My mother has a different relationship with them. At the age of 11 she was sent by her mother to live with her aunt in Wellington, Shropshire. This was so that she could attend Wellington High School, as her own mother had done; but she was terribly homesick, and after a year came back to Wales. In the meantime, the ringing of bells in the nearby church in Wellington became indissolubly linked in her mind with her own misery, and even now - more than 80 years later - she dislikes the sound.
In Romsey square this morning, it came home to me just how bloody loud they were. No one seems to mind; but a mosque calling the faithful at even a third of this volume would certainly bring complaints.
Click for the audio, and the noise/delightful music.