Source A: The pattern in the ropes

An original contemporary non-fiction-style practice text, written for this question.

I stood behind the blue line in the ringing room while eight ropes rose and fell above the circle of ringers. Nobody spoke. The leader raised one hand, and the bells began. A woman at the far end stepped backwards just before a rope swung past her shoulder.

By the second round, I had begun to see a pattern. The leader’s hand meant that the group was ready; a backward step meant that someone was making room. When the bells paused, I wrote both rules down. They seemed too clear to be coincidence.

A young ringer beside me glanced towards the door. The leader raised his hand. The young man did not move, and the bells started without him. I decided he had been distracted and that the leader’s gesture had not been meant for him. The explanation fitted neatly enough to leave my rules untouched.

Later, another ringer stepped backwards while everyone else stayed still. A rope passed close to her, although she was not in its path. I wondered if I had mistaken a habit for a rule. Then the leader lifted his hand again, and the group moved together. There it was, I thought: the signal that made the whole room work.

I had not been told what any gesture meant. Still, after watching the sequence several times, I felt sure I could read the room. The ringers might have called their movements something else, but I had seen enough to understand their system.

As I left, one of them asked whether I had enjoyed the practice. I said that the hand signals were fascinating. He looked towards the leader, then back at me. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, and returned to packing his coat. I took that as modesty. My notes already contained the rules.

Source B: The silent bids

An original contemporary non-fiction-style practice text, written for this question.

At the quayside auction, the buyers stood around the trays with their arms folded. The auctioneer called prices quickly, but no one shouted or raised a hand. From the edge of the group, I could see little more than faces and occasional movement.

I chose one buyer to watch. Whenever he touched the brim of his cap, the auctioneer looked towards him; twice, the price changed immediately afterwards. I wrote down the pattern, but not a rule. The third time the man touched his cap, the auctioneer continued speaking and the tray went to someone else.

For the next few sales, I watched the clerk as well as the buyers. She marked a number on a sheet after one woman gave a slight nod. Later, the same woman turned her head and the clerk wrote nothing. I could not tell whether the first movement had mattered or whether I had simply noticed it because I was looking for a signal.

I tried a small test. Before the next tray was sold, I predicted that a buyer near the wall would take it. He had leaned forward as the auctioneer named the price. The tray went to him. I made two more predictions; one was right and one was wrong.

By the time I left, I had correctly guessed the buyer of four trays out of seven. I had also failed to notice who bought two others. The figures felt more honest than my first impression that the room was silent and unreadable, but they did not tell me why any buyer had moved.

A visitor arriving as I packed my notebook asked whether a nod meant a bid. I could have said that it sometimes seemed to. Instead, I told her what I had observed and what I had not been able to establish. She went to ask the clerk. I was not sure whether my account was helpful, but it was the most accurate one I could give.