Ringing Bells
High drama in the bell tower
There once was a tiny church with a tiny bell tower. Old Bob Buxton rang the church bell for sixty-five years. On his ninetieth birthday, Bob finally retired.
‘How are we going to replace you, Bob?’ said the bishop. ‘My niece is getting married here next month. I promised her real wedding-bells .’
‘Have you tried, Ding Dong Dave?
‘Who?’ The name Ding Dong Dave did not ring any bells. The only bell ringer the bishop knew was Old Bob.
‘Dave Bell — the flying bellringer.’ said Old Bob. ‘He’s been on TV.’
The bishop looked confused and a little cross. ‘This is not a time for jokes, Bob!’
‘I’m not joking, Bishop. Ding Dong Dave can’t stretch his arms. He rings bells with his head or rather his face.’
This all sounded very strange. But the wedding was only a few weeks away. ‘Could you please contact him for me?’
‘Certainly, Bishop,’ said Old Bob. “But I must warn you that Ding Dong can be a little difficult. He insists on ringing bells by his special method. And the bell tower must be spotlessly clean.”
The following week Dave ‘Ding Dong’ Bell arrived at the church. He was a short man, with a bald head and a thin moustache. He was wearing a checked jacket and a bow tie.
“Welcome Mr Bell,” said the bishop, ‘Come up and I’ll show you the ropes,’ he said.
‘I don’t use ropes,’ replied Mr Bell icily.
They went up into the tiny bell tower. At the top, Bishop Bob said, “I’m sorry there’s not much room — ”
But Ding Dong was already cartwheeling along the floor. With a terrible clang, his face crashed against the bell.
‘Oh my goodness!’ cried the bishop, putting his hand to his eyes.
When he bishop opened his eyes he saw that Ding Dong Dave did not have a broken nose. His teeth were not on the floor of the bell tower. There was no bruise or mark on his face.
But Ding Dong was not happy. ‘This bell tower is filthy!’ he said. ‘I cannot perform in such conditions.”
‘Don’t worry, Mr Bell,’ said the bishop soothingly. ‘It will be spotless on the big day.”
It was to be a very large wedding — with a marquee on the lawn in front of the church. There was also a bouncy castle for the children.
In the week leading up to the big day, the bishop rushed around organising everything: the flowers, the service, the choir. But he forgot to speak to Vera, the cleaner.
Ding Dong Dave arrived early in the morning. Emerging from his red VW Beetle, he climbed the bell tower. Then he span on his heels and stomped straight back down the 39 steps.
Meanwhile the bishop was at last beginning to relax. Organising a wedding had been very stressful but now everything seemed to be going smoothly. Then he saw Ding Dong Dave storming out of the bell tower.
“Is there a problem, Mr Bell?”
“It’s still filthy!” he said furiously, shaking his bald head. “I cannot work in such conditions!”
“Oh dear, I am sorry! I will make sure our cleaner -”
“I will return in ONE hour,” said Ding Dong, pointing to the church clock. “If the tower is not cleaned to standard, NO BELLS WILL RING TODAY!”
Then he climbed back into his Beetle and sped away.
The bishop rushed off to find Vera. She was not happy with her new cleaning instructions
“You want me to carry a bucket full of hot soapy water up those 39 steps?”
“We have no choice, Vera. Ding Dong won’t ring our bell unless-”
“Then he can wash the floor himself!’ said Vera, folding her arms. “I’ve heard how much he’s bing paid. Just for dinging a bell? Ridiculous, I call it!”
“This is an EMERGENCY!” declared the bishop dramatically. “We can’t have a ding-dong with Ding Dong.”
Vera shrugged. “Your call, Bish. Don’t blame me if the guests complain of dusty bottoms.”
A very cross Vera cleaned every inch of the bell tower. In the bright morning light the floor gleamed.
On the lawn below, the bishop was now supervising the caterers setting up the trestle tables. They were loaded with sandwiches and other finger food. By the bouncy castle, there was a table packed with blancmange, jelly and lemonade for the kids. Above the church there was not a cloud in the sky.
Meanwhile, in the bell tower, Ding Dong Dave began his famous four step run-up. On the third step his foot slipped on the soapy floor and he crashed into the greasy bell. Spinning backwards, he lost his balance. Still spinning, Britain’s King of the Ding toppled over over the ledge.
The bishop looked up in horro. “Oh no!” he cried. “Ding Dong is dead!”
But the last bell had not tolled for Ding Dong. He had fallen onto the soft top of the marquee. From there, he rolled down onto the bouncy castle, landing on the kids trestle table
Dave looked up groggily. He was soaked in lemonade. He was covered in jelly and blancmange.
Standing over him, was wedding guest, daytime TV soap star, Poppy Wilcox. The bishop ran towards them, too breathless to speak
‘I think I know him from somewhere,’ said the actress to the bishop. ‘His face rings a bell.’
In memory of our dear friend John (JB) Bergen (1957–2024) who first told me a version of this story
