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