The bell that is known as the saints or vestry bell was given to the Church in 1801 by Humphrey Jackson, Esq., M.D., who lived for many years in White Hart-lane. This bell has upon it an ornamented cross on which are fleur-de-lis and on the upper part the inscription “Sit nomen Domine Benedictum I.H., Fecit, 1663,” together with two medals and an ornamental border. On the lower part there are other medals, on one of which is a representation of the Virgin and Child. This bell was the alarm bell to the garrison of Quebec, and was appropriated by some drunken sailors during the siege of that place by the force under General Townsend. It is believed there is a quantity of silver in its composition, which accounts for its melodious sound. In former years some poor pensioner was allowed to make a home in the room over the porch. The last was Betty Fleming. She kept a great many cats, and used to place saucers with milk for them all round the churchyard. She died in 1790, aged 100 years, having lived in that room forty years. A dog would not be permitted to enter a church now, but I remember when Charles Bradford (old blind Charlie as he was called) was led in by his dog, and it remained with him all the service, so quiet that no one would have known it was there. One Sunday evening in the summer of 1876 there was a terrific storm. All through the sermon it had been getting darker and darker, and when the last hymn was being sung the storm broke out in great fury, the last verse had to be omitted, and the Vicar gave the Benediction. The noise was deafening; the hailstones were immense; they smashed the Lanthorne light, and glass was flying in all directions. Outside the water was so deep that those who attempted to leave the church were obliged to come back. To add to the confusion one lady went into hysterics. Some one covered her with a waterproof so that she should not see the lightning. Fortunately I had a bottle of strong smelling salts with me, which I sent to her, and after a time she recovered. Everyone, I believe, was frightened; some were deadly pale, and it was a great relief to all of us when the storm abated. But many people had cause to remember it as it did so much damage, destroying the crops in the market gardens and smashing such quantities of glass. At one time the churchyard was sufficient, not only for Tottenham, but for Wood Green as well, and one could wander over the grass and amongst the graves. There were not any very curious epitaphs; one I thought very beautiful was on a stone erected to the memory of a pupil at Bruce Castle. It commenced, “Far from his native home the little Sulliot came.” On another was written, “Charlotte, we shall meet again.” The stone was erected by a man who lost his wife. But after a time his grief subsided, and he married again, whereupon he caused these words to be erased.