Ring Of Bells

I met David when I was very young; we were together every day after that. For the rest of David’s life in fact. David was a kind man. Tall and strong, but with a gentle touch.  The day we met was full of bells. They sang so loudly. If I think hard enough I can still hear them now. I remember lots of smiles, neatly displayed on happy faces. Beatrice wore the biggest smile. Her white teeth matched her dress. She looked beautiful. She made David smile as he watched her approach the alter. The ladies wore long flowing dresses. The older men wore suits with big knotted ties. The younger men wore uniforms, greens and blues. Polished shoes, they shined so brightly you could make out the church’s ceiling. That was the day that my journey with David began. We went everywhere together. I loved it. He loved me. Now I’m alone, sitting here, watching life go by. Now I’m just politely looked at from time to time.   After the honeymoon, more bells came. They began to shake the streets as we slept. There were so many of them. They would conduct their cacophony all night sometimes. We would all gather underground to listen to the concert. We never missed one, Carter would always announce the upcoming event a with loud shout, high and low he would wail, not wanting anyone to miss the show. Sometimes we would be surprised by a show and would run underground without Carter's announcement. One night, the bells came and they rang louder than anyone had ever heard. Beatrice woke first and gripped David’s arm in fright. I stroked her hand, reassuring her we were all safe. The entire street shook, and the bells bought a school down. The building collapsed and people were screaming. I think they had grown tired of the lightning bells. I had too. I remember the rubble the most, it was rough and sharp to touch and it cut into me as we scrambled across mountains of it. We moved towards the people lying on the ground. The smell of soot hung in the air. David coughed as he laboured on through the mess. Shouts provided background noise. The boy was young. I remember his face, all dirt and scratches. He stood perfectly still, surrounded by rubble and ash. I touched him first, as gently as I could. We shook him into reality and out of his daydream. He looked at David and cried. His face melted into tears, which cleaned, in streaks, the dirt from his face. We carried him across the rubble, to a man with a tin hat. He looked shocked to see the boy, his chin strap moved with his mouth as he said, "Why ain't he in the countryside”. I rubbed the boy's back. David squeezed his shoulder and took out his handkerchief. He wrapped it around his finger and wiped the tear from under the boy's eye. It left a little grubby mark, brown and gritty. David walked away, forcing an uncomfortable smile onto this face. We worked together all night. We moved brick after brick, burrowing through the remains of the school and the homes that had stood alongside it. We all worked together until the sun arrived, replacing the amber and orange light of the fires. Once the sun came up, it was time to go to the factory. We washed in cold water and then some news arrived. David and I were going to work somewhere different now. The women could handle the factories, it had been decided. David stood on the platform, the train waiting patiently whilst lots of men all kissed their wives goodbye. David held Beatrice tight, wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed her, and then I rubbed her arm in comfort. A tear started to fall, and I rubbed a little harder. David took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around his finger. He delicately wiped away a sad tear. Beatrice cupped his hand and held it to her face. I rubbed her cheek. Then she guided David’s hand to her stomach.   “Come home to us”. Beatrice said, in between sobs and sniffs. The train let out a hiss, and steam filled the platform. Women cried and men comforted. Children laughed. Everyone waved. David and I climbed up into the carriage and we joined in the waving as we moved away, the platform getting smaller. After some practice, we sailed on a boat. David didn't like the gentle rocking.  Neither did the other men. The constant ringing of loud bangs in the distance provided background music. Strange bells in France, I thought. As we approached a beach, I heard knocking on the side of the boat. When the men heard it, they ducked down. An unwanted visitor, I guessed. When the doors opened, men fell. Some tried to run, but they couldn't run on the water. They found it hard to breathe. I still remember their faces, desperate. Their eyes searching. David made his way across the beach. He ran the whole way across to the hills. It was raining sand, it landed all around us. Lots of people were calling out. We kept moving. One voice sounded louder than the others that called. It was a desperate voice, a voice that David couldn't ignore. We followed the shouts and found a young man lying on the ground. He clutched his side as he spoke. He struggled to breathe, crying and panting, he spoke to David: “Please, please help me”. This was all he said. I rubbed his arm and brushed away a red tear that rolled from his forehead and down his cheek. David took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around his finger. Beatrice's black mascara still clung to the white cotton. Now there was a little red mark to add to the collection. “Don’t worry my boy, you’ll be alright”. David said. David's boy fell asleep then. His body relaxed and his panting ceased. He looked peaceful. The bells had silenced whilst David comforted the boy. Slowly they came back into focus. The shouting of more men, then more and more still. David stood, but then he grasped his stomach and fell, landing next to the boy. I lay there, with them both. We lay in the raining sand. I rubbed David’s stomach, grasped at it, but it wouldn't close. David reached into his pocket, and took out a photograph of Beatrice. He looked at her smiling face and tried to smile himself. David spoke to me before he fell asleep, stroking me gently as he did so: “I love you Beatrice", he said as he looked at the crumpled photograph of his wife.   We lay there until darkness fell and the bells were slowly silenced, one by one. Then David was carried away. They took me from him. The photograph and handkerchief too. Beatrice cried when I saw her again. I consoled her as best I could. She would hold me for hours. She had grown while we had been away. Soon there was another voice crying in the night, louder than Beatrice had cried. I sat on the mantelpiece, and watched as the crying turned to laughter. I watched crawling turn to walking, and walks into a run. I saw crying over grazed knees, turn into weeping over lost loves. I watched the seasons change. I saw lots of changes, and gathered lots of dust.   Until today. Beatrice picked me up this morning and brushed me down. She wore a bright dress and a big hat. Her hands trembled more than they used to, and the lines on her face showed her age. I heard more bells in the distance. I saw the church and I recognised the alter. The voice that I had heard crying and growing deeper over the years was now speaking. He sounded like David. He sounded like his father. “I do”. I heard him say. I hear familiar words as I am slid into place. I notice that he has his father’s hands. “With this ring I thee wed”. I hear a soft, female voice say. I see Beatrice as we walk away from the alter. She has a familiar handkerchief wrapped around her finger. She wipes away a happy tear to the tune of bells.