BENEDICTINE BELLS

ou said, Ben, you thought you heard church bells the other morning, even though there was no bell-ringing at St. Mark's."
      "It sounded ever so faint, sort of muffled," said Ben to his grandfather. "Just like you can hear it sometimes on a Sunday morning, but..."
      The old man raised his eyebrows. "But what?"
      "Well, it sort of seemed as if it came from under the ground."
      "Under the ground, indeed!" said mother.
      "What next?"
      The old man was thoughtful. "What you say you heard, Ben, you know, fits in with an old folk-story about the church bells. The original ones, that is, now lost. They came from the old monastery, you know, they were called the Benedictine bells."

      Grandfather settled himself back into his favourite armchair, and the boy stared at him in wonder.
      "I did hear them, honest, just like I said. Tell me the old story, Grandad, please...?"
      Mother sighed and shook her head resignedly. Her father rubbed his hands together. "Well, St. Mark's church once had a spire, you know, which was struck by lightning back in the 17th century," he said. "The tower was badly damaged, and in need of repair. According to legend, an argument broke out between the churchwarden and the vicar as to who should look after the bells during the time it took to do these repairs. Well, while all this was going on, you see, the devil himself appeared, snatched the bells and ran off with them."  Grandfather paused for effect.
      "What happened next?" Ben urged. "Why can you hear them ringing under the ground?"         "Well, you see, the vicar gave chase, chanting these long Latin incantations and prayers. And to get away from him, the devil he jumped into a boggy pool behind the church. The pool, they say, went straight down all the way to hell. And sometimes, sometimes it's said as how you can hear the bells a ringing from below the pool."
      Ben gazed enthralled at his grandfather.    "There's not much of a pool there now," said his mother. "And if farmer Hindley has his way, the land will be drained and sold for building. I hear they've started the draining already."
      Grandfather shook his head sadly. "I don't know, I really don't. There'll soon be nothing left of the old village, you know. They're just turning the whole countryside into one suburb. Yes, that's it, into one blooming big suburb."
      "But that story about the bells," said Ben, wide-eyed. "Is it really, really true?"
      "Well, of course it is. But, I mean, it kind of depends what you mean by 'true', Ben," replied his grandfather. "It's a real old folk-story that goes back generations. I didn't make it up, you know, if that's what you mean.
       "But there is another story about the original bells, one you might say is more reliable, makes better sense. It sort of explains how the other story was arrived at, as you might say. Of course, in the olden days people were more likely to believe in tales about goblins and demons and pools that went down to hell. They really believed these things as facts. Now this other story..."
      "But that's for another day," mother said to Ben. "It's well past your bed-time."

It was late Saturday afternoon when thirteen-year-old Ben passed St. Mark's and turned up the lane, his dufflebag over his shoulder. He was on his way back from football practice and he'd just said cheerio to his best friend, who lived in one of the new houses by the Village Square. As he passed the swampy ground behind St. Mark's, he suddenly felt very cold. He looked towards the back of the church and thought he could see a misty, cloaked figure. Well, perhaps not really a cloak. It looked, he thought, more like what did they call them? A monk's habit? Yes, that's what it was, a monk's habit. He'd seen pictures at school. And the figure, the monk, was beckoning to him.
Then, at the same time, there was a faint sound of bells a sound of ringing bells seeming to come from beneath the ground, just as he'd heard them before. Summoning up more courage than most boys of his age possessed, Ben followed the figure. It certainly wasn't the devil, he thought, if it was dressed as a monk. Anyway, there was something about it that did not feel evil, but rather seemed sort of gentle, well meaning. The cold feeling that he'd had at first seemed to have gone, replaced by a sort of inner warmth which seemed to emanate from it. This certainly wasn't the devil out of Grandad's story.
Fortunately, farmer Hindley had placed planks over the boggy ground while he was working on the drainage. And so, by carefully stepping from one to the other, Ben was able to follow the figure in safety.       He followed it for some distance before it stopped, turned towards him, and pointed meaningfully down at the ground. At the same time, the figure seemed to become transparent and to gradually fade away.

    ~

      Grandfather beamed up at young Ben and patted him on the back. "Our hero," he said. He turned back to the local paper and read aloud, "'13-year-old Ben Whyte discovers remains of the old Benedictine monastery and the original monastic bells by following a ghostly monk.   It is believed that, upon the dissolution of the monasteries in the 16th century, the original bells were hidden for safekeeping by the monks in the middle of a pool behind the monastery church.' "
      There was a photograph of Ben with workmen unearthing the bells and pieces of masonry. The caption beneath it read: 'Young Ben Whyte at the scene of his remarkable find!'
      "'The pool mostly dried up in the last century,'" continued grandfather, "'but stories survived about people sometimes being able to hear bells ringing from beneath the place where it used to be. As in most old tales, the devil himself was even given an important part. It was said he took the bells and jumped into the pool with them, taking them down to hell, from where they could be heard ringing. The ground behind the church, which was due to be sold to developers for house-building, is now to be preserved as being of archaeological interest.'"

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