The Nine Tailors is a 1934 mystery novel by the British writer Dorothy L. Sayers, her ninth featuring Lord Peter Wimsey. It has been described as her finest literary achievement. I wonder if it really was her finest literary achievement, I've read many of her books and stories and have no idea which one is my favorite, this one is close though. It just about has to be my favorite since there are many things in it that would usually have me rolling my eyes and turning to the next page as fast as I can. But in The Nine Tailors these little annoying things make no difference. And what are these little things you may ask? Even if you aren't asking I'm going to tell you anyway, they are bells. Oh, that's what the title is too, bells:
The Nine Tailors of the book's title are taken from the old saying "Nine Tailors Make a Man", which Sayers quotes at the end of the novel. As explained by John Shand in his 1936 Spectator article The Bellringers' Art, "'Nine Tailors' means the nine strokes which at the beginning of the toll for the dead announce to the villagers that a man is dead. A woman's death is announced with 'Six Tailors'. Hence the old saying ... which might otherwise be construed as a slander on a worthy profession."
During this book everyone stops and listens when the bells rings, at a "not supposed to be ringing" time of day, it is ringing because someone has died and they count the strokes, first to hear whether it is a man or woman, then to hear how old the person who died was, one stroke for every year. That way they can usually figure out who it was who died. That got me thinking of people in my life who have died, my father for instance died when he was ninety-four. Just think of how long you would have had to stand outside on the street counting the strokes until you got to the final age of my father. If we do that around here I've never noticed it and I think I would notice a bell ringing ninety-four times.
There's lots of bell ringing for that reason in this book. First we have all the ringing for poor Lady Thorpe, then later her husband Lord Henry. Then there's the guy they find dead in the a grave that he has no business being in, it happens to be Lady Thorpe's grave. The dead guy, the one we don't know could be a recent visitor to the village by the name of Driver, who comes to town, gets a job, then just disappears, or it could be the Thorpe's old butler, Deacon, he and an accomplice from London, Cranton had both been convicted of stealing an emerald necklace even though the necklace has never been found. Deacon had escaped from prison, but died shortly afterwards by falling into a quarry, when his body was found two years later you couldn't tell who it was, but he was still wearing his prison clothes. Hmm, I wonder if he could possibly still be alive. Whether he is or not Cranton is and he is now out of prison, and where he is no one seems to know. Maybe they just got him out of Lady Thorpe's grave, no one can tell since his face has been so smashed in he can't be identified. Thank goodness Lord Peter is there.
The reason Lord Peter is there is because he managed to get it stuck in the snow just outside of town. And now Lord Peter Wimsey and his manservant Bunter are stranded in Fenchurch St. Paul, an interesting name for a town, until the car can be dug out of the snow bank and made to work again. And so they wind up staying with the parson, Mr. Venables and his wife. Mr. Venables just happens to know everything there is to know, or will ever be known about bells, and he shares his knowledge with all of us.
"And have you a good set of ringers?" inquired Wimsey, politely.
"Very good indeed. Excellent fellows and most enthusiastic. That reminds me. I was about to say that we have arranged to ring the New Year in to-night with no less," said the Rector, emphatically, "no less than fifteen thousand, eight hundred and forty Kent Treble Bob Majors. What do you think of that? Not bad, eh?"
"Bless my heart!" said Wimsey. "Fifteen thousand----"
"Eight hundred and forty," said the Rector.
Wimsey made a rapid calculation.
"A good many hours' work there."
"Nine hours," said the Rector, with relish.
"Well done, sir," said Wimsey. "Why, that's equal to the great performance of the College Youths in eighteen hundred and something."
"In 1868," agreed the Rector. "That is what we aim to emulate. And, what's more, but for the little help I can give, we shall be obliged to do as well as they did, and ring the whole peal with eight ringers only. We had hoped to have twelve, but unhappily, four of our best men have been laid low by this terrible influenza, and we can get no help from Fenchurch St. Stephen (which has a ring of bells, though not equal to ours) because there they have no Treble Bob ringers and confine themselves to Grandsire Triples."
See, didn't it astonish you to find that they were going to ring fifteen thousand, eight hundred and forty Kent Treble Bob Majors? Or that St. Stephen have no Treble Bob ringers only Grandsire Triples? See, it's stuff like that that would normally annoy me, but it's The Nine Taylors not much can annoy me in The Nine Taylors. Unfortunately for the poor Rector, just at this moment he receives a message that Will Thoday is too ill to help with the fifteen thousand thing, and he call's it "an irreparable disaster."
"Is this man one of your ringers, then, padre?"
"Unfortunately, he is, and there is no one now to take his place. Our grand scheme will have to be abandoned. Even if I were to take a bell myself, I could not possibly ring for nine hours. I am not getting younger, and besides, I have an Early Service at 8 o'clock, in addition to the New Year service which will not release me till after midnight. Ah, well! Man proposes and God disposes--unless"--the Rector turned suddenly and looked at his guest--"you were speaking just now with a good deal of feeling about Treble Bob--you are not, yourself, by any chance, a ringer?"
"Well," said Wimsey, "I used at one time to pull quite a pretty rope. But whether, at this time of day----"
"Treble Bob?" inquired the Rector, eagerly.
"Treble Bob, certainly. But it's some time since----"
"It will come back to you," cried the Rector, feverishly. "It will come back. Half an hour with the handbells----"
And it does come back to him and he does take his place at the Treble Bob, I guess, and he does ring it for nine hours. I wonder what the people trying to sleep thought of all this. And then Lord Peter's car is fixed and he and Bunter leave the village and their new friends behind them, and months go by until.....remember the wrong body in the wrong grave part?
And Lord Peter comes back and manages to figure out who it is in the grave, and what happened to Driver, and Deacon, and Cranton, and anyone else who happens to be missing that I may not be remembering at this time. He ever figures out what happened to that long missing necklace that caused all this trouble. It's good he came back to figure it all out, I don't think I ever would have. OK, now here are some of those things irritating I just have to let go by me without any trouble at all:
"The gentleman will do well enough," agreed Mr. Lavender. "Now, boys, once again. What 'ull we make it this time, sir?"
"Make it a 704," said the Rector, consulting his watch. "Call her in the middle with a double, before, wrong and home, and repeat."
"Tin-tin-tin," cried Gaude in her silvery treble; "tan-tan," answered Sabaoth; "din-din-din," "dan-dan-dan," said John and Jericho, climbing to their places; "bim, bam, bim, bam," Jubilee and Dimity followed; "bom," said Batty Thomas; and Tailor Paul, majestically lifting up her great bronze mouth, bellowed "bo, bo, bo," as the ropes hauled upon the wheels.
Tin tan din dan bim bam bom bo--tan tin din dan bam bim bo bom--tin tan dan din bim bam bom bo--tan tin dan din bam bim bo bom--tan dan tin bam din bo bim bom--every bell in her place striking tuneably, hunting up, hunting down, dodging, snapping, laying her blows behind, making her thirds and fourths, working down to lead the dance again.
A FULL PEAL OF GRANDSIRE TRIPLES
(Holt's Ten-Part Peal)
5,040
By the Part Ends
First Half Second Half
246375 257364
267453 276543
275634 264735
253746 243657
235476 234567
2nd the Observation. Call her: 1st Half) Out of the hunt, middle, in and out at 5, right, middle, wrong, right, middle and into the hunt (4 times repeated). 2nd Half) Out of the hunt, wrong, right, middle, wrong, right, in and out at 5, wrong and into the hunt (4 times repeated). The last call in each half is a single; Holt's Single must be used in ringing this peal.
The voice of the bells of Fenchurch St. Paul: Gaude, Gaudy, Domini in laude. Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth. John Cole made me, John Presbyter paid me, John Evangelist aid me. From Jericho to John a-Groate there is no bell can better my note. Jubilate Deo. Nunc Dimittis, Domine. Abbot Thomas set me here and bad me ring both loud and clear. Paul is my name, honour that same.
Gaude, Sabaoth, John, Jericho, Jubilee, Dimity, Batty Thomas and Tailor Paul.
Nine Tailors Make a Man.
I love this book, tin, tan, din, dan, and all. Happy reading.