In a remote village in medieval France, there was a church with a tall bell tower, and they had a bell ringer who would ring the bell every Sunday to call the townsfolk to come to church.
However, their bell ringer was old, and one day, he died.
The church elders put out an ad in the local town crier for a new bell ringer. After interviewing many applicants, a man with no arms came and applied for the job. The elders asked him how he could ring the bell, since he had no arms to pull the rope. The man said "I'll show you!" and he went up to the top of the bell tower, ran three laps around the bell, and finally slammed face first into the bell.
Surprisingly, this didn't seem to hurt the man, and the bell sounded loud and clear, and it would certainly be a charitable act to employ this man who could do little else, so they hired him on the spot.
The armless man rang the bell faithfully for many months. Every Sunday, he would make his three laps around the bell and slam face first into the bell, calling the townsfolk to church.
But...
That winter, on a cold, icy Sunday, a patch of ice formed in the bell tower. The man climbed to the top of the bell tower, and made one lap around the bell... made two laps around the bell... but on his third lap he slipped on the patch of ice and fell out of the tower, plummeting to his death.
Two peasants, Fred and George, happened to be walking by at the time. They came across the body and Fred ponders, "This man looks somehow familiar, do we know him George?" George responds, "I don't know, but his face sure rings a bell!"
*evades tomatoes*
But wait, there's more!
The church, again without a bell ringer, puts out another ad in the local town crier. And surprisingly, another man with no arms applies for the job. The man demonstrates the same ability to ring the bell as the previous man, so the elders hired him, and advised him about the dangers of running in the bell tower in the winter.
This new man finished up the winter and spent a whole year faithfully doing his job ringing the bell every Sunday.
However, winter fell again, and the memory of the previous man had faded. Again, on a cold, icy, wintry Sunday, the man slips on a patch of ice, plummeting to his death.
As luck would have it, Fred and George happened to be strolling by at this very time and come across the body. Fred wonders, "George, do we know this man?" George answers, "I'm not sure, but he's a dead ringer for that guy we saw last year!"