If I Were A Bell

I wouldn’t have said it was one of my favourite songs, but it stuck in my mind for over forty years. I must have first heard it as a teenager, watching the movie of ‘Guys and Dolls’ on TV. Jean Simmons sang the song, Sarah Brown swooning around Marlon Brando’s Sky Masterson after he had taken her to Havana for the night and got her seriously tipsy. ‘If I Were A Bell’. It had a gentle swing, clever but sweet lyrics, and the joy of a nice, God fearing young lady letting herself go for the first time in her life. It was one of the songs that – even as I was wallowing in pub rock, punk and new wave – made me appreciate that there were some great tunes from an earlier time.

It was probably part of what made me eager to see the National Theatre’s production of the show in the early eighties. This time it was Julie Covington slinging herself around Ian Charleson, hitting all the sweet notes and making it one of the highs of my best nights at the theatre.

It prompted me to go looking for an LP of the soundtrack. There was a record shop off Shaftesbury Avenue where I dithered over a couple of old theatre cast recordings, then followed the advice of the guy behind the counter to buy a 1950s version by the Reprise Musical Repertory Theatre, a collection of singers thrown together by the record company. I was a little disappointed as Frank Sinatra spoiled ‘Luck Be A Lady’ by dropping it to mid tempo and removing the urgency that usually made it a showstopper. But it also had Dinah Shore – only a name to me – with a great version of ‘If I Were A Bell’. She had a slightly husky voice, sang it a little more knowingly, and hit some wonderful high notes over the two-line chorus.

Or if I were a bell,

I’d go ding, dong, ding, dong, ding!

 That one hung around my head for decades, one of those I would find myself humming without thinking about it. And it always made me smile.

Meanwhile, life went by with highs and lows. I had a couple of relationships that were exciting for a while but went off the rails, then met the love of my life, married her and we’re still going strong. There have been good and bad years in work, periods when I’ve greatly enjoyed but in a business where the economics have got worse and there are always dark clouds around. I’ve stayed closed to my immediate family and always felt comfortable with it. I’ve found personal satisfaction from writing fiction, without ever making money from it. And I get really, really pissed off at seeing celebrity authors get publishing deals with a big marketing effort and sycophantic media interviews just because they’re celebrities. I appreciate that I’m better off than most people in the world, but it’s all made me a bit jaded, a bit cynical, expecting as many clouds as bright skies in the future. For a long time my resting face has been that of a slightly grumpy dog, not close to smiley. It doesn’t mean I’m miserable or hostile, but it can make people wonder if I might bite them if annoyed. I’ve even come to like it.

I’d noticed productions of ‘Guys and Dolls’ come and go but never bothered to see it again – until it was staged at The Bridge Theatre, in the round, with some of the punters able to stand in the pit and get up close to the action. My wife and I decided that was well worth the price of a ticket and two and a half hours on our feet.

I looked forward to the production for a few weeks, but the clouds had grown a bit darker. It was a bad patch in the job, with a client project driving me nuts, not enough business coming in and the boss talking about an axe over the company’s head. If I had to go elsewhere I was at an age at which most employers wouldn’t want to know. My parents were getting older and in more need of support, which wasn’t easy when they lived an hour’s drive away. And another novel was receiving rejection letters or no response at all from literary agents. It took an effort to see the glass half full.

Then on the day we were going to the show I had the radio on and caught an interview with a TV actor who had just had a novel published. He was surprisingly honest in saying he had been ‘invited’ by the publisher to write, because he had been in a couple of dramas about spies and they thought people would buy a book about spies with his name on it. The interviewer went along as if it was all great news for everyone, not even hinting that it might raise questions about whether the book was worth reading, or asking how much help the actor had received in writing it. I knew all that had been going on for years, but it was unusual for the celeb to acknowledge he had been published not for his creativity but because he was a marketing asset. It made me growl.

I was still growling when we arrived at the theatre, I paid a precautionary visit to the Gents, and as I washed my hands looked into the mirror and noticed the dog looked even grumpier than usual. I stifled another growl.

Then the show began and my mood lifted. It’s such a good musical: light hearted, full of energy, and all the songs have a street savvy lyricism that could only have come from 1940s New York. Also, the staging was clever, the orchestra red hot and we were down in the pit, almost brushing shoulders with the cast as they bustled around the central stage. It was easy to have fun. That song came along just after a frantic dance number had raised the tempo and created a sweaty excitement that was ripe for a sweet turn. This time it was sung by Celinde Schoenmaker as she swung around Andrew Richardson, a touch more streetwise and sexy than in other renditions. I stood about fifteen feet away, transfixed by the performers and anticipating the rhymes – ‘clinging, ringing’, ‘behave, wave’, ‘learning, burning’, ‘crack, quack’ – gently swaying as it all washed over me. Then I realised there was a great big smile on my face, extending from ear to ear without effort, an irresistible reaction to the song and the atmosphere of the space. I was immersed in the mood of joy, and knew there and then it was a moment to cherish.

The rest of the show was great, and my wife and I left smiling, like everybody around us. The mood stayed with me for days, a feeling of having experienced something special, and that with nights like that it was natural to be happy.

It wasn’t permanent. Life rolled over it, with new irritations and frustrations, and like anybody I went through a procession of ups and downs in which my grump dog expression fell back into place. But that evening left me with one of life’s little gold nuggets, a memory that would always bring back a smile and remind me that, even when there are good reasons to growl, there are others to feel like the bell in the song.

And if I were a bell,

I’d go ding, dong, ding, dong, ding.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0I7PjNlQiY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6m-Q-zBmKuU

Image: Author's own

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