Some years ago, a bloke got up at an Annual General Meeting
to complain about the existing state of the B.B. He said that the B.B. needed a face lift,
that it was not regular enough, and that the chronic shortages of articles
could be overcome by a bit of keenness and thumping all round. The current editor rather doubted whether all
this would have any effect, and the upshot was that the complainer was told to
damn well go ahead and do it.
Now some 120 issues; 1,300 odd pages, nearly half a
million words and over half a ton of paper later the complainer now finds
himself in much the same position as the one he originally criticised and so,
with this Christmas issue of the B.B., he is bowing out to make room for a new
editor.
The fact is that, from time to time, nothing short of a
complete change of direction is sufficient to inject a new shot of enthusiasm
into a magazine like the B.B. With the
best of intentions, one gets stale and fails to take the extra trouble of
breathing life into what otherwise becomes a humdrum monthly exercise. Looking through older issues of the B.B., it
is obvious that this sort of care was once taken. The whole thing was set out in a readable
form and strung together where necessary by suitable comments leading the
reader from one feature to the next rather than presenting him with an
indigestible mass of print. More care
was taken in getting articles of good standard and printing them speedily. The record for this, in fact, occurred when a
lecture which was held on a Wednesday night at the University was reviewed in
the middle of the B.B. which appeared at club the next day.
Of later years, the only thing which could still be said of
the B.B. was at least it came out regularly. This year, even this has only just been maintained. In the last eleven years, the B.B. has missed
only two issues. This is six times as
good as the regularity previously but of late it has been only just
maintained. It is high time that
somebody else took over!
It is with pleasure that we welcome the new Editor Dave
Irwin well know to you all as the wig who will be your Editor from next
month onwards. I know you will join with
me in wishing him a long and successful career. On second thoughts, it is not probably fair to wish him as long a career
as I have had, as this has been rather too long, both for me and the B.B.
readers. It has been longer, in fact,
than all the previous editorships combined. On the other hand, we can all wish him a much more successful career,
and what is more to the point, resolve to help him make it so. I dont suppose he will want much from me, as
you all have got rather too much of this in the past, but he will certainly
want help from you. He will have a lot
to do as it is, without having the additional worry of where the next article
is coming from. No doubt he will be more
methodical than I was, so even if I lost your article, dont be dismayed, try
again with Dave. Remember
A B.B. that is thin and small
Is not a lot of use at all
So rally round, and help the Wig
To make it good, and thick, and big.
At this stage, and after that outburst, it should be recorded
with thanks that Alan Thomas also volunteered to take on the job of producing
the B.B. should this have become necessary. Alan (Mayor of Priddy) Thomas is equally well known to all club members
and has since taken over the even more onerous job of being Club
Secretary. A club which can produce two
volunteers of this standard to do a job like the B.B. is in a happy position,
and we should all be thankful that it is so.
As you know, it has been the policy for many years to
attempt to produce the B.B. according to three rules which the present editor
formulated some time ago and which have guided him (not always successfully)
ever since. These rules are as
follows: –
- The
B.B. should have its own distinct personality. There is little point in attempting to
make any caving magazine a copy of some other caving magazine. One might as well try to make a club
exactly like some other club, in which case the sensible thing would to
join the club concerned. Club
magazines, like clubs, should be different. The B.E.C. is a club or at any rate
used to be which does a lot of good and useful work underground whilst
avoiding the too serious approach to life. Its magazine should thus reflect this point of view. The danger in attempting to make a club
magazine into a pukka scientific periodical is that, inevitably, the
material offered will fall short of this aim, and the result will always
be worse than the declared image. On the other hand, a magazine which does not declare a high
standard can usually manage to exceed its targets.
- The
main function of the B.B. is to keep members in touch with the clubs
activities. Thus, the B.B. should
not be aimed at the Belfry or Waggon regular so much as the member who
lives in distant parts, but who is keen to be kept up with all that is
currently going on in the club and elsewhere on Mendip. This is best carried out by frequent and
regular appearance of the B.B. and the selection of material.
- The
B.B. should reflect all aspects of club activities. We are primarily a caving club, but we
also climb; walk; visit foreign countries (in addition to Wiltshire,
jokes etc. Ideally, each issue of
the B.B. should reflect all these activities. This is not possible, but an attempt has
been made to try to make each issue appeal to the member who prefers any
one activity at least in part. Occasionally the importance of a specialist article may interfere
with this aim but in general, it has been kept in mind. The aim here is to include a mixed bag
of good quality articles of all types.
I am sure that your new Editor wished to se a continuance of
these basic principles, but he will have his own ideas as to how this can best
be carried out. Thus we can expect to see
some basic continuity, but with refreshing changes. I am sure that the innovations which he will
introduce will strengthen and rejuvenate the B.B.
Under the present regime (for the last time!) a tradition
has grown up whereby the Christmas issue has contained much material of a
lighter variety without sacrificing the more serious article. I hope that this last issue will continue
this tradition and that it will be a record for the size of the B.B. On this note, I will wish you all a very
Happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year and thank you all for putting up with
me for so long.
Alfie
Contents
He tossed the boy a
.
or to be more exact, twelve wrappers. This is by way of introducing in an eye
catching form the new scheme for the distribution of the B.B. for 1968. Phil Townsend will be sending twelve wrappers
to each recipient of the B.B. and you are all asked to fill in each wrapper in
with you name and address and to post the completed wrappers back to Phil at
Lower Knowle,
4. These wrappers will then be used to
send out YOUR B.B.s throughout the coming year. If you move, it is up to you to send some
suitable wrappers to cover the remaining months to Phil.
… WRAPPER
Ahnenschacht 1967
Of late, the B.E.C. has been
setting a fine tradition for expeditions to foreign caving areas. This year, the highlight was the expedition
to the Ahnenschacht, which is described in the article which follows
..
by Alan Thomas
The Ahnenschacht was discovered in 1956 by Dr. Franz
Schernhuber, who spoke of two stone figures there as ancestral heads. In 1961, a point 350m deep was reached by a
small party led by Ottokar Kai. Here
they broke into the side of a huge vertical shaft. The deepest point measured (and the bottom
was not reached) was 436m below the entrance.
In August this year, a party of B.E.C. attempted to bottom
it. That we were not successful is
common knowledge. A few months previously
as we had been advises that our chances of success was slender, as the depth of
snow in the Tobes Gebirge was greater (by metres) than in previous years. But as time went on the snow melted, and the
luggage-only cable car to the Ebenseer Hochboge Hutte was repaired. We had intended to manage without this
luxury, and would have done so, but we realised how much more difficult it
would have been had the repairs not been carried out in time. The weather when we began our expedition was
splendid and we were in high hopes.
Mike Luckwill, Steve Grime, Chris and Colin Dooley and Kevin
Barnes arrived at the hut on the 20th of August and bean the monumental task of
carrying the forty odd grot sacks of gear to the hole. They were joined next by Roger Stenner and
Dick Wickens. Each trip to the hole took
about an hour and a half in great heat over very rugged terrain. When I arrived on Tuesday, with Pete McNab,
hereinafter referred to as Snab, having had some difficulty with the car
(actually the bottom ripped out of the petrol tank) we could only admire the
initiative and drive of the advance party, who had all but completed this
carry.
We carried five gallons of water each to the hole and
learned what had been going on. Steve,
Mike Collin and Kevin had spent two hours in the Ahnenschacht in the morning,
and got the bulk of the gear to the bottom of the first pitch. The first three hundred feet had been
laddered for us by a party of the Landesverein fur Hohlenkinde, comprising
Helmuth, Frisch, Otto and Hans. Hans had
unfortunately been injured, but had managed to take himself back to
civilisation under his own steam. A
further five hour trip was carried out by Steves party in the afternoon. This brought the tackle to the bottom of the
fourth pitch.
Dick, Kevin and myself went down in the evening and were
very excited to see such a magnificent hole. The part we were in was supposed to be small, yet already the shafts
were huge compared with the average
pot. Besides, it was so clean and dry
no need to change our kind of caving!
On Wednesday, 23rd August, whilst those of us who had been
down in the night rested, a party consisting of Mike, Colin, Chris, Steve and
Snab spent seven hours getting the gear top appoint about two hundred feet
down. They rigged the first of several
aerial ropeways to accomplish this. Photographs and water samples were taken. In the evening, Snab and Steve returned to
the hut for more gear and beer for Roger. We were soon to realise the value of Rogers arrangements on the surface
in a sense we were never alone.
Roger and I had an interesting trip to a nearby
Eishole. I, unfortunately, had no shirt
on and got rather cold while Roger in caving gear, took pictures.
Dick, Kevin and myself went down early in the evening on
Wednesday and after we had reached Sinterterrasse Tropfwasser about 490 feet
down, we camped for the night. The ledge
was not large, but the luggage made a good insulating layer between ourselves
and the rock. It should be noted that
Kevin, having given Dick and myself soup in bed, spilt his own over his
feet. We had been taking altimeter
readings at the top and bottom of each pitch. At Sinterterrasse, before we went to bed at 11.15pm on Wednesday, we
recorded 405 feet from the surface. At
9,00am on Thursday when we arose, the altimeter showed 455 feet from the
surface. This should have told us
something. In fact, a tremendous
thunderstorm had driven Roger, Colin and Chris off the mountain. However, in our blissful ignorance, we
continued to move our bundles further down the Ahneneschacht. This proved to be very difficult, and when we
eventually reached Sicherungsstufe about 600 feet down, we were very tired and
prepared to camp on a small wet ledge. It was now rather wet. Kevin,
Dick and myself squeezed into a tiny shelter. Dick had cramp in his feet and every time he moved, we had as well.
About the time we settled down, the other party arrived,
consisting of every one except Roger. They intended to go on laddering past us but by the time they had had
their supper (or breakfast or something) on the ledge above us, they decided to
turn in as well. They had laid a
telephone line from the surface and were in better touch with Roger than they
were with us. They spent a very wet
night on their ledge and, had they known, would have done better to return to
Sinterterrasse. They kept dropping things
on us, including a full grot sack, and every time Steve came down to parley, he
stepped off the ladder on to Kevin. When
we got up in the morning, we were surprised to find Colin Dooley sleeping on
the very edge of our ledge.
Steve rang Roger. It
was now Friday morning. We learned that
it had been raining hard all night and looked like getting worse. Our sleeping gear was soaked. At this point, we decided on a strategic
withdrawal lesser men would have cracked. Dick and Kevin joined those on the ledge above and I stayed to tie on
the kit so that it could be hauled up. When I joined the others they were cooking, but I went to a higher point
without eating in order to start getting the gear up. This was a mistake, because before long I
began to feel somewhat despondent.
However, we reached Sinterterrasse without incident or the
gear, and two of the other accompanied me to the surface. The others made a valiant but unsuccessful
attempt to get the gear up to Sinterterrasse and joined us on the surface two
hours later.
I was greatly heartened by Steves and Snabs assurance that
getting the gear up at a later date would be a piece of cake. We slept in the hut on Friday night and
subsequently as we had no sleeping gear is was still somewhere in the
Ahnenschacht.
The next day the weather was splendid. It was a rest day. I went down the mountain for more food. Snab and Steve climbed the Schonberg. We decided that if the weather held, Steve
and Snab our two hard men would life me down the next pitch of about 250
so that I could at least see the top of the big shaft. However, Sunday morning found the weather bad
again, and we all agreed that the first priority was the removing of the gear. I think this took approximately three trips
of ten hours. It was an anticlimax and
very hard work. Two full days were spent
in getting the gear back to the hut, so it was as well that we had delayed no
longer. To make the trip even more
memorable, the entrance began to collapse and our last trip had to be conducted
with the greatest care. At times it was
not possible to move without sending rather loose rocks on to those below. One of the Austrian ladders was broken by a
falling boulder. However, we suffered no
damage beyond a few bruises and the loss of two helmets, which we shall recover
next year as we need them for Proventina!
I was amazed when I checked the gear two thousand feet of
ladder and rope; winch; telephones etc., that we had lost virtually nothing.
I am sorry that this has been such a square account of what
in fact was tremendous fun. The people
at the hut treated us royally. Although
we worked all but a few of our waking hours each day, we still had a terrific
time. Mike said that we hadnt been
caving till we went down there. Dick
said, We must be mad we enjoy it. The Hut Warden said, Why dont you come here to live? You dont need much money.
I should like to record grateful thanks to Hans Siegl, who
made many arrangements for us the Austrian cavers, without whose help etc. –
all the people and organisations who loaned, gave us or made us gear including
W.C.C., W.S.G, the Grampian, Barry Lane, George Pointing, Ken Kelly, Fred
Davies, Wally Wilcox, Mike York, Steve Tuck, Pete Turner and a host of others
who would fill a whole page of the B.B.
Alan Thomas
Apologies & Clangers Dept.
At this point a diagram of the Ahnenschacht was supposed to
follow but the Editor has unfortunately mislaid it. Perhaps at could be included in a later
B.B.
In addition, readers will find many notces be written rather
than typed in their B.B. This is because
the Editor has lent his typewriter to help the Caving Publications
department. Just a thought you might
like to know why there is all this writing type writing.
While you are paying your ANNUAL SUB promptly (as you always
do) on 31st January, why not sign a Bankers Order for £1 per month for the new
hut? (think of Bobs surprise)
Gilbert Weeks
Readers will be sorry to near that Gilbert Weeks died on the
Saturday before Christmas. Another piece
of old Mendip has gone with Gilbert and we should to convey our sympathy to his
family.
DanyrOgof and the Riddle of the Sands
If Alan Thomas thinks that his
interesting account of the Clubs doings in
here, by the way of contrast, is an account that must presumably be described
as round
by Kangy
And it did come to pass that, arising in the watches of the
night, and supping an egg and a piece of bread, Kan did take his great wagon
into the place of the Kingston: even unto the place where Kingston dwells, and
there did meet him and the Priddle.
After two and a quarters hours of great hazard The Passage
of the Ice, the Trotting of the Sheep and the Loading of the Way he did carry
them safely unto the Ogof of the Dan and there did meet with the MacGregor and
sundry others of like mind.
And there they clothed themselves in skins of rubber. (All except the Kingston, who clothed himself
in a skin likened unto a muddy colander) and placed upon their heads caps of
great hardness (All save the Kingston who, being unable to find his cap, placed
upon his head a cap of the hair of the sheep) and, taking lanterns of great
light, placed them upon their caps (All save the Kingston who placed his
lantern in his mouth and there gripped it with his teeth, so being unable to
Cry Out).
Now the Ogof of the Dan had, since time of old, been strung
with lanterns some of this colour and some of that colour. And men had come many miles to the halls of
this mighty cavity wrought by nature (and by man) in the bottom of the Mountain
so that each might say to his neighbour Oo and Ah.
But the managers of the Ogof of the Dan had from time to
time been sorely tried by the Rising of the Waters which had put out the lights
and blocked the passages with plenteous sand.
And no man knew whence it had come.
And so, passing the Iron Door, they entered into the
darkness. And, passing the Halls well
known to men, they came upon the Lakes, which were not a sump, and they swam
them the
being unable to Cry Out.
And they entered into the Long Crawl, which may be likened
unto the interior of a viper, and their elbows were sorely tried.
And they climbed down a ladder wrought of great chains and
marvelled at the mighty construction of it, and it did please them, for it was
safe.
And they saw the place which is called Flabbergasm Chasm and
were displeased at the name and yet were astonished at the profusion and length
of the slender rods wrought in calcium carbonate.
And they went upon their way up the stream seeing many
beauteous sights and saw the waterfall, which men have said is an hundred feet
and passed the abode of the Monk who is Red and came to the awesome halls of
the Hanger thereby to contemplate the waters of the Canal that is Green.
And in all these places there was no sand.
And the sadness of them was nothing compared to the sadness
of the Priddle who could think of naught save bacon and eggs.
And the
was flung into the waters of the canal which was green and was then brown, and
he could not Cry Out.
And again they swam and the waters of the canal which was
green and then brown enveloped them in the coldness, and they cried out, all
save the
for he could not.
And they avoided the Abyss and entered the Highway and came
to the place where there was no way save by ascending a ladder made of Lesser
Chains. And entering into a high place
with diverse climbing, entry was made into the uttermost heights of the place.
The, by subtle sinuosities, a way was made to a new place
where a man might fall and not be seen again, and yet they passed and then they
could go no further.
But, Lo! One of their
number possessed a ladder of gossamer construction made of hairs of the finest
iron and gripped to these hairs were cross rods of exceedingly lightness with
the joints thereof seized by mighty pressures which were amazing and this was
lowered into the terrible darkness of the Long Hole.
And then this man, shutting his eyes and making various
sounds, climbed down and came to the bottom and so did they all.
And in this place there was no sand.
And the way was straight and they followed it through water
and over rocky places until they would fain rest and Priddle soothed them with
much talk of Bacon and Eggs.
And they went on until they came to another place.
And in this place was sand and they rejoiced and gave thanks
and raised mighty castles and dug many holes until it was time.
And they returned and their hearts were light and they
heeded not the gossamer ladder nor the steepness nor the waters nor the crawls
nor their elbows, for they had seen the sands and knew from whence they had
come.
(The actual trip took place on 18.11.67. Ed.)
The Return of the Natives
by Chris Falshaw
During November, a party of aged enthusiast (John Stafford,
Chris Falshaw and Kangy) toured St. Cuthberts. The first few hundred feet of cave was covered at an alarming speed but
fortunately this was not maintained and, in Upper Traverse Chamber they sank to
their knees and regained normal body temperature. They reached the top of Catgut without event,
and the rest of the trip went as follows.
Catgut Squeeze.
years of unbridled boozing led to three interesting attempts. The first, solo, failed. The second, with gallant leader pulling on
legs, failed. The third, after removal
of traditional ex W.D. clothing and adjustment of the finest child bearing
hips in the regiment, was successful.
Cross Legs Squeeze. Very exciting with Nife cell between legs.
Vertical Vice. Half Price. How nice.
Duck/Sump Area. Pause to admire the results of recent
Herculean efforts and swim.
The
Everest Passage. Met Dave (No F-ing cigarettes) Irwin and
Alan Thomas who waved tapes and tripods and pretended to survey. A Leaders Meeting was held which decided
that the resolutions passed by the unofficial meeting the previous weekend were
authorised.
Upper Long Chamber. An attack of Mountain Fever compelled a visit
followed by groans of No more, no more, we want out!
Canyon Series. The formations were protected by not visiting
them.
The Thoughts of Chairman Sid
Older readers may remember the poetic work of Sid Hobbs,
which we understood he wrote in those days in between emptying the Detailer
Bucket (How times have changed!). We
have persuaded him to have another go in spite of the fact that his source of
inspiration has been replaced by a modern flush arrangement.
A phallic symbol on Pen Hill
Will irk the fates and bring us ill
A poor show which the true art mocks
Pouring forth from goggle box.
This planned, approved and does proceed
To our poor cry theyll pay no heed.
We do not want their rotten mast
Why dont they stick it somewhere else?
But hark, my heroes, lets be bold
And emulate those men of old
Who rose and struggled for their rights
Like valiant souls and true-born wights.
So up the pub with beer and gin
And solid thinking will begin
And if all plot a little while
Well come up with an outrage vile.
What was it? Did I hear alright?
A little voice said gelignite
Oh! What a dreadful thing to think!
Please buy that friend a pint to drink.
Its good to know, that when we pray,
Some help will; come from M.R.A.
Or Viet Mendip modern mane
The land shall sing of their just fame.
From famous clubs come volunteers
Cavers, boozers, mountaineers,
With lots of band and saws and rope
And crates of beer for every bloke.
Well read a book by Mao Tse Tung
Which tells how these things should be done
And notes by Fidel Castros mate
How sad indeed Guevaras fate.
Across the fields, one winters night
Well sally forth to building site
And lay our charge and tamp it down
Theyll hear the crunch in
town.
A thousand feet of wire and tin
Should crash with an amusing din.
Alf light the fuse and rush away
To plan for yet another day.
The editor, of course, takes no responsibility for the
course of action suggested in Sids epic above!
Sells Baptism
Climbing articles have not
appeared as often as we might always wish, but we have this one at least for
our Christmas number this year. It has
been submitted by Kangy, who has been one of the stoutest supporters of the
B.B. throughout the past many years, and who has been responsible for most of
the climbing articles over a very long period of time
by Kangy
This time, we read the guidebook thoroughly. Its all there. Cwm Silyn can be reached by road. When coming from the Rhyd Ddu direction, take
the road to Llanllyfni branching off the main
and when we got to the Greta Slab, we sat and marvelled that we hadnt read the
guidebook thoroughly before previous visits. It was so effortless, with only an easy angled track between the road
and the cliff, and contrasted with those earlier approaches that involved long,
grass bound slogs which varied only in their compass bearings.
Our day was wild and inclined to squalls. Our vehicle was the James motor caravan, a
van with windows and doors and seats that werent seats but beds and a cooker
and a roof which went up and down sometimes unexpectedly. This impressively useful vehicle for a
climber was parked off the road by the last gate PRIVATE. NO CARS PAST HERE.
As we stopped a particularly violently squall hit us, and we
waited until the slightly surprising calm followed. Two keen, two reluctant and two dont knows
got out and kitted up. Plenty of
sweaters, a few scarves, a positive check that we all had gloves, and then
struggling thickened arms through stiff rucksacks, we passed the gate marked
NO CARS.
Wonderful weather, big torn clouds racing by, blue sky
showing through, and the wild wind hustling us.
The Great Slab is a sheet of rock sweeping for four hundred
feet up the right side of Craig-yr-Ogof, the whole height of the cliff. Mark James chose the outside edge route a
steep clean route following the exposed left edge. His party was made up of Bob Sell then new
to climbing and myself (Kangy) who came as third man. Two ropes were selected, slings apportioned,
psychological needs attended to, and them Mark led out on to the large block
which formed the first stance. The rope
hung clear. Bob joined him.
The way on was not obvious. Mark probed left and then with decision pushed right and balanced over a
bulge. The tension of the last move
eased and hands automatically checked equipment with quick, subconscious
actions as Mark leaned back to puzzle out the next moves. A grey, sharp edged wall, triangulated by
perspective edged by bright sky seemed to become less vertical after thirty
feet and offered a route. Mark picked
his way with deliberate continuous movements until, out of sight, his shout
beating the wind called for Bob. I
joined Bob who then followed Mark. The
next stance would have been crowded with three so Mark led off again. As I joined Bob at the second stance, a
sudden chill drew attention to the leaden clouds which displaced the earlier vigorous
sky. Rain seemed likely.
The belay was adjusted to mutual satisfaction and the
weather became a secondary thought as concentration centred on the climb. The roped inched out steadily round a corner
after Bob as he gained height on an uncomplicated slab. Then, with a savagery that excluded thought,
the storm broke. The world shrank to a
few square feet of rock enclosed by a howling wind-driven sleet. A six inch crack by the belay became security
and I crouched braced against the rock, cramming my head into a crack. Water poured over all.
Presently the effect became less total and reason
returned. I straightened, relieved to
see the rope inch out again. There was
time to relax a little and then again, a tremendous roaring as the wind tore at
me. Once again, the crouching and
cramming and hanging on, but not so desperately now. This time, the assault was not quite so
unexpected and the way in which the extra jersey, towel tucked round neck, and
gloves insulated as well as protected.
At long last, vague signs suggested that Bob had completed
the pitch. Distastefully, I moved
against wet clothing and apprehensively left the safe perch to go out onto the
face. Fortunately, the moves were
straightforward and the pitch was climbed steadily and enjoyably with the
protection of a firm rope helping me overcome the reality of icy water on the
hands.
The arrival of shotgun blasts of hail laden wind was
signalled by a wail of sharply increasing in intensity giving time to flatten
against the watery slab, cheek to rock, gripping and waiting. As the tearing pressure lightened, the
essential climbing sequence of theory and practice continued.
Grinning James and grinning Bob were joined at a
comparatively large ledge. Home was a
shallow cave round the corner. It
dripped, it offered no way on, but it knew no wind and it contained us
all. Mark, luckily had reached this
haven before the storm broke and was simply wet. Bob had been in the most exposed position on
the slab and had been blown off in the final blast. He was able to regain his holds and climb a
few more feet before being blown off again. This time, he regained easier ground, giving him an anchorage to weather
the brunt of the storm. Bob was both
cold and wet. We shared chocolate,
rubbed hands and hoped for a lull. We
imagined one.
Mark walked back, against wind and rain, along the ledge
until it narrowed at the bottom of the last section. Belays necessarily implied shelter. Something vestigial was found, and Mark led
off, shifting slightly between one drip and another. Eventually the slack rope was taken in,
showing that Bob was now ready. The
belay slings were awkwardly unclipped and I stepped round the corner into an
icy swimming bath of a day.
Bob was business like but reluctant. The rope stretched ahead of him up a slab,
them diagonally to the left of an overhang, then to what seemed to be, to
waiting eyes, a very steep edge. Mark
was now out of sight and inaudible but the rope tightened and as I crammed
against the belay Bob stepped up into the small holes of the slab. He gained height cautiously against the wind,
forced to grip watery, numbing, rock firmly.
The crisis came when the overhang pushed him out on to
delicate holds. For half an hour or
more, each time Bob balanced out, a heavier gust threatened to detach him. The fight with the climbing problem, the wind
buffeting, the effect of cold and the strain of maintaining position could be
seen from the stance below. His world
was constricted cold and noisy, His movements limited and, as utmost effort and
desire to change was frustrated again and again by the force of the wind. I went to ease my neck and wipe my face. Peering upwards a few moments later led to a
surge of relief because Bob had now accomplished his move and slow upward
progress had resumed. He was soon out of
sight, leaving only a long curve of wind whipped rope.
The wait now continued with a different purpose and I sought
with impatient indications that Bob had reached what should be the last
stance. There was no real sign but a
least the rope was not slack, and had stopped going out, so I hastened to join
the other two.
Exuberant chat; a hurried bundling up of the precious rope,
and the final coxcomb ridge was followed to the intersection with the Great
Stone Shoot. A pause to demolish Bobs
chocolate and then non-stop with the now helpful wind rushing us back down the
track.
The Guidebook was annotated Outside Edge Route, 22 May
1966. M. James, R. Sell and R. King
spent sometime there in a squall.
1967 Dinner
The keynote of the dinner must have been culture with a high
standard of photography and surveys in the exhibition which included the latest
discoveries. An opportunity to help the
St. Cuthberts surveyors in their calculations. Historical and physiognometrical photographs of club members. Film show and slides. Book Review. Folk singing by Alfie with his new codnogging stick song and of course
by demand, his spelaeodes.
The book review of the History of Mendip Caving by Johnson
can perhaps be enlarged upon, consisting of a floor show with production by
Keith Franklin and direction by Kangy. The book was thought to be more of a history of the U.B.S.S. Caving and
various episodes were illustrated.
It commenced with a hell scene with two olden day cavers.
Roy Bennett and Phil Townsend venturing into the depths of a cave only to be
chased out by the devil (Bob Bagshaw) crying On your way. Next we had an illustration of what we would
have liked to have seen with the introduction of women cavers circa 1919 which
featured the Franklin Brothers and Norman Petty dressed as fairies, singing a
refrain from Iolanthe and tripping hither, tripping thither. This was followed by what was known of the
B.E.C. exploits before, during and after the war given by Bagshaw (who, of
course can remember all this) complete with pint.
Next was illustrated the first attempts to pass Swildons
Sump 1 nearly under
Townsend about to baptise an infant when Bennett appears from the font saying
I think it goes well call it Cathedral Chamber.
This was followed by a scene which showed the innovation
which early cavers showed and the difficulties experienced with early caving
equipment compared with the present day stuff. Next was illustrated the attempt to determine the height of the gorge in
G.G. using a hydrogen filled balloon. The
attempt was not so successful as an air cylinder was used.
The final scene was all the cast describing post war
exploration and ending with: –
We are the B.E.C., and this we
must confess,
Whatever is worth doing has been done by the U.B.S.S.
The Early History of the B.E.C.
The next article has been written to fit in with the spirit
of the season, and consists of the Editors swan song in this lie. If one is going to write a History of Mendip
Caving, it would appear from the book in question just reviewed above
that more fun can be had by the author if he ignores completely the
contributions made by some of the Mendip cavers. Alfie has taken this process one stage
further and allowed his imagination full
rein with the somewhat startling results which will be seen on the following
article
(An Erudite Exposition)
From time to time, accounts of the early history of the
B.E.C. have appeared in these pages. The
serious student of these matters can hardly have failed to notice one sentence
common to all of these so-called accounts which is of great significance. It generally reads early records were,
unfortunately lost in the blitz, and goes on to apologise for the somewhat
sketchy record of the early years of the history of our club.
Since, as we all know, the origins of the B.E.C. go back to
time immoral and, to give another old joke an airing, are lost not in the
blitz, but in the mists of antiquity it seemed reasonable that no effort
should be spared to reveal the fantastic saga of those early and up until now,
unrecorded days. In our ceaseless and unrewarding
efforts to raise the cultural level of our readership (we gave up spelling
cultural with a k after some research into an interesting case which
occurred in Bombay involving the mate of a lugger) we are pleased to announce
that our Historical Research Department has finally unearthed this missing
data, and is now able to present it to a world which awaits this momentous news
will ill-concealed apathy.
Scholars may care to note in passing that the research team
involved was initially known as the Committee Reading Ancient Publications
until they realised that they were indeed becoming initially known. However, we digress. On with this ghastly tale.
The misprint in the official accounts which gives the date
of founding of the B.E.C. as the year 1935 should, of course, read 935 for in
that year the Witangmot or committee published the earliest known document
we have. This copy of the Caunstituccion
and Roules is signed by the club Scriverer one Rob Beaggshaugh although
whether the first word represents his name or his profession is not at all
clear from the records.
Many of the ancient rules proved difficult to interpret;
only by dint of much concentration and Bens Rough were some problems
solved. For example, the rule
.
Iiij No Hors muste be kept in ye Bellfrie.
.refers to members mounts – or horses. Not, as some suggested, to the practice of
gathering haws from the local hedgerows. In a similar vein, we have
.
Xij Ye cleane straw for ye beddynge of ye Hovel
Warden muste not be used for ye beddynge down of pigges.
.which throws further light on conditions prevailing at the
time.
Remarkable as these glimpses are of life in the B.E.C. in
Saxon times, it must not be supposed that this represents the actual origin of
the club. The B.E.C. is so incredibly
old a foundation that it will probably never be possible to pin down the actual
date of founding. A scheme for doing
radio carbon tests on some of the older members may well improve our knowledge
in future ages, but meanwhile it is interesting to note that when Bishop Usher
was computing the date of the creation of the world at 4004 B.B., one of the
main problems which worried him was how to reconcile this with the age of the
B.E.C.
Probably the earliest evidence of the B.E.C. on Mendip which
we have are the skeletal remains which were found during the B.E.C.s
rediscovery of Stoke Lane II in 1947. The presence of fire by the remains shows that they were indeed B.E.C.
members the fire being the alternate means of lighting insisted on by the
club rules for all underground trips.
By the time of the Celts, the B.E.C. was apparently well
organised a state of affairs which has only occurred at spasmodic intervals
since those times. Because of this high
degree of organisation, the club prospered and many outstations were
established. At an Annual General
Meeting at that time (these meetings were held at midnight on Midsummers Eve
provided that a quorum could be found and Oliver Lloyd was available to act as
Chairman) a vote of thanks was recorded form the entire Gorsedd (or committee)
to the Henge Warden of the Clubs Eastern Section at Amesbury, for his efforts
in organising his Long Term Planning Committee which resulted in the
replacement of the old wooden henge by a stone one.
Many misconceptions of life at the time have been cleared up
by our workers. For example, the
practice of making dye out of wood was not, as is popularly supposed, for
personal adornment, but for the identification of caving ladders blue still
being the B.E.C. colour for this purpose. Likewise, the clubs practice of construction large underground vats for
brewing and storage of mead originally known as Priddy Nine Barrels became
later confused with the idea of burial mounds owing to the Clubs custom of
retiring old committee members by ceremonially drowning them in vats of
meads. It was claimed that this practice
was not a cruel one, and legend in support of this claim has it that at least
one such victim was seen to climb out of the vat twice for a slash before
finally drowning. It was also claimed
that the custom imparted body to the resultant drink.
The Roman Invasion was followed in due course by an increase
in club membership. Caesars much
misquoted saying of Veni: Vidi; Vici was, in fact, a mistranslation. The last word was actually vincri, from a
little known Latin verb vincrere to apply for probationary membership. The Romans proved excellent hut Engineers and
constructed a new B.E.C. headquarters a little way up the hill at the back of
the present Belfry Site after successfully obtaining permission form the Rus
at Urbs Planning Authority. Fragments of
tablets on which the Villa Warden (Custos Villas) kept his accounts were found
by our research workers. Fees ranged
from two denarii for camping near the site to ten denarii for a full weekends
stay including orgy. Tablets from this
period also use the letters B.E.C. for the first time (The Club, of course,
being considerably older than the hamlet of Bridgestow). An inscription which
reads Bibemus Ergo Cidrum provides the clue to the initials of our club. It also indicates that the club switched over
to cider drinking at this time, the supply of mead (and old committee members)
having presumably run out.
Turning once more to Saxon times, the intelligent reader may
well wonder why the district was known as the
much concern as the Wessex Cave Club was not founded until the Twentieth
Century. Top priority was given to
finding some reasonable explanation or at least some credible explanation
or failing that, any old explanation however far fetched, to account for this
strange occurrence. It is thus with some
pride that our researchers offer the following tale. It is confidently expected that the Club
Secretary will shortly announce this tale to be a dogma, and that all B.E.C.
members will, after a certain date, be required to believe it.
It appears that a certain Saxon merchant ran a successful
business transporting goods and people from one place to another in what is now
Wiltshire and the nearby counties. So
successful did this enterprise become that his large carts painted red and
grey were to be seen as far east as
at which town he established his registered office on forming his business into
a public company under the title Wessex Wains. The whole district thus became known jokingly as the
and the company is thought to have been the forerunner of the present Wessex
Coach Co. The rest of the story is known
to all. (See The History of the
Club B.E.C. Historical Publications No. 4).
This explanation, whilst satisfying all B.E.C. members, will
still leave some people wondering why the B.E.C. obtains no mention in the
history books dealing with this period. The answer is amazingly simple. The B.E.C. had gone underground.
The resulting cave discovery now known as Cheddar Gorge,
was, naturally, the largest in the country. This cavern would still be with us but for the fact that, owing to some
confusion in the leader system at that time, a party of
led by one Ethelred the Unsteady (owing to his habit of attempting to out
drinking the B.E.C.) became embrangled in a boulder ruckle. The consequent shifting of a strategic
boulder in getting them out caused the whole cave to collapse amid shout of
Grammercy! and more typical Anglo-Saxon expressions.
The so-called Norman Conquest (we shall reveal why it was
so-called) did not result in much increase of club membership. This fact presumably stems from the inability
of the local baron Sir Nigel Fitzsidcot to live up to his name. It was at this time that the word cave
became part of the English language since the Normans, having brought over the
French word for cellar (which is cave;) became confused between the B.E.C.s
drinking and splaeological activities (a mistake which many have made since, and
used the same word for both).
However, the main reason why the
and the B.E.C. failed to get on with each other (except for one of the
Tacklemaster and who, according to tradition, has held the post ever since) lay
in the activities of the local rating authorities, who were compiling a
Domesday Book at the time. The B.E.C.,
having attempted to plead the Scientific Societies Act in order to exempt from
rates, but having had this excellent defence rejected by the Normans on the
flimsy grounds that Scientific Societies had not yet been thought of (another
example of the forward thinking if the B.E.C.) were forced to become adept at
misleading the local inspectors as to the exact whereabouts of the Belfry site.
So successful were they at this sport, that the King
countered by declaring the whole area a
in which he and subsequent Norma monarchs attempted to hunt the B.E.C. King John, who was fond of this sport, became
known as John Lackland as a result. The
reason for this sobriquet refers to the fact that, by then, the whole of
– with the sole exception of the Belfry site had been thoroughly mapped and
assessed by the planning authorities. It
was this last bit of land the King John, in fact, lacked. Hence the incomplete nature of the so-called
Norman Conquest.
In the Middle Ages, everyone became middle-aged and the
indolence set in. By Henry VIIIs time
however, the B.E.C. was again flourishing and the sound of madrigals in the
hunt area on a Saturday night became a familiar feature of Mendip life. It is rumoured that the king himself attended
on occasion, although whether he actually became a member of the club or not
cannot be confirmed. Certainly, legend
has it that he was fond of a game of spoof in the Hunters and was very good at
it hence his nickname of Bluff King Hal. Rumour also suggest that on one occasion when a member of the club had
laid on a butt of malmsey to celebrate his wedding, the king produced the words
which later became the clubs motto Whatever is worth doing we will do it to
excess.
Tudor times also saw Queen Elizabeth in the Womens Room of
the old half timbered Belfry (the other half of its timbers had rotted away by
then). Previous to this episode, she was
known as the Virgin Queen. It was at
this period of history that the part played by the B.E.C. in saving these
islands from invasion and conquest occurred. This splendid, though little known episode of our club history occurred
when in preparation for the expected invasion by the Spanish Armada off the
coast of
prepared. The general idea was that, on
sighting the armada off Devon, a beacon would be lit and watchers on the next
hill, seeing this, would light theirs and so on all the way up to
been to the bods in London is not clear, but it might have given them a little
time to brush up such useful phrases as Café puro por dos con azucar or to
knock up the old zarzuela.
Unfortunately, when the armada eventually hove into view off
the coast of
the bloke in charge, one Drake by name, was playing with his bowls and
completely failed to see the approaching ships. What might have happened next hardly bears thinking about but, as luck
would have it, the B.E.C. were holding their annual barbecue on Mendip and,
owing to an excess of enthusiasm, managed to set all the tumps round the
mineries alight. The watchers on the
official beacons in both directions at once lit theirs, each thinking that a
signal had been sent from the other end. In turn, the next beacons were lt, and
so all the way down each side of the chain.
Happily, Mendip is roughly half way between
and
and thus the final beacons were lit simultaneously. Drake, in
seeing the beacon, stopped playing with his bowls and went off to rout the
armada, while the bods in
were amazed at the speed with which the news had apparently travelled, and were
presumably able to devote more time to leaning useful Spanish words like
cojones. The eventual defeat of the
armada saw Drake knighted by the queen and granted temporary provisional
membership of the B.E.C.
Under the Stuarts, the B.E.C. drank whiskey and learned auld
Scottish songs like the Ball of Kirremuir to the skirl of the pipes the
quantities of whiskey having affected their pipes considerably. During the Civil War, and subsequent stirring
times, the club consolidated its position by suitable stirring in the right
quarters.
Little caving occurred in Regency times, but the club
dinners of that period were a great success, and the spectacle of committee
members (including the Mansion Warden) bewigged and powdered dancing
stately minuets, is one which is still talked about with bated breath in places
such as Clifton, Bath and Cheltenham.
In Victorian times, the success of the B.E.C. stand at the
Great Exhibition of 1851 led the club to renew its caving activities. A word of advice to Martel, a little
encouragement to the young Balch, and the scene was set for the start of modern
caving.
In 1935 but we have got into the area of official club
histories now. Hardly as colourful, we
feel, as these few glimpses from the glorious annuls of earlier B.E.C. history.
Alfie
Puzzle
Another Christmas tradition is the Puzzle. Here is one which is designed to stretch your
mental powers to breaking point or beyond. There will be a prize of MUCH ALE for the best solution!
The Carblimey Hills in Muckinghamshire are the home of four
caving clubs. The Muckingham
Speleological Society (M.S.S.); the Muckinghamshire Exploration Club (M.E.C.);
the Carblimey Ciderworks Group (C.C.G.) and the Independent Muckingham Cavers
(I.M.C.). None of these clubs have any
badges, ties or other distinguishing marks and, since all are uniformly
scruffy, it is damn nigh impossible to tell who belongs to which club.
The Carblimey Council of Caving clubs is attended by one
representative of each of the four clubs and is chaired by an independent
chairman who does not belong to any club. At one such meeting the Chairman Bolivar Boyd found he did not know
any of the four representatives personally.
Now Boyd knew that all the Muckinghamshire clubs are noted
for their obstructive attitude (Muckinghamshire folk are all like that!) and
hence it was no use asking them to which club they each belonged. After much abuse had been hurled to and fro,
it was agreed that Boyd could ask one question only, but that he could ask it
to who he liked, and as many times as he liked, providing that the wording was
never altered.
Boyd knew that the M.S.S. members always told the truth, the
only snag being that they were unable to distinguish between members of the other
three clubs whom they referred to them as those b—-y yobos.
Members of the M.E.C. were also truthful, except that they
thought that all members of the M.S.S. members were the C.C.G. in addition to
the real members of that club.
Members of the C.C.G. claimed that all members of the M.E.C.
were members of their group in addition to their own actual members, but were
otherwise truthful.
Members if the I.M.C. consistently and invariably told lies
about everybody and everything.
Although Boyd did not know any of the four representatives,
he did know that they knew each another and what club each other belonged
to. Assuming that they answered Yes,
No, or Dont know to Boyds question, what question did Boyd ask and how
many times did he have to ask it to make sure of getting all the cavers
associated with their right clubs?
Note: Whether
or not any answers to this are actually published will depend on the new
Editor, but in any case, Alfie will be willing to enter into correspondence
with any claimants for the prize. For
the more mathematically inclined, it is believed that the problem has a unique
solution, but there might be a completely different way of approaching it to
that used in its compilation.
Tailpiece
Well, there it is then. This B.B. is perhaps somewhat in line with recent issues, as it is late
and did not fulfil the promise or hope made in the beginning of being the
largest B.B. ever. In fact, time made it
necessary to cut what was going to be a 48 page issue down to the 32 you
have. We must leave this sort of record
breaking to the new editor.
Apologies to those whose articles did not come out as a
result. The manuscripts will be sent to
Dave Irwin and no doubt he will publish them in due course although we
suspect that he will have the January B.B. all set up by now.
Thanks also to those who have sent in replies to the
surveying problem. These will also be
passed to Dave who will be well qualified to comment on them, being an active
surveyor himself.
Any answers to the Puzzle can be sent to Dave or direct to
me. It will not be feasible to print the
complete solution and method of arriving at it, as this takes up too much space
and I dont suppose that Dave will be as hard up for articles as I have been
lately.
It had been hoped to include an article by Stalagmite in
this B.B. but he has been rather busy acting as a pillar of society
lately. What was perhaps the best kept
secret of my editorship must remain so although he might write again who
knows? One thing can be said on this
subject I was not the author of this particular series.
As I said, thats it then I look forward to receiving the
B.B. next year, and to the pleasure of getting my copy in my hands without
knowing what it contains until I read it.
Cheers, and once again belatedly a Happy Christmas and a
Prosperous New Year to all
Alfie