"The phrase 'A Scholar and a Gentleman ' is overused, and often misused, but for Rodney; the epithet is wholly apposite.

Rodney was an intensely private person, and it is only now that the many facets of his life are coming together. Even so, he was very sociable and always excellent company. He had a splendid subtle wit, which he used to great effect, but never maliciously. He was a perfectionist to himself, and would only take on activities or responsibilities if he believed he could do them well. What he did take on, however, he carried out with passion and loyalty, and with a competence to which many of us can only aspire. His manner was charming and unassuming, yet he commanded the respect of all who knew him.

He was a scholar of some distinction. From school he won an open scholarship to read classics at Exeter College, Oxford, and, after graduating, completed a post-graduate Diploma in Classical Archaeology. He continued his interest in this field, and in particular, Roman Britain. He had a number of papers on the subject published, although his last remained unpublished. It has been suggested that the reason for non-publication was that it ran contrary to received wisdom. He was not averse to controversy, indeed at times revelled in it. He was always prepared deliberately to take a contrarian view (often with a twinkle in his eye) simply to test the intellectual rigour of the principal argument.

After Oxford, he joined the Western Region of British Rail as a 'Traffic Apprentice', the management training scheme of the day. This allowed him to indulge in his passion for railways -it also took him to a number of parts of the country. He rose quietly through the ranks, changing region in the process, ending up based at Kings Cross, first as Divisional Passenger Manager and latterly as Marketing Manager for the East Coast Main Line. It is said that he had the capacity to rise further within British Rail -He chose not to. Stories of his working life abound: his attention to detail; his knowledge of, and passion for railways; his ability to communicate effectively at all levels, from the man on the footplate to the Board. It is said, however, that his first task in the office every morning was to speak to his stockbroker!

Outside his scholarship and his work he had many and varied interests. He was a keen Bridge player, and, having been introduced to golf in 1971 by his good friend Ralph Edwards, became a keen and competent golfer playing many of the major courses in the British Isles, particularly in Scotland and Ireland. It was during his regular visits to Southern Ireland that he indulged his hobby of horse-riding. He was also a keen football fan. Highbury may seem an unlikely place to find Rodney, but he was a lifetime supporter of Arsenal, a season-ticket holder, and indeed a shareholder. Today he would be happy – Arsenal two points clear at the top of the Premiership, and with a game in hand!

Rodney was a lifelong enthusiast of British music and particularly the compositions of Frederick Delius and Arnold Bax. In 1962, he became a founder member of The Delius Society, which was established to promote public education in, and the appreciation of, the music of Frederick Delius and his contemporaries. He was elected Society Chairman in 1971 and his wise and experienced guidance enabled the Society to grow from relatively small beginnings into the influential body it is today, with over 500 members world-wide and many branches at home and abroad. He retired in 1994 after an unprecedented 23 years service and, after delivering the Annual Fenby Lecture at the 1995 Delius Festival in Jacksonville, Florida, he was appointed a Life Honorary Vice President of the Society. In his last months, he was still actively assisting the Committee to revise the Society's constitution, on which he was an acknowledged expert. Rodney was also generous in the encouragement of young musicians. He financed the early Wigmore Hall recitals by Tasmin Little, which launched her international career. He also promoted the performance and recording of British classical music.

It was, however, from his Church Bell Ringing that many will know him. He was introduced to ringing as an undergraduate at Oxford and became an active member of the Oxford University Society of Change Ringers. His enthusiasm was such that he also joined the band at the tower nearest to his parents then home, St Augustine's Kilburn. Apart from the inevitable breaks while working away from London he remained a loyal supporter of that band until his death, a period of over 50 years.

Early in his railway career he was posted to Snow Hill Station in Birmingham, and became a much respected member of the leading bands at St Philip's Cathedral and at St Martin's-in-the-Bullring. He was elected a member of the Ancient Society of College youths in 1953, and, back in London in the late 1950s, he became an active supporter of the Society in London. He was elected Master in 1964, and was a Trustee of the Society for the last five years of his life. It was in that capacity that he attended a dinner for the Officers of the Society on the night before he died, an event which he clearly thoroughly enjoyed and to which he contributed in his own inimitable style. He was a supernumerary member of the St Paul's Cathedral Guild from 1971-1984. His links with the Oxford University Society of Change Ringers were also maintained and he served as President from 1976-1982.

But his spiritual ringing home was Westminster Abbey. A supernumerary in 1959, and a Principal Member two years later, he gave over 40 years service to the Abbey, including ten years as Secretary of the Abbey Company of Ringers. He loved the place, and was much loved by all involved with it. He rang for many great occasions, and how fitting that his body should have been received into the Abbey on the same day as that of HM Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, and, that after the pomp and splendour of the State Occasion there should be a simple service for Rodney, and that the bells should be rung for him!

In ringing circles, however, he will be remembered not just as one of the most quietly competent ringers of his day, but perhaps most as a wonderful social companion, and as a brilliant and witty writer and speaker. His adaptation of Stephen Potter's 'Gamesmanship' to ringing in his 1951/2 articles entitled Belfrymanship are classics, as was his speech at the Henry Johnson Dinner in Birmingham in 1961 when he wittily described the leading Birmingham ringers of the day in verse - 'The Great Debunker'. Some took offence at his Belfrymanship articles. A 'Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells' correspondent wrote "...but to the creator of Meadowsmanship -keep your devilish art off ringing, return it to the home it doubtless has in Hades with the Friars of The Summoner's Tale." But for most, they were witty, they were amusing, and they were extremely perceptive!

Rodney was a man of many parts. Although he remained a bachelor all his life, he was a strong family man. He was devoted to his parents, Harry and Lois, and his elder sister, Jean, and was a regular attender at the biennial reunion of the wider family of cousins. He was kind and generous, a good friend and wise counsel. He was indeed a true Gentleman.

His final article on Belfrymanship included the comment "... That's what I like about being a ringer. It's not only the ringing itself, it's the comradeship". He was right - and he gave so much to both. He will be sorely missed."

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It is a sad fact that, all too often in life, we never fully appreciate the true value of any human relationship until it is abruptly taken from us and this is certainly true in the case of Rodney; for many of us remember with gratitude, the enormous and very generous contribution that this quiet and private man made to The Delius Society over very many years. It is only in the last few days that many Society members, who thought that they knew him well, have been surprised to discover what a wide spectrum his interests and influences covered. Distinguished Oxonian and Past Master of the Ancient Society of College Youths, skilled horseman, devoted and munificent Arsenal Football Club supporter, low handicap golfer, accomplished campanologist and senior member of the Westminster Abbey bell ringing team. One of his close friends, a Society member, who recently accompanied Rodney to a concert at the Abbey, told me that to stroll through the cloisters of that historic building with him, was akin to walking with a distinguished cleric, for everyone seemed to know him; from the Dean to the church cleaner and all paid him due respect and deference.

Despite his rather dignified and scholarly image, Rodney had an engaging sense of humour and some delightful idiosyncrasies. His passion for Mars bars was legendary and he never travelled to concerts without a seemingly inexhaustible supply. He was also a great enthusiast and expert on steam locomotion and the national railway system. It was at a lunch last year, when he discovered that my wife and I had purchased a holiday home in East Devon, that he caused great amusement by launching (whether we all liked it or not) into a detailed explanation of the structure and operation of the Seaton Junction to Axmouth tramway. In this connection, many of his Committee colleagues in the early days will also have fond memories of the meetings that, as a senior officer for British Railways, he was able to host in his offices at the old Great Northern Hotel at King’s Cross.

Of course, music had always been a great influence in his life and although he was devoted - and particularly knowledgeable about the works of the British composers Arnold Bax, Edmund Rubbra, Frederick Delius and his contemporaries, he was equally enthusiastic about a number of lesser-known Russian composers - Balakirev, Glazounov and Scriabin - as many of his writings and presentations to the Society demonstrated. It was indeed unusual to attend one of his talks without getting the opportunity to hear for the first time the recording of a rare and unusual treasure from their repertoire. When, some years ago, he became concerned that recording and concert companies were giving insufficient attention to the compositions of Arnold Bax, with no more ado, he joined up with the composer Francis Routh, and financed their own concert and recording company - Redcliffe Recordings.

When Dr Roland Gibson founded The Delius Society in 1962, Rodney was one of its first members. He was elected Chairman in 1971 and his wise and experienced guidance enabled the Society to grow from relatively small beginnings into the influential body it is today. During his many years at the helm, the co-operative liaison that he developed with The Delius Trust and his close friendship with Dr Eric Fenby undoubtedly enabled the Society to enhance the memory and public awareness of the music of Delius.

Rodney stood down as Chairman in 1994, following an unprecedented twenty-three years service and, after delivering the Annual Fenby Lecture at the 1995 Delius Festival in, Florida, he was appointed an Honorary Vice President of the Society. It can be justifiably claimed that few members have made a greater contribution to the Society’s development and success - and only those closest to him ever knew the scale of his generosity in financially supporting our musical activities; a fact which he tried so hard to cloak in anonymity.

In his last months, he was still actively assisting the Committee to revise the Society’s constitution, on which he was an acknowledged expert and he was to have played a central role in our Fortieth Anniversary celebrations. Rodney will be very sadly missed, and most of all, he will be remembered with great respect and affection. I speak for all Society members in offering our heartfelt sympathy to Delia, Tony and all Rodney’s family in their loss. Let me finish by quoting from an email I was given as I arrived at the church. It is from John Luther, one of Rodney’s American friends from Oceanside, California. He ends his message "He was a gentle, sensitive and gracious man – Thank you Rodney – I will miss you". And so will we all.

Belfrymanship is defined as the Art of being "Top Man" in the belfry. There are "rabbits" in every tower; you need never be one of them. In fact, as a belfryman, you should seldom fail to inspire awe and respect whenever you cross the threshold. In introducing this subject I gladly acknowledge the pioneer work of S. Potter in the allied spheres of Lifemanship and Gamesmanship, and wish to explain that to compress so vast a subject as Belfrymanship into this small compass forces me at the moment to confine this article to what are little more than random jottings.

First, let us consider the belfryman’s entry into a strange tower. The welcome is nearly always courteous: "What would you like to ring?" Stop this nonsense with, "Oh, I’ll fill in for anything" or, if definitely aggressive at the start, "Anything suits me. I am quite happy with rounds provided they are well struck". (You know full well that for some reason they seldom are). This draws attention to your superiority at once and puts you as it were "one up". But a warning is necessary at this point that this opening can sometimes come unstuck. The locals are not always so docile. The following exchange illustrates one possibility:-

"What would you like to ring?"

"Don’t let me upset the routine. I’ll just fill in"

"Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, you are the least good, of those here tonight, so we had better fit in with you, hadn’t we?"

Though even this drastic cutting of the knot was not the end of the matter. The visitor promptly asked for Cambridge Major, and the locals found that they did not have a band. But fortune is not always so genial when it comes to regaining the initiative.

When selecting your bell, choose a large rather than a small one. There is a theory that little bells must "ring round" big ones. This means in practice that the little ones are, in the absence of any obvious cause, blamed for indifferent striking.

Always be on the lookout for the faults of others. You can, of course, become a Hisser. The disease is catching. One big Hisser in a band breeds several little hissers. It is a form of self-defence, the non-hissers being, as it were by definition, hissed at. When everybody hisses the ringing will no doubt reach an acme of perfection. But then there will presumably be no need to hiss. The belfryman requires a better weapon. More subtle is the gesture of stretching out the arm and hand horizontally and making slight but majestic waves upwards or downwards. This indicates to the person at whom you gesticulate that there are slight but distinct imperfections in his striking, audible and painful to you (but not to him), which he will please adjust at once. The downward motion is the more effective, suggesting, as it does, the patting of a tolerated but misguided dog. The victim has no redress. He is probably having trouble with his bell anyway, and to retaliate by imitating the gesture will be fatal or, at best futile. He can only try next time to lure his tormenter onto a difficult bell and pray that the rope will slip wheel.

Good striking is a matter of cohesion and mutual confidence within the band. Personalities do not dominate good striking, but only in the mess-ups. So, when the ringing becomes at all shaky, hasten the process by rasping, in the most vinegary tone you can muster, "watch your striking". This commits you to nothing and can be devastating. I am thinking of trying it out on the dance floor, when things are not going well: "Watch your dancing, dear".

For defensive purposes an impassive countenance should be cultivated. One distinguished ringer always used to betray his mistakes by turning red in the face. This was eventually pointed out to him and, like a good belfrymen, he cured it, though I believe an operation was necessary. Now he never seems to go wrong. But one defends best by attacking. Particularly in ringing on the larger numbers of bells, when (as one of the foremost exponents of Belfrymanshlp so beautifully described Stedman Cinques going amiss) trouble begins to spread like a wet patch on the ceiling, then is your time to act. "You’re too high" is a fair-sounding piece of useless advice, just the means to upset the conscientious dodger, who knows exactly where he should be, but has no one to dodge with. It induces panic and adroitly shifts the blame from yourself when trouble threatens. And, since the topic of useless advice has cropped up, the purely attacking functions of this must not be overlooked. It has even been used by belfryman against belfryman with good effect. If you are faced by a tough adversary who persists in remaining "one up" and will not go wrong, tell him something that he obviously knows already e.g. "You’re 6th place bell" or "Two blows and lead", or "In slow next time". In racking his brains for a suitably crushing retort, he will probably forget
what he is doing.

When asked to call a touch, remember that you thereby become ex-officio "Top Man". All that is necessary is to preserve the status quo. A novice of Belfrymanship (and of conducting) once called a bob in Stedman Caters while in 4-5 and made it there himself. The ringing fired its way to a standstill, and in the ensuing discussion, the novice found two culprits and argued them into accepting the blame - and in all innocence too. Poor conducting this, but good Belfrymanship. It was myself, anyway.

Sometimes it does pay to show the white flag. This can bring enormous dividends. A sharp dispute between two members of a North Country Association over an unsuccessful touch of Double Norwich, that seemed likely to end, if not in blows, at any rate in refusal to ring together again, was once sweetly resolved by a lady member of the band, well versed in Belfrymanship, who confessed that it was all her fault. The response was electric. By the end of the evening one had asked her to stand in a peal, the other was taking her out to dinner.

One final hint on the practical aspect of Belfrymanship: close your eyes intently when dodging or assume the air of one whose attention encompasses place-making, dodging, leading and, in fact, all the bells work at once. This gives your dodging partners the humble feeling of being interviewed in an outer office on a matter of minor importance. They will then meekly accept the blame for any clashes.

Belfrymanship is not, one need hardly add, confined to the ringing chamber. In pubs and cafes and places where they talk, keep on top of the discussion. There are some who, particularly if not feeling lively or energetic, employ the Super Plain Man approach: "I know that sort of thing is all very well,
but just give me a good-going six-bell tower and some enthusiastic learners and I am quite content teaching them plain hunting". These tactics succeed only against feeble or exhausted opposition. Several replies are available, the following being reasonably terse: "You did say enthusiastic, didn’t you? No, the belfryman should not fight shy of theoretical discussion. Learn up the technical terms. Import "Q Sets" into the conversation whenever a depth charge is called for. Casual mention of "In Course Singles," too, can often freeze a promising discussion among weaker brethren and leave you with the field free to air your own pet views. The use of "Grid Analysis" for this purpose is not recommended. You may be asked to enlarge upon it, and lucidity is not the most effective means of being impressive. You are trying to clear the stage, not to clear the discussion.

And now as letters to The Ringing World so incongruously conclude, good wishes to all. And may you go on making unnecessary enemies.

The necessarily brief scope of a Belfrymanship article leaves certain points in need of amplification. While it may be true to say that you can satirise most of the people some of the time, suspicion has arisen that any resemblance to ringers, active or passive, was possibly quite intentional. Any Sunday morning sets the scene

"If I don’t watch myself, I shall be turning up in the next Belfryman article."

"Well, as a matter of fact, you were in the last one."

Clearly the last word has not been said. In the Potter spirit, therefore, though with inadequate mastery of the Potter patter, these supplementary notes are offered.

The distinction between a belfryman and a conductor is not always clear. A genuine conductor has no need to be a belfryman; and few are. But circumstances, too, affect the issue. Krenecke’s formula, embodying the most recent research, proves true for most values and may serve as a provisional guide: R being the ability of the person concerned to put the others right, T his tendency to go wrong himself, S the coefficient of friction among the ringers and N the number of bells on which changes are being rung (R, S and T being measured by a device known as the Initometer and expressed in Isospasms where (S + T)2 – 2R divided by 13-N yields a result of 4.25 or more, we have a belfryman; where below 4.25, a conductor.

From this there emerge two interesting corollaries: (a) That a belfryman will be relatively more common on the higher number of bells; (b) That a conductor in one tower may deteriorate into a belfryman in another.

And now for a cardinal principle of Belfrymanship. Always get your word in first. Take a leaf out of Big John’s book. Mark the crispness of approach. :-

"You’re in 4-5 ; here with me; no, slow bell now; come on, watch it. ...stand. You can’t ring Stedman unless you get the leads right. Let’s try it again and strike it this time."

Big John’s doctrine is, up to a point, sound; Stedman goes much better when the leads are right. It goes better still when Big John remembers his Last Whole Turn.

Sometimes in method ringing the situation will get out of control. A yawning chasm gapes beneath your feet. You are lost. Faced with this predicament, some belfrymen copy the eminent statesman and ring on, until they remember where they are. This is all very well with a light bell. Greater weight of metal calls for sterner measures.

PUT SOMEONE ELSE WRONG

The principles of this will be set out in a pamphlet at present being compiled by the Belfrymanship Research Centre, and entitled "Wandering to Some Purpose," (or How to be Lost in Good Company). These are, of course, emergency tactics. For upsetting others at your leisure, one pretty little move deserves mention, here. This is the Additional Dodge Inducement. In Superlative, for example, on completing your five-pull in 7-8, you take up an attitude of expecting another dodge and then, with a deft flick strike a perfect blow in 8ths, leaving your dodging partner floundering. (Try this.) Then, at a similar position in the next course, you rub it in by remarking: "That’s the last, now down to the front." Of a well-known Midland ringer, though he has yet to acquire the title of Artful Dodger, one may well ask: "Was this the face that launched a thousand trips?

On the subject of good and bad striking one embarks carefully. Among indifferent ringers it is not hard to make broad distinctions. But the more accomplished the band, the further one is driven towards the doctrine pf Mighty Willie, a prince of tenor men, if not a prolific peal ringer. Both the logic and the definition are simple. Good striking is the way I am ringing my bell, as opposed to the way the rest of the band are ringing theirs. As Mighty Willie also conducts a little, fascinating results follow. In a course of Cambridge Royal, Mighty Willie has been known to start 5-6 instead of 7-8 place, and, at the delicate hint of a few sharp growls from the tenor box, the rest of the band has obediently reverted to the previous lead en mass. To a casual observer the transition is almost imperceptible; so perfect the standard of striking.

Belfrymanship revolves all the time around the subtle interplay of individual and group. The earlier article illustrated the One being welcomed by the Many. Some notes are now appended on the Many being welcomed by the One (known in some parts of the country as Yokelship or Counter-Coachtourship). The situation is easy to gauge; (a) They are in good time, have a lethargic after-lunch look, wives and children struggle in tow. Hustle them up the tower without any unction. Lock the door behind them as "we can’t be too careful. About people wandering in." Or (b) They are behind schedule, aglow with the tower-snatching fever, their nerves taut and friable, to be soothed only by the sound of still more bells and the bringing round of still more methods. I insist on showing them round the church in painstaking detail.

After this pleasant overture they can hardly avoid co-operating in making their stay unenjoyable. Someone is sure to want to pull the tenor up and a couple more will scamper to his aid when she proves difficult to chime. Let them sweat awhile as you slyly ignore their efforts and direct the attention of the others to the Visitors Book, before remarking, innocently, "We generally turn ‘er when she’s up: Morale being suitably deflated, announce gaily, "Well, make yourselves at home. Mind you" (going to the window), "we have to be a bit careful here, local opinion being what it is. But" (looking out, as though expecting to see an irate mob assembling in the churchyard below)."you are sure to be better than last week’s lot, as tried to ring Double Norwich." Those who had been nervously bracing themselves for a course of London are by now reluctantly deciding that it had better be Stedman - and good Stedman too - which, of course, it now has very little chance of being.

You are by this time esconced in your favourite seat and, if not actually stopping your ears, at any rate going through the motions of cerebral repression. "Would you care to have a ring with us?" they enquire. No, you are inclined to think perhaps not. Though they may try to turn the tables on you. For instance, once in Somerset ;-

Imposing Visiting Ringer: .How about having a ring with us?

Modest Local Ringer: "No, you folks carry on".

I.V.R. : "Believe me, we’re quite willing to fit in for anything you’d like. I don’t suppose you get much of a band locally."

M.L.R.: "No thanks. I can always do a little homework."
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I.V.R. ; "Homework?".

M.L.R. : Yes, Next Saturday we’re going for a non-conducted peal. Only Yorkshire. Mind you, as it’s just a local band. Besides, I don’t l want to tire myself out, do I? " (The implication that the visitors striking is suspect effectively closes this jolly repartee.)


UNOBTRUSIVE DEVICES

Reports are from time to time received from various parts of the country of simple and unobtrusive Belfrymanship devices, While Belfrymanship should not savour of the practical joke (being practical, but never a joke) it is thought fit at this juncture to offer a few appliances and : hints to steeple keepers and tower captains.

(i). The Cynical Sally. Emits the sound. "tut-tut," when passing through the ceiling, should the ringer fail to maintain a tight rope.

(ii). Gramophone record of "The Storming of the Bastille," to be played by amplifier (large) in the vicinity of the church, when a visit proves interminable or peal attempt falls below local standards of striking. When belfry funds are low, a police whistle can sometimes be made to do the trick. Alternatively, given powerful influence with the local council, a road drill may be pressed into service.

(iii). Large mirrors positioned around the ringing chamber. Dodging with self and two others is great fun for strangers.

(iv). Synthetic tower sway. (Application for patent now in hands of Board of Trade.)

{v). Beams set up at inconvenient places around the rope circle. They need not fulfil any obvious purpose and can be dismantled. (Incidentally, the Belfrymanship Research centre wishes to dissociate itself from the recent scandal in Southern England where movable beams were transported by van from tower to tower ahead of a Saturday coach outing.)

(vi). Enormous diagram of unringable method on wall concealed behind a curtain, to be slyly unveiled while a difficult touch is in progress.

vii). Stuffed birds in glass cases, if possible second-hand and decrepit. These successfully damp the spirit of the most enthusiastic visitor by creating the atmosphere of an indifferent Guild meeting.

And now it is time for a drink, and our finest hour. The company may not have an absorbing interest in theoretical questions. They must be lured imperceptibly down the sticky road. Proceed from the known to the unknown, or rather, start with something that they ought to know (and probably don’t} and so involve them in something about which they neither know nor care. Let us take, for example, the False Course Heads in Cambridge :- "There’s a point I would like to put to you." The company is politely attentive. I would value your opinion very much. You know, some of the chaps one comes across don’t even understand the False Course Heads in Cambridge. You’d hardly credit it, would you?" The sickly silence that follows signifies uneasy assent. .Well now, in this little composition of mine here, I’ve got a second copy. There we are now:. No, really it’s my turn to buy them. All right then; a brown ale."

A few more minutes of this and all will be set fair for a jolly evening. Your hapless audience is soon forming a roster, taking turns to escape and prop up the bar counter for a few blissful moments before returning to the inquisition.

That’s what I like about being a ringer. It’s not only the ringing itself, it’s the comradeship.

Important, too, is the O.K. Phrase. The O.K. Phrase (a development of Potter’s O.K. Word Concept) I define as the stringing together of words that sound like practical advice and are not. A particular favourite is "Steady, Two". So vague, so magisterial, so uninformative, such beautiful Belfrymanship. "Watch the leading" is a good gambit for use when there is a jumble in 5-6. For something more erudite but not as effective, "Bells in the coursing order" sounds good and can easily be justified at any subsequent inquest. Or "Lead-end coming up", "Lead-end just gone," "Half-lead coming up," "Quarter-lead coming up." It depends on the company how far you can carry this. The less expert they are the more fatuous it sounds and vice versa. Furthermore, in the stress of the moment the O.K Phrase can be complete gibberish. One protagonist of the art used, when the ringing went awry, to mouth the following O.K. Phrase, "Hives half to hawthorn finds the trick", either as a whole or a few words at a time. Since he had some idea of the Course-ends and could call Stand when he had had enough, this particular gentleman acquired a considerable reputation as a conductor in the district.
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I have said nothing so far about Handbells. Yet they are, as it were, Belfrymanship all the time. There are only half the people to dominate and you have twice as many irons in the fire. Little need, or can, be said. The gestures suffice. It is possible to wave Handbells with authority and yet have extraordinarily little idea what is going on. This is partly mesmerism. You can wave at Tower Bells and produce no result. In hand the effect is magical. Remember the axiom, the Waver is Never Wrong. Or, for those who prefer versification :-
There rings a man, a wonder man,
With Handbells, a life-saver.
The Band takes fright; but He keeps right,
There’s surely no one braver.
He battles through, without a clue,
A clash close-clipping shaver.
He’ll never be a waverer,
As long as he’s a Waver.
I enjoy conducting Handbells. The touch seldom comes round.

An obnoxious example of the Handbelfryman is Mr. Tinklejohn. Parker’s Twelve-Part Peal of Grandsire Triples is a favourite of his. But on one dreadful occasion he miscalled it, Bob for Single in the 3rd Part. Like a skeleton at the feast 12345678 made an unwelcome appearance at the Part-end. Ashamed? Indeed no. With a disgusted look at the luckless rabbit ringing 5-6, "I suppose it takes all sorts to make the bells come round," he observed with grim equivocation, and cancelled the supper for four.

What of those who are innocent of all this? You, who are more tripped against than tripping, take heart from a little Counter Belfrymanship.
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Young Joe was assistant steeplekeeper at a twelve-bell tower, where the bells were good going but difficult to hear round the front end. Many times had he suffered from visiting Belfrymen. One day a particularly obnoxious crowd was to visit the tower: Joe left the clapper-bar on the 2nd after the weekly learners practice. The visit followed its customary routine. Old Belfrymen commented that the back eight were fine, but the front four did not blend. Young Belfrymen self-importantly avowed that it needed a keen ear to pick out the light bells. Old Ebenezer, who was three parts deaf and, when in doubt, always shouted, "Keep the 2nd off at back," was in good form. Joe enjoyed every minute of the visit; he even took a turn on the 2nd himself. Afterwards, over tea, he told them.

They hounded him out, of course. He was advised to give up ringing and concentrate on the choir. But the fund for recasting the bells was over-subscribed within a month.