To the end of my life I
shall remember the weeping women, and the haggard-eyed men in that
little town, and the two sharp strokes of the _tocsin_, sounding like
the knell of hope.
Nothing can carry a more poignant message than a bell. In my time at
Harrow, should a member of the school actually die at Harrow during
the term, the school bell was tolled at minute intervals, from 10 to
10.30 p.m., with the great bass bell of the parish church answering
it, also at minute intervals. The school bell, which rang daily at
least ten times for school, for chapel, for Bill, or for lock-up, had
an exceedingly piercing voice. We were used to hearing it rung
quickly, so when it sent out its one shrill note into the unaccustomed
night, a note answered in half a minute by the great boom of the
bourdon from the Norman church steeple, the effect was most
impressive. In my house it was the custom to keep absolute silence
during the tolling of the passing-bell. The British schoolboy is
really a highly emotional creature, though he would sooner die than
betray the fact. When the tolling began, boys would troop in their
night-clothes into one another's rooms for companionship, and remain
there in silence, ill at ease, until the tolling, to every one's
relief, ceased.
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