Bell ringing

Journies at home took me back to what was home. We fed the ducks who were as ravenous as they always used to be. I was struck by the fact that duck feeding is only enjoyable if you are a child. As a parent you imagine every throw will tip your child into cold dark water, while they enjoy the scramble of beaks and the fights; concentrating on the surface, while I fret about cloudy depths.
On through the church yard. The bells were ringing as I took this picture. A peal, unlike the angelus toll in France. I can hear the sound as I look at the photo - a particularly Cookham sound.
I dedicate this photo to Papa, Eddie Smyth, who wooed our grandmother in the belfry of this tower.