The Sunday Story: The bells.

It must have been at least 34 years ago, when there was one hell of a storm. It was thundering (on amp mark 11), lightning was crashing all around at twenty flashes per minute (minimum), and the rain was falling in fist-sized lumps... Seriously.

I was quivering in bed, clinging on to Lady M with all my might (or maybe it was Lady M who was clinging onto me). Suddenly we heard the church bells start to ring (in those days they were still hand-rung; now, sadly, they are computerised). I immediately thought that something must be wrong, so, against my better judgement, I dressed, took to the wheel of my ageing blue 2CV and drove hot-tyre, through the appalling weather, the two kilometres to the village church.

When I arrived, I ran to the open door to find a man beneath the bell-tower, happily ringing the bells with a fag in his mouth. In my then rather rudimentary French, I asked what the panic was all about, only to be told that the sound of bells KEEPS HAIL AWAY.

There was no thunderbolt disaster, no elderly lady in distress, no child down a well. Just an old codger acting out some supersticious nonsense.

I have no idea if the sound of bells keeps hail at bay; but it didn't hail that night.... Maybe he was right, and it does really work!