Preface

There was, in days not long past, a tale often shared—-not in the parlours of the gentry, nor
in the clatter of public houses—-but in the hush of workshops and the warmth of firelit corners.

It passed between men with blackened hands and tired shoulders, men who spoke
little and listened deeply—-men for whom work was not mere toil, but communion. It was the story of one who, it was said, heard the voice of a Bell before ever the mould had been struck.

I believe it to be a true account, as do all those who know the stillness in a moment between hammer and anvil--true, not in the manner of ledgers or blueprints, but in the way a truth endures where the human spirit meets its work with awe. And the tale is not yet closed.

For the Bell yet tolls.
And for those who will stop and listen, it may still be heard.


Passage I: Hear Ye!

Awoken!
Not by the light of day, but by a dream more vivid than the waking world, wherein
truth did speak with a voice mightier than the voice of men. The firmament had parted, and from its breach fell not rain, but unspeakable utterances.

A call was made unto me, but by what means might a modest foundryman, steeped in soot and steel, with strength as the flickering of a candle, respond to such a Great Summons?


Passage II: The Ding Dong

Fortune, it seemed, had favoured our town, and a stirring went forth throughout the land.
Whispers of an Industry so mighty, so unrelenting, that even those with doubt stood rapt in awe.
From distant counties came labouring men, drawn not by coin alone, but by the promise of
being part of something vast, something eternal. We were tasked with the casting of bells-—
Great Bells, no less—-their voices destined to toll from the spires of Cathedrals and call forth
prayers from the hearts of kings and commoners alike.

And the heat of the furnaces rose as the sun, and the sweat of the workers was as a river;
and there was no rest for the multitude, for the work was great. Yet amidst the roar or
industry, I thought upon the first Master, who laid the foundations of this house. For
although I had come as many others, seeking labour and daily wage, his ways had marked
me.

I sat in stillness, even as others moved, and in his silence I discerned the echo of a
world unseen. And yet, in this new age of relentless advance, with progress pressing forth
like the tide, I sensed something amiss. The rhythm remained, but not the music. The
humble origins of our Founder a faint and distant echo.


Passage III: Your Maiden Bell

One’s apprenticeship was never truly announced, as other Masters of Men are wont to do.
His tutelage was given in glances, in gestures-—each one a tome of unspoken truth. A blink
too long, and an entire gospel you may miss. But if you watched—-truly watched—-you
might find yourself drawn nearer to the secret heart of the Bell. I gave what I believed to be
my utmost, striving to divine from his bearing the essence of true sound. And I recall, with
solemn clarity, the moment he imparted what might be called the cornerstone of his wisdom:

"Before you lathe your Maiden Bell, you must first learn to hear her."

To hear a bell uncast-—what riddle was this?

I looked to my strickle board, that humble arc of wood from which my bell would take shape. And he, gazing upon my confusion, added:

"The strickle board is your Bell. If you cannot hear her in this, the alloy will never speak her
name. Carry on—your time to listen will come."

Now, despite the authority I had gained in the new order of the foundry, and though I had
attained some honour among men, yet was I poor in spirit. I knew not what I lacked, I found
myself adrift, grasping at phantoms of meaning. For all my rank, I did not know how to
birth a true Maiden Bell. Somewhere, something called unto me from afar—its sound faint,
yet insistent. I could no longer ignore it.


Passage IV: Carillon

Memory, that cruel and faithful companion, a vessel cracked and leaking. His words were as
phantoms walking through mist, and I clutched at them like relics--holy and half-forgotten.


Passage V: On Course

Yet still I rose each morn, my soul stirred by some cause unknown. I followed roads mapped
and un-mapped, and—-where courage allowed—-I turned my face unto the sound of a distant
bell, which led me when I was bold enough to follow.

Though my strength was tried in the wilderness, my journey, a trial of fire. Late one night, under a trembling roof in a strange house with no name, the Master’s words returned unto me-—
not whispers but chimes. And I found that when morning broke, the road, once twisted, now ran straight as an arrow. The land opened before me as a scroll unrolled.

Faces beyond number passed before mine-—four thousand and more-—and I said:

“Who among these shall teach me what I seek?”

And when I was brought low in spirit, at my lowest ebb, one phrase resounded:

"To tune a fine bell is not to add, but to withdraw. What rings false must be drawn out, until
only truth remains.”


Passage VI: For You

At last I came upon a place I knew before I saw it—-a dwelling marked by the scent of
copper and clay, the air thick with the ghosts of honest labour. And there I knew:

He would not meet me here.
Not in body...

My heart, brittle as bone-china, fractured under the weight of that knowing. Could I go on alone?

In stillness, his voice, now within me, answered:

“You shall not walk alone, for my words are become thy words”


Passage VII: Wounded and Blue

On the long road home, at every place where men gathered, I did sit--alone amongst
others--not in haste, but in stillness. And lo, in the silence, a sound returned unto me. At
first, faint and afar. But it came. And I made a place within me for it to dwell.

And the sound grew, and I was as the Bell, and the Bell was as me. I was the hills it echoed
across. I was the ear that heard, nay the act of hearing itself. I had found him, though not in
flesh. I heard with his ears, I saw with his eyes.


Passage VIII: Willing and Able

After many a moment spent in quiet contemplation, allowing whatever spirits might pass
through the corridors of thought to come and go as they please, I find myself--at last--
prepared. I hear her.

The voice of my Maiden Bell--clear and unperturbed—-rises within me.

She is not wrought by struggle, nor borne of correction; rather, she emerges whole, as though each hammer-blow struck now is but the outward sign of a perfection that always was.

There is a peace in this work—-a resolve I had once sought in the clamour of industry and
never found.

I shall withdraw now from the great noise of the world. A modest room shall suffice—-some
humble basement or half-forgotten cellar—-and there shall I take up the tools once more,
not as a master over them, but as a servant unto the Work.

There shall I listen—-With eyes, ears, flesh and spirit--And as I listen, I shall labour. Not to master the sound, but to be met by it. I shall greet it like dawn and, if providence allows, both I and my work shall ring in harmony.

For what is the Bell, if not the voice of a thing already written, calling man to remember?


Passage IX: Let It Ring!

And I passed once more through the gates of the town, and a music--heavenly and sweet--bore me along my path. And I entered the foundry. I lifted mine eyes unto the beams, half-built and reaching skyward. And I said:

Here is my dwelling. I am returned. I am home.

Through beams of steel which once held,
the roof which covered our heads as we laboured
in open air i watched as the clouds gathered above
but no fear with them came
No sooner had it come together,
this heavenly cover began to part
and revealed itself a dwelling
from which it spake
have you heard of
a purer sound:

Ahhhhhh
—let it ring!