By J. Potter Briscoe, F.R.H.S.

On the eve of the feast of Corpus Christi the choristers of Durham Cathedral ascend the tower, and, clad in their fluttering robes of white, sing the Te Deum. This custom is performed to commemorate the miraculous extinguishing of a conflagration on that night in the year 1429. The legend goes that, whilst the monks were engaged in prayer at midnight, the belfry was struck by the electric current and set on fire. Though the flames continued to rage until the middle of the next day, the tower escaped serious damage, and the bells were uninjured—an escape which was imputed to the special interference of the incorruptible S.Cuthbert, who was enshrined in that cathedral. These are not the bells which now reverberate among the housetops on the steep banks of the Wear, they having been cast by Thomas Bartlett during the summer of 1631.

The fine peal of bells in Limerick Cathedral were originally brought from Italy, having been [p 134] manufactured by a young native, who devoted himself enthusiastically to the work, and who, after the toil of many years, succeeded in finishing a splendid peal, which answered all the critical requirements of his own musical ear. Upon these bells the artist greatly prided himself, and they were at length bought by the prior of a neighbouring convent at a very liberal price. With the proceeds of that sale the young Italian purchased a little villa, where, in the stillness of the evening, he could enjoy the sound of his own melodious bells from the convent cliff. Here he grew old in the bosom of his family and of domestic happiness. At length, in one of those feuds common to the period, the Italian became a sufferer amongst many others. He lost his all. After the passing of the storm, he found himself preserved alone amid the wreck of fortune, friends, family, and home. The bells too—his favourite bells—were carried off from the convent, and finally removed to Ireland. For a time their artificer became a wanderer over Europe; and at last, in the hope of soothing his troubled spirit, he formed the resolution of seeking the land to which those treasures of his memory had been conveyed. He sailed for Ireland. Proceeding [p 135] up the Shannon one beautiful evening, which reminded him of his native Italy, his own bells suddenly struck upon his ear! Home, and all its loving ties, happiness, early recollections, all—all were in the sound, and went to his heart. His face was turned towards the cathedral in the attitude of intently listening. When the vessel reached its destination the Italian bellfounder was found to be a corpse!

Odoceus, Bishop of Llandaff, removed the bells from his cathedral during a time of excommunication. Earlier still they are assumed to have been in use in Ireland as early as the time of S.Patrick, who died in 493. In those days much superstitious feeling, as in later ages, hung around the bells, and many sweetly pretty and very curious legends are known respecting them. Thus it is said S.Odoceus, of Llandaff, being thirsty after undergoing labour, and more accustomed to drink water than anything else, came to a fountain in the vale of Llandaff, not far from the church, that he might drink. Here he found women washing butter after the manner of the country. Sending to them his messengers and disciples they requested that they would accommodate them with a vessel that their [p 136] pastor might drink therefrom. These mischievous girls replied, “We have no other cup besides that which we hold in our hands,” namely, the butter. The man of blessed memory taking it, formed one piece into the shape of a small bell, and drank from it. The story goes that it permanently remained in that form, so that it appeared to those who beheld it to consist altogether of the purest gold. It is preserved in the church at Llandaff, and it is said that, by touching it, health is given to the diseased.

The bell of S.Mura was formerly regarded with superstitious reverence in Ireland, and any liquid drunk from it was believed to have peculiar properties in alleviating human suffering; hence the peasant women of the district in which it was long preserved particularly used it in cases of child-birth, and a serious disturbance was excited on a former attempt to sell it by its owner. Its legendary history relates that it descended from the sky ringing loudly, but as it approached the concourse of people who had assembled at the miraculous warning, the tongue detached itself and returned towards the skies; hence it was concluded that the bell was never to be profaned by sounding on earth, but was to be kept for [p 137] purposes more holy and beneficent. This is said to have happened on the spot where once stood the famous Abbey of Fahan, near Innishowen, in county Donegal, founded in the seventh century by S.Mura, or Muranus.

Mr. Robert Hunt, F.R.S., tells us that, in days long ago, the inhabitants of the parish of Forrabury—which does not cover a square mile, but which now includes the chief part of the town of Bocastle and its harbour—resolved to have a peal of bells which should rival those of the neighbouring church of Tintagel, which are said to have rung merrily at the marriage, and tolled solemnly at the death of Arthur. The bells were cast. The bells were blessed. The bells were shipped for Forrabury. Few voyages were more favourable. The ship glided, with a fair wind, along the northern shores of Cornwall, waiting for the tide to carry her safely into the harbour of Bottreaux. The vesper bells rang out at Tintagel. When he heard the blessed bell, the pilot devoutly crossed himself, and bending his knee, thanked God for the safe and quick voyage which they had made. The captain laughed at the superstition, as he called it, of the pilot, and swore that they had only to thank themselves for [p 138] the speedy voyage, and that, with his own arm at the helm, and his judgment to guide them, they would soon have a happy landing. The pilot checked this profane speech. The wicked captain—and he swore more impiously than ever, that all was due to himself and his men—laughed to scorn the pilot’s prayer. “May God forgive you,” was the pilot’s reply. Those who are familiar with the northern shores of Cornwall will know that sometimes a huge wave, generated by some mysterious power in the wide Atlantic, will roll on, overpowering everything by its weight and force. While yet the captain’s oaths were heard, and while the inhabitants on the shore were looking out from the cliffs, expecting within an hour to see the vessel charged with their bells safe in their harbour, one of those vast swellings of the ocean was seen. Onward came the grand billow in all the terror of its might! The ship rose not upon the waters as it came onward! She was overwhelmed, and sank in an instant close to the land. As the vessel sank, the bells were heard tolling with a muffled sound, as if ringing the death knell of the ship and sailors, of whom the good pilot alone escaped with life. When storms are coming, and only [p 139] then, the bells of Forrabury, with their dull muffled sound, are heard from beneath the heaving sea, a warning to the wicked. The tower has remained silent to this day.

Passing through Massingham, in Lincolnshire, a long time ago, a traveller noticed three men sitting on a stile in the churchyard, and saying, “Come to church, Thompson!” “Come to church, Brown!” and so on. Surprised at this, the traveller asked what it meant. He was told that, having no bells, this was how they called folk to church. The traveller, remarking that it was a pity so fine a church should have no bells, asked the men if they could make three for the church, promising to pay for them himself. This they undertook to do. They were a tinker, a carpenter, and a shoemaker respectively. When the visitor came round that way again, he found the three men ringing three bells, which said “Ting, Tong, Pluff,” being made respectively of tin, wood, and leather.

There is a tradition that John Barton, the donor of the third bell at Brigstock, Northamptonshire, was one of several plaintiffs against Sir John Gouch to recover their rights of common upon certain lands in the neighbouring parish of [p 140] Benefield, and that Sir John threatened to ruin him if he persisted in claiming his right. John Barton replied that he would leave a cow which, being pulled by the tail, would low three times a day, and would be heard all over the common when he (Sir John) and his heirs would have nothing to do there. Hence the gift of the bell, which was formerly rung at four in the morning, and at eleven at morning and at night. He is also said to have left means for paying for this daily ringing.

One Christmas Eve the ringers of Witham-on-the-Hill left the bells standing for the purpose of partaking of refreshments at a tavern that stood opposite the church. One of their number, a little more thirsty than the rest, insisted that before going back to ring they should have another pitcher of ale. This being at length agreed to by his brother bell-ringers, the party remained to duly drain the last draught. Whilst they were drinking, the steeple fell. Whether this is merely a tapster’s tale, or the sober statement of a remarkable fact, we are not in a position to state.

From a curious and rare pamphlet on “Catholic Miracles,” published in 1825, we [p 141] learn that a band of sacrilegious robbers, having broken into a monastery, proceeded out of bravado to ring a peal of bells, when, through prayers offered up by the “holy fathers,” a miracle was wrought, and the robbers were unable to leave their hold on the ropes. This state of affairs was depicted by the inimitable George Cruikshank in a woodcut, impressions of which are given in our “Curiosities of the Belfry,” (Hamilton).

In the village of Tunstall, a few miles distant from Yarmouth, there is a clump of alder trees, familiarly known as “Hell Carr.” Not far from these trees there is a pool of water having a boggy bottom, that goes by the name of “Hell Hole.” A succession of bubbles are frequently seen floating on the surface of the water in summer time, a circumstance (as Mr. Glyde, the Norfolk antiquarian author, truly states) that can be accounted for very naturally; but the natives of the district maintain that these bubbles are the result of supernatural action, the cause of which is thus described. The tower of the church is in ruins. Tradition says that it was destroyed by fire, but that the bells were not injured by the calamity. The parson and the [p 142] churchwarden each claimed the bells. While they were quarrelling, his Satanic Majesty carried out the disputed booty. The clergyman, however, not desiring to lose the booty, pursued and overtook the devil, who, in order to evade his clerical opponent, dived through the earth to his appointed dwelling-place, taking the bells with him. Tradition points to “Hell Hole” as the spot where this hurried departure took place. The villagers believe that the bubbles on the surface of the pool are caused by the continuous descent of the waters to the bottomless pit.

In 1778 there was a bell belonging to the chapel of S.Fillan, which was in high reputation among the votaries of that saint in olden times. It was of an oblong shape, about a foot high, and was usually laid on a gravestone in the churchyard. Mad people were brought to it to effect a cure. They were first dipped into the “Saint’s Pool,” where certain ceremonies were performed, which partook of the character of Druidism and Roman Catholicism. The bell was placed in the chapel, where it remained, bound with ropes, all night. Next day it was placed upon the heads of the lunatics with great solemnity, but with what results “deponent sayeth not.” It was the [p 143] popular opinion that, if stolen, this bell would extricate itself from the hands of the thief and return home ringing all the way! The bell had ultimately to be kept under lock and key to prevent its being used for superstitious purposes. This old time relic is now in the National Museum, Edinburgh, of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, and it is described as follows in the catalogue: “The ‘Bell of S.Fillan,’ of cast bronze, square shaped, and with double-headed, dragonesque handle. It lay on a gravestone in the old churchyard at Strathfillan, Perthshire, where it was superstitiously used for the cure of insanity and other diseases till 1798, when it was removed by a traveller to England. It was returned to Scotland in 1869, and deposited in the Museum by Lord Crawford and the Bishop of Brechin, with the consent of the [p 144] Heritors and Kirk-Session of S.Fillans.” Near Raleigh there is a valley which is said to have been caused by an earthquake several hundred years ago, which convulsion of nature swallowed up a whole village, together with the church. Formerly it was the custom of the people to assemble in this valley every Christmas Day morning to listen to the ringing of the bells of the church beneath them. This, it was positively asserted, might be heard by placing the ear to the ground and listening attentively. As late as 1827 it was usual on this morning for old men and women to tell their children and young friends to go to the valley, stoop down, and hear the bells ring merrily. The villagers really heard the ringing of the bells of a neighbouring church, the sound of which was communicated by the surface of the ground, the cause being misconstrued through the ignorance and credulity of the listeners.