Bell Practice (Poetry)

Unchanged — the same time every week for years
the local campanologists had their practice hour.
As a young child in my bed I used to listen
to the clamour of those peals — their rolling waves
of gladness filling the half mile between
our house and the proud old parish church.

I recall a stretch of silence — long muted months unrung
when those bells (at great expense) had to be rehung
and it was uniquely strange without them — weddings
went ahead and Sunday services continued while the hush
spread wide and clung close as a weighted blanket
over the town and the surrounding countryside.

Once the restoration work was finally complete
we heard news the bells were to be reconsecrated.
The bishop was invited to officiate
at the ceremony — add some pomp to the proceedings
and pull the first rope — thrill the waiting air
with God’s clear voice calling all to prayer.