| EVER wondered what goes on inside Morpeth Clock Tower?
Curious passer-by RUTH HOLLIDAY wanted to know, so the Bellringers offered to show her the ropes.
For whom the Clock Tower bells toll
I'VE often walked past the Clock Tower on a Wednesday and wondered who generates the tremendous sound ringing out across Morpeth, as far as Lancaster Park on a clear night.
The art of bellringing is a lifetime's passion for some people.
Clock Tower Captain Colin Wheeler informs me that it's 'completely addictive'. He's right, but on a different scale to the everyday obsessions you get with Rubik's Cubes and games of Solitaire.
Bell-ringers never seem to tire of their pastime. And however many decades they devote to it, no-one ever claims to have cracked it completely.
I spent an evening with the Clock Tower crew, and was even allowed to have a go myself, albeit in a minor way.
Although the tower looks rather spartan from the outside, inside it's very cosy. There's a little carpet on the floor, seats with cushions, clock, calendar and notice board — all neat as a new pin.
Despite the dust the bells generate, the place is spotless, even boasting its own vacuum cleaner.
And while turning out in the dead of Winter to ring the nightly curfew is hardly an appealing thought, the bell-ringers are well cared for.
A timed heating system ensures the place is toasty-warm by the time they arrive.
Before the practice proper, Colin spends half an hour patiently showing me the basic technique.
I was immediately taken with the sallies — the wonderfully tactile bits you grab with your hands to avoid rope-burn. They reminded me of the long, furry draft excluders my Auntie Doris used to have.
Once the bells get into full swing, they glide up and down at speed, snaking through their little gap in the ceiling like a ferret darting down a rabbit hole.
Hypnotic as all this is, I was warned never to look up, because Clock Tower dust has a nasty habit of cascading down from the belfry and landing in your eyes.
Focusing on the rope before me instead, I tried to find a natural rhythm, grabbing it at full stretch above me and pulling it down an inch or so, before releasing it at just the right moment. Hang on an instant too long, the bell gathers momentum and starts to misbehave.
It's a tricky technique, but very gratifying once everything starts to go right. This is not, however, the full story.
As the rope moves upwards, I need to let it reach its summit before catching the base and tugging it down vertically below my waist, releasing it with a flick of the wrist, as if casting a yo-yo.
Whatever part of this complex routine I was attempting, inexpertly, Mr Wheeler or a young lady called Juliet Rose helped out by taking the corresponding role.
The idea of doing both together was quite beyond me. Far too much to think about.
Although I found it difficult, it was great to get into a groove with a 3cwt bell. It's a similar feeling of satisfaction to testing your strength and balance on a weights bench at the gym. Except much less strenuous.
After my brief initiation, the rest of the crew arrived. August is reportedly the quietest month, but there were were still 16 people including myself.
Some were visiting from other groups, such as Cramlington and Rothbury, while others were Morpeth regulars.
They were from all age groups, anywhere between 5ft 3ins and 6ft 2ins tall, and an everyday variety of physiques.
You don't have to be particularly fit to bell-ring, although you must be able to stand for a while, have a fair range of upper body movement, and prepare to build a few muscles in your triceps.
It seems a good ear, a sense of rhythm and hand-eye co-ordination are the main requirements.
And, in my case, taking off your heels so you're less than 6ft earns you Brownie points with the Captain.
Apparently some of my notes were 'well-struck' — beginner's luck I assume, although I'm pretty well co-ordinated for my height.
Around the walls of the Clock Tower are commemorative plaques proudly bearing the names of all those involved in the full peals.
These consist of 5,000-odd changes and last almost three hours. They are rung for the Mayoral ceremony each year, as well as special occasions such as jubilees and coronations.
The sequences of chimes are known as methods, which seem quite mind-boggling to the uninitiated observer.
Despite being shown the book of changes on three occasions, I fail to grasp the logic behind it. Whatever the pattern — which I guess you just spot one day like a picture in a Persian rug — it sounds wonderful.
As I'm watching, puzzled, Mark Sellin comes over to chat. Like the rest of the crew, he's very friendly, and bell-ringing means a lot to him. He's been doing it since he was 12 years old.
"It's a bit like driving a car," he said. "When you first start to learn, you think you'll never get the hang of it.
"You have to concentrate really hard to co-ordinate all the controls at once. Then, one day, you realise you're doing the technique part automatically, and all you need to worry about is where you're going."
Pursuing the metaphor, I must have seemed like a 10mph learner. And I stalled a few times.
Mark said: "You never stop learning, and even when you've been doing it for years, you can't afford the slightest lapse in concentration. That's one of the reasons why it's so compulsive."
The methods have marvellous names, like Double Oxford Major, Yorkshire Surprise Royal, London Scholars Pleasure Treble and Kentish Delight Minor.
As the sequences progress, the ringers take turns at different times, rather like singing a 'round'. An experienced member of the team calls out the changes to keep everyone right.
Most of what they shout is a complete mystery to me, culminating in a ceremonial 'That's all — stand'; instructing the ringers to balance their bells in a resting position.
If anyone makes a mistake, there are giggles rather than frowns, words of encouragement, and perhaps the odd spot of gentle teasing.
"We're all great friends," Colin said. "We go for dinner and organise trips away, visiting other bell towers. A lot of our members are part of a family group, and it's always great fun.
"In most towers, the church keeps the bell-ringers together. Here, it's purely a civic thing. Some people have been ringing at Morpeth for more than 30 years.
"We've got a lot of young people, and we're very proud of them all. It's amazing how quickly they learn.
"Unfortunately for us, they're very talented academically, and keep leaving us to start university. They continue their bell-ringing while they're away, but they're a big miss and it means we're usually on the lookout for new members.
"If anyone wants to come along and have a try, I can usually tell after half an hour whether they'll be any good.
"We often find that people who have an aptitude for maths make great bell-ringers, and people who've done dance, gymnastics or sports where you need good co-ordination."
I'm delighted to say I passed the half-hour test. I had to scoot off after practice, and missed the customary post-ringing drink. I have it on good authority that the Clock Tower crew like a drop of real ale after a hard night's work.
Funny, I would have thought a double Bells would be more their style.
Appeal of the bells
THE Morpeth Clock Tower Bells have their own story to tell. The first six were cast in 1706, each for its own specific purpose.
- The treble (now the third) was the Market Bell, rung at 11am every Wednesday.
- The second was the early morning Communion Bell, used prior to St James' Church being completed in 1846.
- The third was the Angelus Bell, rung at 6am and 6pm each day, for the workmen.
- The fourth was the Curfew Bell, rung at 8pm each evening — and still is!
- The fifth was the Pancake or Shriving Bell, rung on Shrove Tuesday.
- The sixth (the tenor) was the Alarm or Fire Bell. It was also rung to announce a death when it would toll slowly — nine blows for a man, six for a woman, three for a child. It weighs a whopping 10cwt.
Two trebles were added in 1835, cast by Mears of London, to complete the ring of eight. In 1951, all eight bells were recast by Taylors of Loughborough, together with the provision of metal headstocks and frame. This work was carried out for the Festival of Britain.
In recent years the bells were re-hung, their clappers replaced and new ropes and sallies added, much to the delight of the Clock Tower bell-ringers.
Of the 5,432 rings of bells in the UK, only eight are hung in towers that have never been attached to consecrated churches. Morpeth is one, as are the Commonwealth Institute in Kensington and Manchester Town Hall.
The walls of the Clock Tower are 3ft 6ins thick.
The original Clock is thought to have come from Bothal Castle, but was replaced in 1936. The bells were originally intended for Berwick. Hence the curious saying — 'Berwick Bells can be heard at Morpeth'.
* To find out more about the Clock Tower Bellringers, call into the tower from 7.15pm on Wednesday nights, or ring Colin Wheeler on 01669 620569. |
