Our Mute Inglorious Door Bells!

Southland Times, Issue 22131, 27 September 1933, Page 9

Our Mute Inglorious Door Bells!

There were three-and-twenty houses built in London recently, replete with every modern convenience; These alluring little homes had attractive garden plots; cool, intriguing interiors and everything just as it should be, from chimney cowl to pussy cat bootscraper in the porch. Out of these three-and-twenty model tenements at least ten have doorbells which are at the moment “out of order!” You know the gadget. A small black disc, set in a circular or oval metal plate, plumb in the middle of the door. Something between a shoe button and the head of a collar stud. Something which responds to the pressure of your finger—when it is so disposed—with a harsh staccato burr-r-r like the grinding of motor brakes. The type is much more temperamental than the contraption you are requested to turn, which tinkles like a child’s musical box. One can never be certain whether the sound somes from a visitor or the tricycle of a roving ice-cream vendor. ' Of course there is the hanging iron pull, a more imposing object, with its suspicion of mediaeval romance, .at which you tug rather gingerly, straining your ears at the same time to ascertain whether you have done the trick.

The amount of irritation and uncertainty caused by our mute inglorious bells is stupendous. The truth is that the modern doorbell is a sorry affair. The bells of the past had character. Think of those massive creations of hand-wrought iron which dangled from the porches of our monasteries and manors. One could hear the sonorous peal reverberating from room to room, to be lost in the recesses of the interior. Then came the clanging of bolts and bars.

Georgian doorbells had character. Even the Victorian “pulls,” with their distinction between “Visitors” and “Servants,” were practical. Belgravia retains many a fine moulded specimen, which you can picture Jeames, with gloved mitt, drawing forth with due dignity, prior to performing a Hungarian Rhapsody on the brass knocker. Could any Jeames comfort himself with dignity before an electric button in need of recharging? It may be that our inhospitable bells are the outcome of increased house-to-house canvassing. Their object seems to be to discourage rather than welcome the outside world.

Don’t dare to ring me unless an answer is required. No hawkers. No circulars. No canvassers. Burr-r-r!