The Lowest Knot on the Bell Rope
There was once a small round harbour. At the end of its stone wall stood a lamp, and beside the lamp hung a big brass bell. On a big coil of rope by the wall, the harbour cat slept, as always. Every evening, when the sky went pink, Mo’s dad rang the bell to call the boats home.
Ding-dong, said the bell. Come home along.
Mo was small, and she knew the name of every boat. Ruby was the red one. Bluebell was the blue one. Tidy Jane was the one with the washing line still up, and Tidy Jane was never, ever tidy.
Every night Mo held Dad’s cap while he rang the bell.
But tonight, when Dad held out his cap, Mo put her hands behind her back.
“Tonight I want to ring the bell,” said Mo. “So the boats come home because of me.”
Dad looked at the bell rope. Mo looked at the bell rope. It hung down with knots all the way along it, like beads. The spare rope was wound up on a hook, out of reach. Dad only let it down when somebody new had a knot to tie.
“Every child who ever rang this bell tied a knot in the rope,” said Dad. He pointed very high. “That one’s mine.”
“It’s crooked,” said Mo.
“I was six,” said Dad. “My fingers were all thumbs.”
The lowest knot hung just above Mo’s head. She reached. She stretched. She stood on tiptoe. Her fingers did not even touch it.
“You can try,” said Dad, and he put his cap back on.
Down from the top of the lamp came Mrs. Gulp. She was the biggest gull in the harbour, and the loudest, and she wore a bottle top on a string.
“What’s the matter?” said Mrs. Gulp, as loud as a foghorn.
“I can’t reach the rope,” said Mo.
“Then sit on it,” said Mrs. Gulp. “Sitting fixes everything. I once sat on a picnic blanket all through a gale, and it never blew away. That’s how I got my medal.” She tapped her bottle top.
“Who gave it to you?” said Mo.
“I did,” said Mrs. Gulp. “I deserved it.”
Mo dragged over a fish crate and climbed on top. Now the lowest knot was right by her nose. She grabbed.
A breeze puffed in off the sea, and the rope swung away.
Mo grabbed again. Puff. Swing. She grabbed again. Puff. Swing.
“Leave this to me,” said Mrs. Gulp. She flapped up and tried to sit on the breeze. She came down on the wall with a bump.
“Breezes are very hard to sit on,” said Mrs. Gulp.
Mo climbed down. She jumped as high as a small girl can jump, and she caught the lowest knot with both hands.
She hung on, and she waited for the bell.
The bell said nothing at all.
Mo was too light. She only dangled there, with her boots in the air, and turned slowly round. She went past the lamp. She went past the sea. She went past Dad.
“Hello,” said Dad.
She went past the lamp, and the sea, and Dad again.
“Hello again,” said Dad.
“Aha!” said Mrs. Gulp. “Now I know what to sit on.”
She flapped up and landed on Mo’s shoulders. Plop. The bell gave a small wobble, but it did not ring.
The harbour cat was still asleep on the coil of rope. Now the cat opened one eye. The cat yawned, and stretched, and strolled over, and took hold of Mo’s boots with all four paws.
One small girl. One big gull. One fat cat.
Down went the rope.
DONG!
Ding-dong, said the bell. Come home along.
Mo let go, and down they all came in a feathery, furry, giggly heap.
“There,” said Mrs. Gulp. “Sitting. Works every time.”
Far out on the water, a red boat turned for home.
“One,” said Mo. “Ruby. Ding-dong, come home along.”
Then a blue boat turned.
“Two,” said Mo. “Bluebell. Ding-dong, come home along.”
Then came a boat with socks flapping on its washing line.
“Three,” said Mo. “Tidy Jane. Ding-dong, come home along. And take your socks in.”
Dad reached up and let the rope down from its hook, until the end lay in Mo’s hands.
“Your turn,” said Dad.
Mo tied a knot at the very bottom of the rope. She pulled it tight, the way Dad pulled the boats tight to the wall. It was the lowest knot the rope had ever had.
Then Dad wound the rope back up, until Mo’s knot hung just where a small hand could reach it.
“Now the next little one can ring the bell,” said Mo.
“Without a gull,” said Dad.
“Or a cat,” said Mo.
Mrs. Gulp took off her bottle top and hung it round Mo’s neck.
“You may wear my medal,” said Mrs. Gulp. “Just for tonight.”
Ruby tied up. Bluebell tied up. Last of all, Tidy Jane tied up, with the socks still flapping.
Mo sat down on the coil of rope, where the cat had been. Dad tucked his big coat all around her. The cat curled up by her feet. Mrs. Gulp sat on top of the lamp, because somebody had to sit on something.
The first star came out. The water went slap, slap against the wall.
Mo yawned. She looked up at the rope, with Dad’s crooked knot near the top and her own little knot at the bottom.
“Ding-dong,” said Mo, very softly. “Come home along.”
Every boat was in, and Mo had rung them home. She snuggled down in Dad’s coat, still wearing her medal, and fell fast asleep.