Editorial

It is, as we had occasion to remark about this time last
year, a custom for the serfs of the B.B. to endeavour to produce a larger than
usual offering to mark what is known as the festive season.  The production of such a large version of the
club magazine is, of course, rather beyond our capabilities and readers will
not be surprised to find several “clangers” in this one.

The worst of these, for which we seriously apologize, is
that the margins on pages 12 and 13 are on the wrong side (corrected in this
version) and it is difficulty to read the words occurring inside of each
page.  This occurred because the
Christmas B.B. is typed all in pieces, from September onwards.  The fact that page 13 is not numbered is not
due to any form of superstition amongst the board, but merely an oversight.

We have, this year, made an attempt to avoid wasting space
in this Christmas B.B. and owing to popular demand (three people) we are not
printing an index of the year’s B.B.’s at the back.  Again, we are concentrating on the lighter
side but hope to include at least some serious articles.

On typing out the annual list of members, we noticed with
regret that once again a few well known names are no longer present.  As “Pongo” said at the A.G.M., the B.B. is
about the only link where many older members have with the club and we would
like to remind them that we are always pleased to receive articles, letters or
suggestions from them.

Finally, the Editor and all members of the Editorial Board
would like to wish all readers of the B.B.: –

“A VERY MERRY
CHRISTMAS”

Personal

Congratulations to Alan and Carol Sandall on the birth of a
son, John.  He was born at 9.45 pm on
Monday, 17th November and weighed 6lbs 2 oz.

Odd Items;

The next G.B. guest day is during the weekend 20/21st
December.  Please contract the Caving
Sec. Roy Bennett.

A TIMEX WATCH has been left in the Belfry.  Will owner please contact Hut Warden?

Balch Memorial Fund

We have been asked, as a result of the recent meeting of
caving organizations, at which the B.E.C. was represented, to circularise our
members asking for individual donations to the fund which has been set up to
provide a plaque to be erected on the Wells Museum.  This plaque will commemorate the work of the
late Mr H.E. Balch, the pioneer of caving on Mendip.  All clubs are contributing, but without
individual donations, the sum raised will not be adequate.  Donations should be sent to Hucker &
Booker, Chartered Accountants, Penniless Porch, Wells and cheque made payable
to the Balch Memorial Fund.

*****************************************

We are very pleased to be able to include the article which
follows in our Christmas B.B.  This is
the first account of the work in Swildons, which culminated in the discovery of
Swildons VI, to appear in any caving magazine. We should like to thank the author for allowing us to print this
account, and to congratulate all concerned for a very fine piece of successful
exploration.

Swildon’s  VI

By Len Dawes

Diving operations were held in Swildons on the weekends of
September 6/7 and 13/14 by the Cave Diving Group.  The first weekend was spent getting equipment
into Swildons IV.  This mammoth task was
completed by having a large number of Sherpas, divided into several
parties.  One party ferried the equipment
into Blue Pencil Passage, and this was chained down the passage into Swildons
IV and passed to divers who carried it upstream and tested it.  Besides the C.D.G., cavers from the W.S.G.,
B.E.C, S.M.C.C. and the

Wessex
took part.

On the following weekend, the diving party set off at 11.30
and arrived in Swildons IV two and a half hours later having travelled slowly
in exposure suits.  Then followed much
time spent in dressing and assembling the diving gear.  While doing this, the streamway could not be
trodden in as the stirring up of mud would reduce visibility when under the
water.  The diving party consisted of
Oliver Wells with John Buxton as second diver, supported by Eric Hensler, John
Bevan, Jack Whaddon, Phil Davies, and myself. The party walked down the streamway after changing, with the divers in
full kit except for weights.  At Sump IV,
the wire was belayed to a flake of rock by the sump, the signal line plugged
in, and the sump entered by Oliver Wells after his breathing drill had been
carried out.  He returned after one
minute to say that it was O.K., then re-dived the sump and disappeared.  After five minutes he returned to say that an
airspace existed and estimated the sump to be about forty feet long, judging by
the amount of line paid out.

The plan now was for John Buxton to put his equipment on and
for the pair to explore again.  This was
done, and after a short time, the telephone buzzer went and we had a brief
description of Swildons V.  They had got
to Buxton’s Horror (at which John Buxton punctured his dress).  As, by C.R.G. procedure, this had to be
repaired as soon as possible, they returned to Sump IV and asked for a repair
outfit to be put onto the wire.  This was
done, but they had no success in repairing the puncture, and John Buxton
decided to push on as he was.  They
returned to the phone and told us they intended to survey.  By tying a knot in the wire where the water
meets the roof and then pulling the wire through, the sump was measured.  All were surprised to find that the sump was
only fourteen feet.  The divers went on
with the survey while we were left to ponder on the length of the sump.  We agreed that a fourteen foot sump, provided
it had no hazards, was suitable for free diving.  No one, however, was anxious to try.  Eric Hensler said now was the time, while
divers were on the far side.

While the discussion went on, the two divers returned.  Oliver agreed that now was the time for a
free diver to have an attempt, and he would be happy to see anyone
through.  I was persuaded to attempt it.  Then a discussion arose as to the best way to
do it.  I had never attempted to dive a sump
in an inflatable exposure suit and I was reluctant to try Sump IV in one.  John Buxton assured me that I would be O.K.
if I used diver’s weights which were available. Having agreed this would be the method, I was seized by the others,
pushed into the first deep pool upstream, and sat on while they rubbed and
poked at my arms and legs under the pretext of getting the air out of my
exposure suit.  I was then taken
downstream to Sump IV again, loaded with diver’s weights, and further pummelled
to ensure the last remaining air was removed from my suit.  I then laid in the sump practising forced
breathing.  There is little danger of
overdoing this in Swildons IV owing to the oxygen deficiency in this part of
the cave.  With a final large gulp of air
I put my head under the water and pulled on the wire.  I went through the sump without difficulty
and surfaced in a small airspace to find Oliver waiting about five feet further
down the passage.  Oliver removed his
breathing apparatus and we set off. Oliver showed me round Swildons V.

Immediately after Sump IV, the passage opens up to be narrow
but high, with a tributary coming in through the roof.  Immediately beyond this point, the roof comes
down to form a duck with about three inches of airspace.  The passage continues beyond with about,
three to four feet of water and twelve to eighteen inches of air.  Then comes the second duck, Buxton’s
Horror.  This is the place where there
appears to be two distinct routes.  In
actual fact, the correct one is the one that has the smallest airspace.  This duck is particularly nasty as the
airspace does not extend for the full width of the passage, being triangular,
about four inches wide at the water surface and three inches high at the top of
the triangle.  The passage at this point
is of unknown width and it is possible to miss the airspace on the other side
altogether.  This may happen on either
the outward or return journey.  The
passage continued wet, murky, until another tributary comes in via twin
avens.  The avens are too tight to
enter.  Directly beyond this, sump V
starts.  There is a duck immediately
before Sump V which varies in length.  On
this first trip, the duck was thirty feet with an airspace of two to three
inches.  On the second (later) trip, this
airspace disappeared entirely.

We then returned to Swildons IV and had hot drinks made by
Chris Hawkes who had set up a kitchen. The divers took their kit off and packed it up.  It was then handed to the Tiger Sherpas who
had carried it into Swildons IV.  We got out
of the cave at 3 am.

As a result of this operation, it was decided to hold a
second one on the 8th of November.  This
time, divers would use a miniature breathing apparatus, the purpose of this
being to ascertain that Sump IV was safe for free diving by cavers; to explore
the tributaries coming into the newly entered part of the cave and for the
divers to push on and explore Sump V and beyond.  The sherpas set off about 10 am carrying the
equipment and the diving party set off about 1.30.  We all got down to Swildons IV and set off
into Swildons V.  Derek Ford and Joe
Candy started a detailed survey of Swildons V. Ken Daw, Mike Thompson and myself set off to explore the first tributary,
just after Sump IV.  We hadn’t enough
maypole to get in.  We then set off
downstream through the ducks to the point where the twin avens come in.  We found that they were too tight.  Then Oliver Wells donned his apparatus,
belayed his wire, and dived into sump V and unknown ground.

Every so often there was a single buzz from the earphone at
our end – a signal that all was well. After a time Oliver spoke into the earpiece and told us that he had come
through an eighty foot sump and was standing in Swildons VI!  He elatedly described this as huge – high,
wide and handsome – a stream passage twenty feet high and ten feet wide with
the stream flowing downhill over pebbles and boulders.  Oliver said that he thought he could lower
the sump to a negotiable duck by digging a channel in the streamway .  we sent an entrenching tool to him on the
wire.  He said that he would dig the
channel and then we could all join him in Swildons VI and asked us to tell
Oliver Lloyd, who had set up a kitchen in Swildons IV, that the rest of the
party would be back in about an hour. Mike Thompson and I set; off back to do this, leaving Ken Daw and Phil
Davies.  Mike and I went through the
first duck on the wav out without trouble. Then we reached Buxton’s Horror. Then followed the most unpleasant experience I have ever had in a
cave.  I attempted to dive through this
duck, sumping fashion, expecting to reach the airspace about four feet on.  I travelled about five feet under water and
still hadn’t reached the airspace.  I
then tried reversing back to the place I’d started from.  After reversing for five feet, I still hadn’t
cone into an airspace.  This left me no
choice except to do a series of reverses, hoping to find one side or the other,
during the course of which, Mike Thompson grabbed one of my feet, as I was on
my last gasp of air, and dragged me back into the airspace I had started
from.  After that, we went back towards
Sump V, as we thought that the water might have risen and we would need Oliver
and his diving apparatus.

In the meantime, Oliver had had no success in lowering the
level of the water.  Phil Davies was
supposed to go through and join him, but he was unable to do so as he was out
of gas on one cylinder.  Oliver then
returned and we all set off out of the cave. This time, we had no difficulty in
getting through Buxton’s Horror and Oliver lead with his breathing apparatus,
showing us the way by his light.  We
returned to Swildons IV, and after bread and cheese and hot drinks provided by
Oliver Lloyd, we laboriously set off to the surface, arriving there at 3 am.

In conclusion, it should be said that Swildons V is a dreary
dismal, unpleasant place and is extremely dangerous to anyone not aware of its
hazards.  Sump IV can be free dived by
really experienced, competent cavers with no qualms about diving sumps.  Surfacing in the immediate airspace beyond
the sump is extremely difficult.  It was
found that most people carried, straight on the extra five feet and surfaced in
the chamber beyond – taking twenty feet in all. There is a tendency for projections of rock to catch on the clothing as
you go through, but there is plenty of room to move about through the
sump.  Swildons V should not be entered
if there is any chance at all of the water level rising.

It is intended to hold the next operation early in the New
Year, probably at the end of January and an attempt will be made by divers
going through to Swildons VI, to lower the water level right through Swildons
V.  For this operation, lots of
assistants will be needed and all experienced and fit volunteers will be
welcome.

Annual List of Club Member’s’ Names and Addresses for 1958

306	T Andrews	135 Danson Road, Bexley, Kent
412	T.O. Asquith	70 Albert Road, Pellon, Halifax
236	T. Attwood	4 Bridge Road, Shortwood, Nr. Mangotsfield, Bristol
20	R.J. Bagshaw	699 Wells Road, Knowle, Bristol 4
392	M.J. Baker	Morello, Ash Lane, Wells, Somerset
358	D.J. Balcombe	26 Bennett gardens, Norbury, London SW16
368	N. Barrington	53 St. George’s Drive, London SW1
290	R. Bater	2 Upper Perry Hill, Southville, Bristol 3
214	R. Bennett	37 Queens Road, Ashley Down, Bristol 7
390	J. Bennett	37 Queens Road, Ashley Down, Bristol 7
370	W.L. Beynon	Lower Lodge, Weston Park Road, Weston park, Bath, Somerset
364	P.M. Blogg	1 Ridgeway Park, Ridgeway, Glos
336	A. Bonner	45 St. Alban’s Road, Westbury Park, Bristol 6
401	Miss J. Boot	17 Beaufort Road, Clifton, Bristol 7
145	Miss S. Bowden-Lyle	51 Coronation Road, Bristol 3
36	R. Brain	4 Lees Hill, Kingswood, Bristol
320	F.R. Brown	13 Alexandra Road, Bath, Somerset
393	R.G. Brown	45 Blundell’s Road, Tilehurst, Reading, Berkshire
384	R.D. Brown	3 George Street, Taunton, Somerset
320	N Brooks	392 Victoria Road, Ruislip, Middlesex.
209	P. Burt	3 Manor House, Rothamsted, Harpendon, Herts
190	Mrs P. Burt	3 Manor House, Rothamsted, Harpendon, Herts
389	R. Burky	52 Sedgemore Road, Combe Down, Bath, Somerset
361	B. Busson	57 Southcote Rise, Ruislip, Middlesex
366	B.R. Chamberlain	102 Egerton Road, Bishopston, Bristol 7
231	N.D. Clark	3 St. John’s Crescent, Wainfelin, Ponytpool, Mon.
398	A.C. Coase	18 Headington Road, London SW18
211	Mrs C. Coase	P.O. Box 1510,m Ndola, Northern Rhodesia
89	S.J. Collins	33 Richmond Terrace, Clifton, Bristol 8
395	Cochrane	23368196 L/Cpl, Gordon Barracks, Bulford, Wiltshire
377	D. Cooke-Yarborough.	The Beeches, St. Briavels, Lydney, Glos
71	A.J. Crawford	3 Hillside, Harefield, Uxbridge, Middlesex
401	M. Cunningham	103 Staplegrove Road, Taunton, Somerset
405	F.G. Darbon	43 Arthur Henderson House, Fulham Road, Fulham, London, S.W.6
350	Mrs A. Davies	New Bungalow, Hancot Lane, Pentre, Queensferry, Flintshire
226	I. Dear	76 Reforne, Portland, Dorset
164	K.C. Dobbs	85 Fox Road, Pinhoe, Exeter, Devon
325	A.J. Dunn	70 The Crescent, Henleze, Bristol
331	J.A. Etough	116 Newbridge Road, Brislington, Bristol
322	B.M. Ellis	Oakmead, Cher, Minehaed, Somerset
263	D. England	28 Mendip Road, Bedminster, Bristol 3
232	C. Falshaw	50 Rockside Drive, Henleaze, Bristol
371	A. Fincham	Leeds University Union, Leeds 2
269	T.E. Fletcher	The Old Mill House, Barnack, Stamford, Lincs
278	G.A. Fowler	77 Kingshill Road, Knowle, Bristol 4
385	R. Francis	91a Oxford Gardens, Kensington, London SW10
404	A. Francis	53 St. Thomas Street, Wells, Somerset
251	K.S. Gardner	10a Royal Park, Clifton, Bristol 8
388	J. Goodwin	11 Glanarm Walk, Brislington, Bristol 4
434	D.A. Greenwood	53 Lingwood Road, Clapton, London E5
346	G.H. Griffiths	164 St. Johns Lane, Bristol 3
239	D. Gwinnel
104	M. Hannam	15 The paragon, Clifton, Bristol 8
304	C.W. Harris	14 Market Place, Wells, Somerset
400	R. Hartley	19 Cowper Road, Redland, Bristol 6
4	D. Hassell	‘Hill House’, Moorlynch, Bridgwater, Somerset
372	M.J. Healey	24 Water Lane, Brislington, Bristol 4
373	S.M. Hobbs	135 Doncaster Road, Southmead, Bristol
387	G. Honey	Giddings Caravan Site, Hemingford Grey, Huntingdon
406	D. Hoskyns	128 Woodland Gardens, Isleworth, Middlesex
97	J. Ifold	Leigh House, Nempnett, Chew Stoke, Somerset.
150	P. Ifold	Sunnyside, Rectory Lane, Compton Martin, Somerset
363	M. Isles	33 Greenleaze, Knowle Park, Bristol 4
374	J.J. Jacobs	126 Bridge Lane, Golders Green, London NW11
279	J. Jenkins	251 Bishopsworth Road, Bedminster Down, Bristol 3
340	R.L. Jenkins	5 North Street, Downend, Bristol
225	M. Jones	389 Filton Avenue, Horfield, Bristol 7
267	Mrs M. Jones	389 Filton Avenue, Horfield, Bristol 7
285	U. Jones	3 Durham Street, Eslwich Road, Newcastle-on- Tyne.
289	D. Kemp	17 Becmead Avenue, Streatham, SW16
316	R.S. King	1 Lynmouth Road, Bristol 2
332	D.J. Lacy	31 Devon Grove, Whitehall, Bristol 5
260	J. Lamb	365 Filton Avenue, Horfield, Bristol 7
275	C.A. Marriott	718 Muller Road, Eastville, Bristol 5
414	T. Marston	54 Pear Street, Kingston, Halifax, Yorkshire
106	E.J. Mason	11 Kendon Drive Wellington Hill West, Westbury-on-Trym, Bristol
383	P.J. Miller	130 Longmead Avenue, Bishopston, Bristol 7
334	D.W. Mitchell	Swallow Cliffe, Stolford, Stogursey, Somerset
339	G. Mossman	5 Arlington Gardens, Arlington Villas, Clifton, Bristol 8
308	K. Murray	17 Harrington Gardens, South Kensington, London, S.W.7
386	A. Nash	60 Marmion Crescent, Henbury, Bristol
329	T.W. Neil	Bradley Cross, Cheddar, Somerset
330	Mrs T.W. Neil	Bradley Cross, Cheddar, Somerset
362	F. Nicholson	23526190, E Troop, Le Cateau Field battery, 25 Fd. Reg. R.A.  B.F.P.O. 53
396	M.A. Palmer	Cathedral Coffee Tavern, St. Thomas Street, Wells, Somerset
245	J.S. Pembury	Grove View, Hambrook, Bristol
327	J. Pengram	4 Moffats Lane, Brookman’s Park, Hatfield, Herts
22	L. Peters	21 Melbury Road, Knowle, Bristol 4
160	N. Petty	12 Bankside Road, Brislington, Bristol
146	T. Pink	53 Burnthwaite Road, Fulham, London SW6
56	G. Platten	‘Rutherfield’, Fernhill Lane, New Milton, Hants.
337	B. Prewer	14 Egerton Road, Bath, Somerset
342	R.J. Price	70 Somermead, Bedminster, Bristol 3
291	D. Radmore	2 Dunkeld Road, Filton, Bristol
258	C. Rees	2 Burghill Road, Westbury-on-Trym, Bristol
241	A.L.C. Rice	20 Filton Avenue, Horfield, Bristol
391	P.A. Richards	164 Eastcote Road, Ruislip, Middlesex
343	A. Rich	Frontier Geophysical, Party 8, 207, 61st Avenue, Calgary, Alberta, Canada
411	K. Robbins	82 Eaton Valley Road, Luton, Beds
157	Miss J.P. Rollason	157 Pen Park Road, Redland, Bristol 6
367	J. Rowley	52 Granby Hill, Clifton, Bristol 8
240	A. Sandall	35 Beauchamp Road, Bishopston, Bristol 7.
359	Mrs. A. Sandall	35 Beauchamp Road, Bishopston, Bristol 7.
237	B.M. Scott	39 Colbrook Avenue, Hayes, Middlesex
78	R. Setterington	4 Galmington Lane, Taunton, Somerset
356	Mrs R. Setterington	4 Galmington Lane, Taunton, Somerset
312	R. Setterington	86 Grand Drive, Raynes Park London SW20
	A. Sidaw	143 Love Lane, Heaton Norris, Stockport, Cheshire
402	D.G. Soutar	12 Loring Road, Isleworth, Middlesex
276	J. Stafford	91 Hawthorne Street, Knowle, Bristol 4
38	Mrs. I. Stanbury	74, Redcatch Road, Knowle, Bristol. 4.
1	T.H. Stanbury	48 Novers Park Road, Knowle, Bristol 4
365	R. Stenner	38 Paultow Road, Victoria Park, Bristol 4
381	Mrs. Stenner	New address to follow
60	P.A.E. Stewart	New address to follow

WE APOLOGISE to members whose names start with ‘T’ or ‘W’
for not having room to squeeze them in. They will appear in January’s B.B. along with any corrections which
members send in to the above list. Please tell us if we have got YOUR address wrong as this is the one to
which your B.B. is sent.

Beerwulf

Last year, at great expense, we printed some extracts of the
works of the great Persian Poet, Omar Obbs. Although we have not been able to repeat this feat, we have, at even
greater expense, translated from the crude Anglo-Saxon a portion of the great
drinking saga: –

‘Mongst the high hills, neath the
low clouds there the Belfry stands.
‘Tis a mead hall and a haven home of goodly bands.
Hearth companions, stout screech drinkers their weekends are free.
Long they wassail, loud they revel wights like you and me.

The Detailer’s our outhouse stout call it Odin’s seat
For he is the god of wisdom thus the title’s meet
Round about its sacred precincts spaewife casts the runes
Syb’s been at this pagan practice many weary moons.

An air of evil haunts the hall a subtle sense of slaughter
But tremble not, ‘tis caused not doubt by body in the water
Of dragon death to take no heed of him we have no fear
We’ll stand upon our man made strand and stave off thirst with beer.

The fire flames flickers neath the roof the ale bowl pours its streams
The hall doth quiver with glad sounds of song beneath its beams
A skilful scald sings, harp accomp’nied ballads new and old
And tales of battle, tales of drinking from each bench are told.

Bold built top the hill a sign of tribes gone long
Perchance in those dim distant days they too would sing a song.
As round their halls and o’r their huts the brisk breeze bravely blew
And storm wracked clouds and wind torn mists like wandering spirits flew.

The nights draw in and winter comes they drink the Bragi beaker
And boastful oaths and manly vows are sworn by many a speaker.
To brave the trolls in caverns dark to force a narrow squeeze,
Or swim the pool neath mellow noon while wandering watchers freeze.

There’s a hall across the valley Shepton is the name
Neath its roof and under shelter stands the tea-boy thane.
It is strong built, it is stone built they’ve no linden wall,
In the evening, back from Hunter’s shepherd Ken will crawl.
 
Within the hours allowed by tyrants fated feeble few.
At friendly bar they all forgather quaffing cheering brew.
They attack the cup and mead horn noble sights to see.
Like old Thor who drank an ocean they all fain would be.

Wass Habl

The Compleat Hut Warden

(with apologies to Isaak Walton, Stephen Potter and all
readers.)

Important
Note:  The following article is pure
fiction and any resemblance to any person, either living of half-dead, or to
any actions of such persons, is purely co-incidental.

There is more to Hut Wardening than at first meets the eye,
and either for the benefit of any who may be thinking of taking it up either
for the good of their health or their pocket, the only two specimens of Hut
Wardeni who are normally resident on Mendip have put pens to paper to provide
an introductory bit of gen. on the subject and to show some of the things that
go on behind the scenes.  There follows
thirteen points of interest (we hope!) on Hut Wardmanship.  This is, in the main, an extension of the principle
of one-upmanship.

1. Correspondence.  It is inevitable that some of the members of
the club will be able to read and write. This means that sooner or later they will write to book bunks for their
bodies – which is all very tiresome of them. It is also very probable that they will try to be clever by asking for
instance, for a bunk “facing the sea”.  You have several ways to be one up here.  Write back pointing out that we live on an
island and, therefore all bunks face the sea; have some replies ready for such
an occasion such as “we have only bunks facing the engine left”, or
if caught with no reply, resort to one –downmanship and heave the thing into
the waste paper basket.

Letters which commence with a greeting such as “Dear
fellow felon” should be searched for money and then thrown away.  Practice a convincing denial of ever having
received the letter throwing in a few remarks about the carelessness of the
Post Office.

Another type of letter is from a conscientious Secretary and
Treasurer suggesting a financial statement. Such letters are bound to arrive as no decent club will tolerate more
than one rogue on its committee, and you will be too busy organising the hut to
your own advantage to have remembered to send cash to the treasurer.

2. Rules and
Regulations.  Every Hut must have
a number of rules because if they exist, people will break them and this gives
the Hut Warden a chance to be one generally. When such rules are drawn up it is imperative to have two things
included.  These are that, while the Hut
Warden’s decision may not be right or fair, it is final., and if there is any
rule that you may wish to break at some time or other, get the words “or
at the Hut Wardens discretion” added.

3. Tidiness.  This is a very sore point for all concerned,
and a very difficult subject in which to be one up.  The situation is made easier if the Hut
warden is bigger and uglier than the largest other member.  Failing this, a system of fines can be
employed, although this brings us slap up against the difficulty of extracting
payment (see section 9).  In extreme
cases, the Hut Warden can resort to a ploy in Hogmanship (all right – live like
pigs if you want to!) or one-downmanship, in which case he does all the work
himself.

4. ??????????  & 5. ????????????  At a recent meeting of the “Hut Wardens’
Restrictive Practices and Closed Shop Council”, it was decided that these two
items came under the Official Secrets Act and that it would be in the public
interest to disclose them.  The have
accordingly been removed.

6. Book Keeping.  Although this is your trump card in
one-upmanship, the answer is extremely simple. All that is required is a very large book full of impressive figures,
and a book keeping system that it is impossible for any one else to
follow.  The system must be such that
even when the Treasurer doubts your word (as he will if he has any common
sense) then you can with an easy heart present him with the book saying
“check them for yourself if you like!”  It is highly desirable to use an unusual ink
so that if any clever person alters your figures to the correct ones, you can
spot this error immediately.

7. Unwanted
Visitors.  People who are polite
enough to write are easily dealt with by a polite reply pointing out that you
are fully booked.  If they just turn up,
a sound ploy is to have a list in readiness showing that all bunks are booked
by extremely large and aggressive types who are the moment in some pub drinking
fluids which will render them even more large and aggressive on their return.

8.  Entry to Premises.  Presumably there will be a lock on the door
of the Headquarters stolen from some somewhere or other and you can either give
all members a key, or keep the only one yourself.  The former is the better ploy as the latter
tends to make members feel that they are not wanted (their money is – by you!)
and leads to illegal entry.

9.  Collection of Hut Fees.  The intending Hut Warden should first
practice by squeezing small stones until he can wring out a decent quantity of
blood every time.  He is then nearly
ready for the job!  The collection of Hut
Fees gives many opportunities for the one-upmanship so essential for the
job.  One method successfully employed is
to get up first and extract money from each member as he wakes and is too
sleepy to realise the dirty trick you are playing.  In extreme cases, the money may be extracted
from the victim before he wakes up.

10. Visitations by
Custodians of the Law.  If the
Custodian is a member of the club, perhaps he can be bribed by persuading him
to buy you a pint of beer.  If not, then
mention words like faulty exhaust system, three on a bike etc.  Should you be caught red handed by a strange
Custodian, offer him a cup of tea (all decent clubs always have a pot on the
go) or take him outside and show him two pounds of carbide “stored in a metal
vessel or vessels, hermetically closed” and ask him if they are all right
within the wording of the Statutory Rules and Orders (1929) No. 992.  While this is going on, an accomplice removes
all signs etc.  If still caught out, tell
him they were bought at a jumble sale.

11. Advertising or
Blowing your own Trumpet.  This
is found to be necessary, since it is essential to convince one and all that,
under your regime the affairs of the club would, but for your skill at book
keeping, have prospered.  Large graphs
should be drawn, showing impressive progress each year.  These need bear no relation to the real
figures.  You may wish to attract more
people to your ho(t or v)el and this can be done by planting posters in rival
establishments stating that you have running water (¼ mile up the road) that
your premises are snow and frost proof, that every bunk has a view (of every
ether bunk) and bracing fresh air, draughts, etc.

12. Provision of
Warmth.  This is a debatable
question, because if you provide too good a fire, you will not be able to get
rid of parasites from other huts when the pubs have closed, also if no heating
is provided, more work is done as people have to keep warm somehow.

13. Baker’s Dozen.  An unlucky number, an:~ the number of pennies
in a shilling when the Hut warden is collecting the cash.

Finally, remember that Hut Wardenmanship is a profession,
and while not the oldest, is perhaps the most rewarding!

B.M. Ellis, Hut Warden,
S.M.C.C.
S.J. Collins, Hut warden B.E.C.

The Great Gully of Craig-Yr-Isfa

Then there was the time when the two Johns, Attwood and
Stafford, Russell Jenkins and I, made our way to
Craig-Yr-Isfa.  Our intention was to try
the Great Gully on that crag.  The day
was fair, we had an extensive spell (two days) of dry weather, which meant the
gully would be in good condition, and we felt fit.

My appetite had been whetted for this particular climb some
years ago, when I first visited Craig-Yr-Isfa. The firm rock and enjoyable situations I had found on the Craig’s
classis Amphitheatre Buttress and Pinnacle Wall, together with enthusiastic
accounts of the climb in several books, led me to believe the Great Gully had
something special to offer.  It has
certainly had a colourful history since it was first climbed by Archer Thompson
in 1900, bad weather and short days conspiring to trap even experienced parties
between its walls.  Now I was to see for
myself.

Reluctantly we turned from the warm, bright May sun to the
damp shadows of the Gully.  Only hard
talking and sly salesmanship had persuaded the others from the delights of an
open climb on rough, warm rock, and as they viewed the Gully, I thought my
efforts had been for nothing. Fortunately the thought of grinding back round the scree seemed worse
than continuing, and so we started.

Russell and I were on one rope and
Stafford
and Attwood on another.  The first few
pitches scarcely needed a rope.  We
scrambled up until we came to the “Door Jamb” which is a large
chockstone, normally surmounted by climbing deep snow.  In summer the usual way on is a steep groove
to the right, and then back into the Gully. The Gully continued looking like seaweed strewn rocks at low tide.  At this section a more pleasant, and
certainly more dry alternative is up a chimney running parallel with the Gully
for forty feet.  We found the chimney wet
in its upper part but at least the rock was clean.

Above the chimney the gulley floor rose, steeply and
roughly, until eighty feet or so on, it levelled and abutted against the dark,
slimy rear wall.  On either side dank,
dripping, green, moss-covered, overhanging walls presented a dismal picture and
we were wrapped in gloom.  Russell looked
at it, and without further consideration gave a quick précis of his thoughts –
“No!” he said.  I felt inclined to
agree, but experience has taught that things are often not what they seem, and
many a seemingly impassable place has relented and revealed how it may be
overcome if approached boldly.  (An
invaluable guide in this sort of situation is a loquacious guide book!).  My first move after rejecting Russell’s
implied suggestion, was to walk into the fissure and to examine it with the
guide book in mind.

The Chimney, 45 feet. This impressive pitch is climbed back and foot facing right, or by
bridging.  The walls are set at the
maximum distance for these techniques to be possible.

Very Cheering!  The
lower part of the chimney was too wide for me, but twenty feet or so higher,
the gap was narrower.  This led me to
examine a second possibility.

A short man may have to climb the crack.  The crack in the right wall is still probably
harder than the original, or not, according to technique.

I felt I was probably long enough in the leg to employ the
bridging technique, and I hoped to be able to because the crack, presented as
an alternative, looked hard.  At the crit¬ical
part it was vertical and shallow, and although fairly clean, it was running
with water.

At this stage,
Stafford and
Attwood joined me.  Russell had wasted no
time and had retreated back down the gully, where he had used a break in the
gully wall to climb out. 
Stafford shared our distaste of the green slime, but
loyally voiced a true second’s opinion that perhaps we could “just look at
it”.  A.F. Mummery in “My
climbs in the Alps and the
Caucasus”
tells a very revealing story about seconding. He was making a first ascent of the Auguille Verte by the Charpoua
Glacier, with his guide Burgener (and his bottles of bouvier) and tackling a
difficult section:-

 “I paid out my rope
whilst Burgener traversed to the left in part along some slabby rocks, and in
part on the upper edges of a more or less treacherous crust of ice abutting on
them.  Eventually, we both had to be on
the traverse together Burgener succeeded in hitching his rope over a big
splinter above us.  As this operation
seemed to afford him great pleasure, I thought it would be most cruel to
object, though, as the splinter wobbled most ominously with the slightest
pressure, I prudently unhitched the rope before venturing below it.”

Perfect seconding!

Stafford quietly took over
the rope arrangements, and Attwood settled himself to view the
proceedings.  I tentatively tried to
bridge the lower part, but quickly abandoned this in favour of climbing the
crack until it narrowed.  I tried
bridging again and found it easier here until I worked up underneath a large
chockstone.  The hard work lay
ahead.  The walls continued at the same
width, but were more or less holdless for about ten feet, after which one may
balance across to a platform on the right wall. It seemed possible to use the crack to some extent with my feet, but the
left hand wall, against which my back had to go, was smooth with damp moss. I
retreated a few feet and placed a running belay in position below the
chockstone.

Returning to the next stage, by stretching across the gap
supported by my back and boots, and by pushing down with my hands and then
wedging with my boots, I gained a few inches at a time.  Occasionally holds on the back wall were
used.  Much struggling and then pauses to
gasp air raised me to a point, where only a few feet to go, these methods no
longer worked.  I gradually realised
that, despite great exertion, no progress was being made.  Wedged firmly across the gap, with the two
Johnnies looking very small immediately below, my hands were sliding off the
slippery wall as I pushed down on them, and not having a great deal of energy
left, I thought again.  Brute force and
the other thing were ineffective here, so I tried taking things more gently.

My back and feet were jammed well, so I folded my hands in
front of me and started wriggling my shoulder blades.

It worked!  Very soon
my small back movements and then moving my feet up to keep me jammed, I had
gained enough height to enable me to strain forward and reach a hold on the
platform.  Balancing very delicately across,
because there is a tendency to swing sideways and render the handhold
ineffect¬ive, I slid my leg onto the platform. This left me with enough breath to exchange insults with
Stafford.

About twenty to thirty feet of more orthodox climbing led to
a large stance where the others joined me, though not without some delay,
because my arms had not fully recovered and the rope felt amazingly heavy as I
pulled it in.

A short rest did us good, but the sunshine called.

Some scrambling, a short stiff chimney, and then we could
see far above our heads what must be the last vast chockstone.  At first glance it looked completely
unapproachable. 
Stafford’s
blood was up, he approved of what promised to be a most interesting struggle,
so he and I went on up the gully, while Russell and Attwood climbed a less
intimidating variation.

A shoulder landed
Stafford
above a short undercut chimney.  I
followed and then we were able to examine the Great Cave Pitch.  It was most unexpected.  A short scramble leads one to a floor which
is surprisingly near the outer chockstone. Only a move of ten feet and then a short traverse is necessary to reach
it.  We could see two possibilities, but
neither seemed to tie up with what Archer Thompson had to say about his method
of climbing onto the large chockstone jammed low above ones head.

By utilizing a small foothold on the right wall, the climber
effects a lodgement on it, and then reaches its sharp upper edge by a struggle,
in which he comes near to defying all the laws of anatomy.  A novel expedient is to lay the palm of the
left and on the block, and using the arm as a pivot, perform a pirouette to the
south; the climber thus lands in a sitting posture, with one leg thrust upwards
to the roof to maintain equilibrium, any Gallio, however, will complacently
demand a shoulder.

I buzzed happily and determinedly here and there, effecting
lodgements in all the most likely places. None, however, scorned to demand the contortions described.  Meanwhile
Stafford,
who had wandered off into the darkness behind the low chockstone, called out
that I could stop jumping around in that peculiar manner as he had found the
place.  Confidently I effected the
required lodgement – and found no further holds. 
Stafford
tried next, and because he doesn’t care, launched himself at the
chockstone.  To our delight he landed on
his neck at my feet.  It was then I
complacently demanded a shoulder.  The struggle
was short and
Stafford soon joined me.  The small ledge leading to the chockstone,
twenty five feet horizontally, proved interesting but straightforward.

We emerged from the half light of the

Great
Cave
into the welcome sunshine on top of the outer chockstone.  As our eyes became accustomed to the stronger
light, they revealed that our situation was superb.  The chockstone is so placed that the gully
drops away from it, so that one may see most of it from top to bottom looking
almost vertically down for seven or eight hundred feet.  Behind us, nothing but scrambling between low
walls and almost horizontally to the finish.

Feeling good inside, and pleasantly tired, with the long
sporting climb behind us, and the prospect of a sunny walk with extensive views
in front of us, we coiled the rope.  As
we contentedly moved towards our friends lying in the sun, it was as though
behind us lay another, newer, friend.  A
good climb.

R.S. King.

Lady Chatterbox’s Cover

By Ann Gardner

A hundred and fifty years ago,

Clifton was the home of the elite.  Ladies and gentlemen walked the terraces high
above the
Avon.  Slowly the standard declined, until of recent
years it has risen sharply by the influx of new blue blood, as the village has
again found favour with the elite of the 20th century.  Yes? 

Clifton means the B.E.C.,
and naturally, their homes are amongst the best in the district.  A team of experts have been very recently,
and, needless to say, without informing the owners beforehand, conducting an
inspection and tour of these stately homes of the B.E.C.

Monday the 26th August, 1958 saw Mr & Mrs Y.B.

Gardner arriving at the
residence of Mr S. J. Collins, who has within the past few weeks, by devious
means, provided himself with an apartment in a Georgian house of great
character.  Although the neighbours and
occupants of the same building state that they have never seen the gentleman in
question, it can be definitely stated that he does sleep there, amongst other
places of course.  The lounge of this
palatial residence is large and exceptionally high ceilinged, the fireplace is
a magnificent wooden affair with cut out hearts and pillars in a type of
mahogany.  The carvings were brought to
my attention by Miss J. Rollason, together with several comments of a dubious
nature.  The copper whatnot over the
actual hole where the smoke goes up, and it is to be presumed out, has a beaten
bas-relief of either two tulips with drooping leaves or two stylised cats with
toothache as opposed to cats on rooftops. The whole is set off by two smears or dribbles of green paint like
mixture which has not yet been eradicated. The wall opposite the windows has a large alcove which has many
possibilities.   The suggestion was made
that a more than life sized statue of a popular personage in the club should be
erected there but, on revision, no one seemed to fit.

The bedroom could be described as a ballroom or a garage for
eight cars and in either case there would still be room for at least 40 people
to sleep provided they took up only ten square yards each.  Mr Collins has offered British Railways a
sub-tenancy of his hallway as a shunting yard. The view from the bedroom is of a well laid lawn with circular
flowerbeds and borders and one very old man who is no doubt a fixture.

An extremely long kitchen has all the necessary fittings, a
vast selection of beer mugs and the usual tin opener.  Off the kitchen is the bathroom from which
the usual offices meander off into limbo.

From Mr Collins’ home, the party of 4 persons toured the
roads of

Clifton
peering in at all windows at odd bods watching T.V. and indulging in weird and
wonderful sports.  Mr Hannam’s penthouse
was the next port of call.  After
climbing a long and superb staircase we reached a door. This was duly banged on
and after a short while Mr Hannam descended and was prevailed upon to let us
in.  We crawled the remaining two flights
to the sixth floor and proceeded to poke around.  Mr Hannam’s flat has a wonderful view of

Bristol and the
surrounding countryside and we were told that on a clear day, “You can see
the masts on Blackdown”.  This is
only if the sun should inadvertently appear. Mr Hannam’s main room is a rather odd shape with beams, copper kettles,
old warming pans and french windows. There is a very interesting stone sticking out of one wall, but the
company thought it might not be taken too kindly were it removed to test its
antiquity.  The only drawback to the
establishment is the shortage of ashtrays. Mr Hannam appears to be averse to having his shoes used as such.  Excellent coffee was provided and it was
noted that only three saucers and one spoon were readily available.  The kitchen is tastefully decorated in
primrose with red covered covers.  The
bedroom is small, but very comfortable and has the same beautiful view as the
main room.  Mr. Hannam has found that the
strain of sleeping upright in order to enjoy this is somewhat beyond him.

We then proceeded to our respective homes.  A further edition in the “Stately Homes”
series depends on whether the B.E.C. members will let us in or discover a
pressing need to visit and old aunt in

South Africa.

*****************************************

Readers may remember an article on “How to write an article
for the B.B.” which appeared in July’s issue. In this article, a mythical character called Berty Bodge, writes a
number of articles, starting with “My first caving trip.”  To our great surprise, shortly after this
article appeared, we were sent the following: –

My First Caving Trip

A novice’s Impression of Swildons Hole

By Bert Bodge

I don’t usually talk about my caving experiences, but on
reading in the July Belfry Bulletin how anxious you all are to hear about my
adventures down Swildons Hole, I took my pencil in hand and decided to oblige.

I must say that before I begin that I think Alfie has got a
bit in front with his dates, as I had ALREADY BEEN before in September.  I would like to say too that the programme he
has drawn up for me is a bit too stiff for a novice (and only an amateur one at
that).  Who the blankety-blank could
write a poem, “When you are climbing up a ladder?”

Well, back to Swildons. I went to the cave with a party of five; myself, ‘rat’, the leader,
Rosemary, Richard and Michael – all medical students (except me) and all new to
caving except Rat.  We filled our lamps
with water at a delightful stream and put on our helmets.  Mine is too big.  The only way I can get it to stay on is by
wedging it sideways on my skull, a painful process.  Otherwise it just falls over my eyes and
blacks everything out.  While I was
fixing it on, my companions must have gone below.  When I looked up, I was alone.  A villainous looking grating lay open in the
ground and voices issued forth – already “booming”.  My spirits fell.  I scribbled a short note saying where I had
gone, and containing a few simple instructions for the disposal of my effects
in case I did not return and hung it on a branch of a tree above the
grating.  Regretfully, I lowered myself
in.  It was dark and it was wet, at least
I think so.  From round a bend in the
passage the voice of ‘rat’ came as he harangued me for five minutes, telling me
to use a dry foothold, while I sat in the stream and tried to understand.  Eventually he realised that I was already
sitting in the water and that it didn’t matter. He was very put out.  Richard and
Michael waited impatiently – quite dry. Rosemary had gone into sort private limbo of her own and was unheard,
unseen, a muddy little ghost.  She said
she was frightened.  I didn’t say
anything.

Rat was way ahead, shouting boisterously.  The chasm deepened; the torrent resounded;
the rocks shone orange¬/pink in the fitful light.  (I remember thinking how horrible a colour it
looked) I wasn’t too well disposed towards any old rocks, I spent so many
minutes wondering how to get over then or, if they won the battle, whether I
should slip.  Oh, Bodge!  I was fully occupied all the time except when
my mind returned to the letter on the tree. Ghastly thought – ¬somebody might have read it – and my boot would
tremble as it paused over a meagre crevice. (That Bert Bodge survived, readers, is yet another example of the
triumph of mind over matter.  The letter
was retrieved, torn into a thousand fragments, from the munching molars of a
friendly cow.  Meanwhile behold him,
still in peril, ignorant of this fortunate chance.)

A voice cried “We’re lost!”  The party rushed right and left.  I stayed at my “Halt” sign, which was in the
form of a large rounded rock situated on the edge of the stream passage which
was exercising all my ingenuity to vanish, when “Back the other way!” – a
splendid idea.  They all rushed off.  I was still on the rock being very careful,
as I know how.  Lord, the strain on my
bootlaces.

Eventually we stopped in a grotto.  Rat searched for an exit while we sat
tight.  We knew what to do all
right!  Then we walked a bit more back
the way we had cone.  Caves are very
boring.  Rat said we were now going
out.  I could scarcely speak at all; my
voice stuck in my throat, I felt so tense that when I came to do the last
squeezy bit my emotions had taken all the strength away from my arms and legs.  I have not mentioned how I was allowed to
climb on a faulty ladder because I have bean told to keep quiet about it.  I feel very strongly indeed about faulty
ladders and will write a letter about them one day, as Alfie suggests.  I am not allowed to say how I hurt my feet –
suffice to point out that I am now inconvenienced by having to wear my boots at
night as I cannot get then off.  Well,
cavers, that concludes my little jaunt and if you can help me out of my boots,
you’re a better man than I am!  (Has
anyone got a saw?)  In conclusion, I
would like to state that I found my trip to Swildons a most interesting an
instructive introduction to the art of caving and I strongly advise anyone who
may be contemplating a descent to follow my example and act before they think –
sorry, look before they leap – into this most enjoyable of sports.

Janet Boot.

*****************************************

We hope, as this bit of the B.B. is printed, that we will be
able to include elsewhere in this number, some reference to the very stout
effort recently put up by the diving party who managed to get a diver through
an eighty foot sump and hence discover Swildons 6.  We hope they will forgive the bit of nonsense
which follows: –

SONNET

A few years back, one did a
Swildons Hole
By going from the entrance to the sump.
Or, if you wanted more, you made your goal
To enter Swildons II, and extra limp.
Then came Black Hole
And odd assorted Bells
St. Paul’s,

Damascus and more
Till, hacking bits away for longish spells,
Some caving types discovered Swildons IV.
Another sump, and into Swildons V
They swam, and into Swildons V
They swam, and then went right ahead to fix
A trip in which some eighty feet of dive
Was mastered, thus revealing Swildons VI.
We’ll find, if divers progress at this rate
That Wookey IX is Swildons XXXVIII!

*****************************************

The Belfry Bulletin for Christmas 1958.  Editor, S.J. Collins

 

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