Open Writing

In retrospect, that backward glance with which in the latter years of our lives we indulge ourselves, then it is that we become convinced those far away times were happily superior to our modern day lives. We may regret the passing of a lifestyle, those ‘idle pleasures on faraway summer days of burning sunsets’ and experience a sadness at their passing. In our mind’s eye there were few, if any, bad times, for as Siegfried Sassoon writes, “Memory eliminates the realities of bodily discomfort.”

Intertwined amongst those imaginary halcyon days were the regular assortment of sounds and noises, many of which controlled our lives, and those we accepted without question. In a clock culture, when time had begun to mean money, from early morning to late evening we were alerted to a need for change in our behavioural pattern, and we responded accordingly or paid a price.

For many workers the first command of the dream-busters came via an alarm clock or the famous, and to some infamous, ‘knocker-up’. With the sound sleepers an alarm clock bell, or even twin bells were insufficient to invade their realms of slumber. Amplification of noise was needed, this being achieved in some instances by placing the clock in an enamel basin or bucket, where its reverberations were considerably increased and by which method the required number of decibels was hopefully obtained.

The once familiar figure of the knocker-up might have been seen and heard early each workday morning parading the rows of workers’ houses, long pole over his shoulder that he used for tapping out a tattoo on bedroom windows, invading the dreams of sleeping inmates, those denizens who wallowed in the deeps of flock beddings, from whence their rumblings and grumblings served as acknowledgement of contact being made, acting as a relief from duty for the tormentor.

Such was the renown of that window-tapping character that a monologue was written which posed the puzzling question, ‘Who Knocks the Knocker-up Up?’ Who indeed? I never found out.

The persistent tap-tap, rap-rap of the knocker-up was shortly to be followed by evidence, both material and audible, of the fruits of his labours. This came with the rhythmical rattling of clog-irons on the flagstones and settings of pavement and roadway, accompanied by the clomp-clomp of hobnailed boots on the same stone surfaces.

When the sound of footfalls had faded, passing into their workaday world, the air would then be rent with the piercing screams of scalding steam issuing from mill whistles, each one with its own musical pitch, readily identifiable to those whose summons they should obey.

With the hooting cacophony at an end, then for a brief spell of time a kind of silence would prevail, a silence that is characteristic of a manufacturing
district, which meant not total quiet but a brief absence of the harsher, louder noises of previous moments. There was always the distant whistle of a train and the clang of goods wagons buffers in a shunting yard, but then would follow a pealing of bells, bells of all descriptions, large, small, booming, tinkling, clanging, brash, demure, their decibels rising and falling in individual agitation.

The ting-ting string and conductor operated bells on trams; shop bells, triggered by the opening of the shop door; bicycle bells, thumbed into action as the rider warned of his approach.

Whereas shop bells presented tarnished and often verdigris exteriors, bicycle bells sported a mirror-like chromium plated finish and were displayed on cycle handlebars. Such bells came in a variety of sizes and sounds -- single-toned lightly ‘tring-tringing’ models or more sonorously ‘ding-dinging’ in an authoritative manner. Then there was the double action bell, two mechanisms in a twin casing delivering a twofold clarion warning.

Thoroughfares today though are devoid of such carillons, one more musical source which time and social change have peeled away from a lifestyle.

The bicycle bell of yesteryear worked well as a warning system. They were excellent in alarming pedestrians if, that is, one was wicked minded. Approach some unsuspecting soul -- adult preferred -- from behind, and when a short distance away, rapidly thumb your bell several times. Then watch for what was hoped would be a staggering sidestep by the startled individual. However, it behove one to be nimble on the bike’s pedals and make a quick getaway in order to avoid the flailing arms of the offended.

Bells still ring in schools, but today many are electrically powered by means of a time switch. Gone the days when it was the duty of a teacher or monitor to ring out the summons to lessons. I did attend one school where a whistle was substituted for a bell. Two blasts were sounded when time demanded that education should recommence. On hearing the first blast all pupils were expected to freeze in their then existing positions. At the second blast we were to fall in, forming the customary long row. Light relief was occasionally created when two boys, who had become so engrossed in their occupation they failed to hear the first whistle blare and carried on fighting. How smug were we non-combatants as we watched the final blows of the frenzy, being dealt out by the teacher!

Looking back in time one begins to realize just how much knowledge was transmitted by the sound of bells in previous years. Apart from those instances already mentioned, there were also the local tradesmen who plied their wares around the area, ice cream vendors, no jingling tape recording for them, but a hand-bell, as it was for the greengrocer, fresh fish man and emergency services. Although, downwind of the hardware cart there was barely a need for his bell. The breeze carried his cart’s readily identifiable
3

aroma, a mixture of paraffin, firelighters, carbolic and white Windsor soaps and newly chopped kindling wood. But for all that the cart’s arrival was signalled by the ringing of a heavy hand-bell.

The ambulance, two vans for fever, scarlet and diphtheria, and fire engine, each with its own distinctive bell tone announcing arrival. How we in our young-boy years wished we could ride on the big red monster, wearing a brass helmet and big boots, ringing the shining brass bell, whilst an axe hung by our sides. What glory, what a triumphant means of travel, far more prestigious than performing brain surgery.

However, the true heavyweights of titinnabulation were those which voiced their messages both morning and evening each Sunday, when from steeple and church tower their peals rang out summoning the faithful, bidding them attend the worshipping of their creator. Such peals were also rung in joyous clamour to announce a wedding, whilst a death in the community was proclaimed by the solemn knell of the passing bell. Curious ears would then be turned to the doleful lament, counting the chimes which in total signified the death of a man or woman, perhaps 72 for the former and 70 for the latter. Memory fails as to the precise numbers.

During World War II church bells throughout the land fell silent, then to be rung only as warning for the commencement of a much anticipated and dreaded invasion of these shores by enemy forces. By great good fortune the bells were never called upon to serve in that capacity, but with the cessation of hostilities in Europe, then the brazen tongues clamoured their gleeful message throughout the land, a message which had been so long awaited.

Before that happy time, however, there had passed the dark years of war, and it was during those times when we who witnessed them learned to dread the sounding of that one more ominous alarm, that of the air-raid siren, that mournful wail with its rising and falling blare of the ‘alert’, then the relief upon hearing the continuous drone of the ‘all clear. Indeed, it is that which is in use today as a signal for some emergency, but who amongst us, with memories of those far-off war days does not sense a quickening of the pulse on hearing that joyless whine?

Some of the sounds of yesteryear remain with us. Others have fallen into disuse, being replaced by more modern signals -- motor car horns in plenty; sirens along with flashing lights of varying coloured hues, those silent but yet warnings of danger nevertheless; the toot of a diesel locomotive, incomparable with the ear-splitting scream of the romantic steam loco. But then, I’m prejudiced!