Laura E. Goodin has been ringing for just over a year at St. James Old Cathedral in Melbourne, Australia.You can find out more about her writing at www.lauraegoodin.com

I travel a lot. It’s why I’ll never be rich. And now that I’m a bell ringer, travel has taken on a new allure: grabbing towers. It’s fun. It’s fun to see how other towers do things (and silently either wail in despair that I’ll never be that good or smugly congratulate myself about how my home tower is clearly the best in the world – which it is, by the way; you should totally come to visit St James Old Cathedral Friday-night practices when you’re in Melbourne). It’s fun to try new ringing exercises and share a few tit bits of knowledge. And it’s definitely fun to meet new ringers – not so much because we’re different, but because we’re alike. As far as I’ve been able to tell, most ringers are cheerful and encouraging, and every last one is gloriously eccentric in some way or other. We share a common language (no, not English – ringing!), a common body of knowledge, and a common passion. Instant comrades! A balm for the weary, homesick traveller’s soul!

In September, I travelled for business to Hawaii. My flight got in a few days before my conference began – well, yes, all right, I looked up in Dove’s whether there were any towers in Hawaii and planned my itinerary around the practice times at St Andrew’s Cathedral. An email to the tower captain resulted in a warm invitation to their Sunday and Tuesday practices – what luxury! Two practices a week! I landed on Sunday, dropped my stuff off in my room,and – exhausted and jet-lagged – instantly headed out into the sultry Honolulu afternoon to make my way to the tower. I was welcomed like a dear friend of the family and immediately given a rope. We were all at a similar level, and had a great time working through exercises, plain hunt,and call changes. I was able to show them a trick I learned from one of my tower’s more experienced ringers: the fact that you can pull the bell-up knot through to make a perfect figure-of-eight knot, should you need one, without risking digits and limbs by poking them through loops of rope attached to an up bell. The band was easygoing and cheerful, even by Australian standards, which gave me a fascinating insight into island culture, and meant that the slower pace necessitated by my jet lag didn’t bother anyone. They were also happy to pose for a bellfie (bell-ringers’ selfie [above]) before dispersing into the twilight. I was really looking forward to Tuesday’s practice!

Alas, it was not to be, as a hurricane was bearing down on the island. The tower captain, erring on the side of caution, cancelled practice – I’m not sure where else you’d have practice cancelled because of an impending hurricane. (Luckily, the hurricane mostly fizzled out before it got to Honolulu).

In November, I was lucky enough to go overseas again (see “will never be rich”, above). This time, I planned my itinerary to be able to ring at the Washington National Cathedral. I’d lived in DC for 17 years, and had learned to love the bells that formed part of the sound-scape of my life for all that time. I hadn’t been a ringer then (oh, I could just bloody kick myself). But now, 23 years after leaving DC, I was, and – the band’s goodwill permitting – I wanted to ring the bells I loved. An email or two later all the arrangements had been made, and I had been briefed on the detailed Dungeons & Dragons game-play required to reach the bell tower: buzzers and code phrases spoken to unseen guardians (“I’m a ringer”), semi-hidden doorways, dusty passages, twisty stairwells, two different elevators, and (as far as I could tell) a few inter-dimensional time and space warps eventually brought me to the ringing chamber.I gasped. It was utterly palatial. Literally 20 times the size of the ringing chamber in my home tower (and I know what “literally” means), with comfy chairs, stained glass, artwork, and windows that offered a stunning view of DC at night – it couldn’t have been more splendid. The learners had their own practice on the simulator and let me join in, and were very gracious about my mistakes. Then it was time for the main practice. These ringers were supremely competent, and very conscious of the responsibility they bore to ring these terrific bells from their tower on the hilltop, audible for many miles in every direction. Tonight they had a film crew there, so the pressure was on. Even so, they were still kind enough to give me a couple of goes over the course of the evening, let me see the belfry, and gave me a lift back to the Metro.They were all business, though, so there was no time for a bellfie. Their intensity was in marked contrast to the laid-back atmosphere at St Andrew’s, Honolulu, but that one difference only highlighted how much all of us ringers have in common: I’d been welcomed in both towers, and shared the language of ringing withe veryone there.What all this boils down to is this: if you really want to dive deep into our culture as ringers, with all the adventure and camaraderie that it brings, you can do no better than to go visiting. Even if you’ve only just started, you can still watch and learn and enjoy the company of those who, like you, have heard the call of the bells and have answered it gladly. Get hold of the Dove’s app (it’s pretty cheap) so that whenever you travel, you can always check where the towers are and how to contact the tower captain (a courtesy I highly recommend). Chances are very good you’ll get the kind of warm welcome I received at both towers,and perhaps even make some lifelong friends. You’ll also get a unique insider’s perspective on the place and people you’re visiting, and maybe even get the chance to go adventuring among the rafters and corridors high above the city.

Did I say I’d never be rich? Actually, I reckon I’m richer than royalty.

This article first appeared in Tower Talk edition 10, the free quarterly e-magazine for new ringers. Make sure you don’t miss out on future editions by subscribing here