Michael Stone, 80, has been ringing church bells since he was 11. Photo / Dean Purcell
Michael Stone, 80, has been ringing church bells since he was 11. Photo / Dean Purcell
When Michael Stone's boss told him he needed to move halfway around the world to New Zealand for the job, his first thought wasn't of the weather, or house prices, or even the laidback lifestyle of his new home.
Instead it was only, "Do they have bells?"
"I checked therewere bells here and then said 'okay'," Stone told the Herald from the tower of Auckland's St Matthew-in-the-City.
Giant bells in church towers, and the ability to ring them, that was the deal-breaker back in the 1980s for the now 80-year-old, who has been a bell ringer since an uncle, quite literally, showed him the ropes aged 11.
Michael Stone, right, works as part of a team of volunteer church bell ringers at Auckland's St Matthew-in-the-City. Photo / Dean Purcell
When so much in the world is now mechanised, it is still muscle — physical and memory — that powers the bells inside churches, such as St Matthew's, which retain the tradition.
And creating that chorus of ding dongs isn't as easy as just pulling on a rope a few times. For one thing the bells are heavy — the largest of the eight bells at St Matthew's weighs just over a tonne — and the unskilled could find themselves flung into the air.
But bell ringers like Stone must also learn long number-based compositions which can keep them ringing for hours.
"This is our music, but you don't have it in front of you, it's all up here, in your brain."
Despite the effort and concentration of those involved, not everyone was a fan — there were sometimes complaints from the public, including one pyjama-clad man who climbed the steep and narrow spiral staircase to share his colourful language-laden fury with those in the bell tower one Sunday morning.
Stone wasn't bothered — the bells had done what they were supposed to.
"I said 'we've done our job, we got you into church'."
