snarled.

“Please cancel this wish under the 30-day clause,” he gasped.

“Done. And your next wish?”
“I’ll come back tomorrow and tell you that. I’ve got a practice to run now. And he headed downstairs before the genie could object.

The rest of the ringers were still standing around looking stupefied when he re-emerged into the ringing room.

“Er - slight technical problem. Sorry.  All sorted now. Let's ring up”. As if nothing unusual had happened, the ringers obeyed and the practice went as it usually did, with bells that needed a bit of effort, maybe not the most tuneful of rings, but were normal, at least.

After a good night’s sleep, Sam returned to the tower and summoned the genie. He had given his next wish a lot of thought, and this time, he believed he had got it right.

“I wish that I was a first class conductor. You know, one of those ringers who can put you right even before you have gone wrong and can tell who isn’t striking correctly”.

“Your wish is my command. Enjoy.”

Sam discovered he had got it wrong again at the next practice night. He did indeed know  when a ringer was about to go wrong. And he seemed unable to keep quiet; every lead he made some comment  to someone. 

“Joe, you are about to dodge 3 ⁄ 4 down. Liz, it’s 3 dodges at the back, not 2. Bill, hold up more as you come off the lead. Mary, don’t forget the dodge at the end of your places. Gary, push the handstrokes in as you come down to lead.” And so on, incessantly; before anyone had actually made a mistake, they were corrected. By the end of the practice the band were in a state of simmering revolt. They left quickly and went home without going to the pub. Slowly, Sam climbed up to the intermediate room again and tugged at the sally.

“Please cancel Wish Two,” he said when the genie appeared, who was smirking slightly. 

“Done. And Wish Three?”

“I wish I might never lose a peal or quarter again,” said Sam, without really thinking this time. He’d lost a peal the night before, near the end, when two bells had gone wrong at the same time. While trying to sort out the muddle, the conductor had missed a bob. Sam was fed up with losing peals, hence this wish.

“Final answer?”

“Yes,”

“On your own head be it,” And she vanished.

This time, Sam was convinced he had got it right, as for a few weeks, everything went well. Peals and quarters which would previously have fallen apart were miraculously resurrected and Sam was delighted. No-one miscalled anything -or if they did, they somehow managed to re-compose it. Then things started to fall apart. Sam was calling a quarter, but the ringing wasn’t good and he opened his mouth to call ‘Stand’. But nothing happened. No words would come out of his mouth, apart from ‘Bob’ or ‘Single’. The ringing got worse, but he was forced to carry on until the end. Peals survived the most awful fire-ups and struggled through until ‘This is all’ was called when rounds suddenly appeared out of nowhere. After a few weeks Sam admitted defeat and decided to summon the genie again. But he simply could not decide on a 4th wish. He kept thinking of the saying:  ‘Be careful what you wish for…’ He was sure that the evil nature of the genie would ensure that any wish would go horribly wrong.  He read through the contract, including the small print, and as the genie had said, it did him no good whatsoever. He was committed to making a 4th ringing wish, like it or not, or he dreaded to think what might happen. He dropped out of a couple of peals while he thought of what to do. Finally, he came up with a solution. He climbed the tower stairs and summoned the genie one final time. The genie appeared with the usual shimmery haze, but this time she looked slightly apprehensive.

Sam thought for a few seconds, and then said carefully:

 “My final wish is for ringing to carry on at St Bibiana’s exactly as it would have done had I not discovered this enchanted bell-rope.”

A look of disappointment briefly passed across the face of the genie, but all she said was:

“It shall be so.”

The room shimmered and rippled in the usual way as the genie disappeared, to be replaced by the bell-rope on the floor. Sam shut his eyes and when he opened them again, the room had returned to normal. He felt slightly dazed; he couldn’t quite remember why he had come up to this room; something about a bellrope, possibly? Unnoticed by Sam, the bellrope slithered, snake-like, through the door and down the stairs, out of the tower and across the churchyard, heading for who knows where. By the time Sam emerged from the tower door, the sally was two fields away. Sam paused for a moment. He had a vague feeling of disappointment at an opportunity missed. He couldn’t quite remember what, but it soon passed. He sauntered home, thinking through the method for the following night’s peal. He hoped they would score, but if they didn’t, that was all part of bellringing, along with less-than-perfect bells and ringers who occasionally made mistakes..

So what would YOU have wished for?

(note) St Bibiana was, apparently, the patron saint of headaches and hangovers