Bell ringing king Bill peals back the years

He's 97 - but that doesn't stop Bill Harding pulling his weight when it comes to his bell ringing.

Just before noon every day for the past 25 years, the slightly-built figure has become a familiar sight in Brewood, heading for St Mary's Catholic Church to ring the Angelus bells.

He pulls a quarter-of-a-ton weight for the standard 18 peals and fully expects to be carrying out the ritual when he is 100. The bells can be heard two miles away on a clear day.

To ensure the duty is carried out long after he is gone, Bill has trained up youngsters at the village's St Mary's Primary School.

"It's all in the rhythm," he says. "You have to have an ear for it but once you've found that, you're away."

He is pleased that he has passed on his bell-ringing skills to local pupils, although they don't always get it right.

"If I'm not there, the rhythm can go astray but they're well-behaved children and very sincere," he says.

The ringing of the Angelus bells is a Catholic tradition celebrating the biblical story of the Angel Gabriel's visit to Mary. Bill also rings the bells for weddings and funerals.

The sprightly great-grandfather walks the mile to the church from his flat in the village, stopping off at the British Legion club in Shop Lane on the way back for a half-pint. Until recently his tipple was bitter but these days he prefers orange juice.

He was asked to take over bell-ringing responsibility after arriving in the village in 1984 with his wife Mary, who was left a house in Horsebrook Lane by her late brother.

A religious man, Bill decided to continue the duty as a special devotion to the Virgin Mary. It is a choice tinged with poignancy because of his own mother's failings.

He was treated so badly by his parents that they were jailed for cruelty when he was three and Bill, who is blind in his right eye as a result of their violence, was removed to an orphanage.

One unhappy visit apart, he never saw his relatives again although his youngest sister Ellen wrote to him until her death at 27.

Bill, a former school caretaker, lives on his own since the death of his wife two years ago. They met in Bristol during the war when he was a firefighting and drill instructor in the RAF while Brewood-born Mary was in the ATS in the same unit as the young Princess Elizabeth.

Her grave, just a couple of feet from the church entrance, is comfortingly close when Bill is wearing another of his hats, that of St Mary's official gardener.

By Marion Brennan