QUODCUMQUE  FACIENDUM : NIMIS  FACIEMUS

Decorating The Belfry

The Belfry Engineer would like to hear from any members who
can suggest a suitable décor (such as colour schemes and the like) for the
redecoration of the Belfry.  If the
colour finally chosen are not to you liking, you will only have yourself to
blame.  If you don’t know what you would
like, tell him what you would NOT like.

Editorial

Happy Remainder Of The Year!

As explained in the last B.B., difficulties in trying to
publish the B.B continue.  Since this is
now February 5th, we must wish readers a Happy Eleven Months.

I went to the Annual Meeting of the N.G.A. early in December
last and, in spite of rumours which suggested that a rough time might be had by
all, I am happy to report that the meeting managed to avoid any form of open
conflict.  However, the N.G.A. still has
a long way to go before it, can really claim to possess the full confidence of
all its constituent members.  In spite of
the large amount of paper which it generates (I recently brought back nearly
two reams of printed matter and this was just the minutes of that Annual
Meeting for distribution by the Southern Council alone) the main failure of
N.C.A. to date still seems to be the degree of misunderstanding between its
constituent bodies.  Different points of
view are bound to exist, but provided they are recognised as being reasonable
and constructive and discussed sensibly and without rancour, the N.C.A. still
has a chance to become the sort of body it should become.  Perhaps the move to get the executive
meetings away from Stafford and into the regions will help.  At any rate, it has bought itself a year’s
breathing space.  Let us hope that it
uses this wisely.

Theory And Practice

No matter what the club has or has not decided about the
frequency of the B.B., it looks as if it is going to come out in practice
whenever there is enough material for another issue.  Thus, after a Christmas B.B. that was late by
a record amount, this one is for both January and February – not a very good
start to 1976 and Volume 30 of B.B.

My plea for help has not yet had time to penetrate, but I
shall continue to bang this particular drum because it is vital for the B.E.C.
to have a good, lively and regular journal or magazine – preferably edited by
some young, keen bloke with plenty of time to spare.  So far, all the hints I have personally
dropped have not produced any response. We must hope that behind some caver’s
rugged; beer-stained exterior there lurks a new editor!

Stop Press

This space being vacant (like the editor’s mind) it has
proved possible to include two pieces of news about two club members, both of
which, I regret to have to say, are bad.

Firstly, it is with extreme regret that we learn of the
death of Gordon Tilly.  Until fairly
recently, when the deteriorating condition of his spine made it no longer
possible – even for him – to get to Mendip, ‘Gordie’ was regular visitor to the
Hill.  In spite of his physic disability,
Gordie led a full and active life, and that included caving – something which
most, if not all, people in Gordie’s state would not even have considered
possible.

Al though Gordie’s caving was, of necessity, on a modest scale;
in overcoming his difficulties, he showed us that he had the sheer guts which
many a ‘tiger’ might well envy.  His good
humour was proverbial and at one time he took an active part in helping to run
the club, be on the committee and serving as Hut Warden and as part of the
publications team.

We extend our sincere sympathy to his family.  The world will be a poorer place; without
Gordie.

We also hear that Tony Corrigan has finally to lose a
leg.  We wish him a speedy recovery and
hope to see him about again as soon as possible.

“Alfie”

 

Before the Flood

We start 1976 with a caving
article from a bloke who writes very legibly and well but who has not put his
name on the article.  Thank you, anyway
and let’s have some more!

Many people have asked me what the Forty was like before the
’68 flood.  Those of you who have climbed
it before 1968 will remember the delights. The soakings from the waterfall. Unless you could afford a wetsuit you were in for a pretty cold time
waiting at the top to go down, and wondering when it would be your turn.

One of my last trips down the cave before the flood was, in
my opinion, typical of many.  We
squelched our way across the fields to the cave entrance.  Andy was bemoaning the fact that he had been
dragged away from a nice warm pub.  The
day was overcast and windy, but with no risk of flooding.

Scrambling in to the block house and down through the we met
a good sized stream thundering its way down with us and we got our first
soaking.  None of us wore wet suits.  A scramble down the Water Rift, through the
Lavatory Pan and we were into the Water Chamber.

We met a party coming out and asked if there was anyone on
the pitch. “No, but it’s bloody wet today!” was the reply.  On we pressed.  Clearly we would not have to wait to go down
today.  On, along the narrow stream
passage to the head of the pot.

I dropped down into the small alcove at the pitch head.  Pete handed me the ladders and rope.  He soon joined and started hunting round for
belays.

 “What’s wrong with
the bolts?” I asked.

“Don’t like the look of ’em!”

I tugged at one.  It
wouldn’t budge. “Come on!  Let’s get
this ladder down” I said.

As it went down, the sound of rung on rock mingled with the
splash of the water falling into the pool below.  The lifeline was made secure while I tied on
and Pete took his usual stance for lifelining, sat at the back of the alcove.

“At least I will have company if I fall off.”  I said as I perched on the edge of the
hole.  “Hold me on the
line!”  I felt for a rung and
climbed down.  Five or six feet from the
top the waterfall hit me.  ‘Christ!  That was cold,’ I thought.  Climbing down always seems to take
longer.  The ladder swung me in and out
of the waterfall.  The water hammered on
my head and down my neck.  Suddenly I was
at the bottom.  I stepped clear of ladder
and waterfall and untied. “O.K.” I shouted up the pitch.  Nothing I
shouted again.  The line twitched and
then disappeared upwards.

I looked up the pitch. The flash of his cap lamp as Jim climbed down through the freezing
shower bath was all I could see.  He
reached the bottom and stepped off into the pool, extolling the virtues of the
Forty in fluent Anglo Saxon. “Should have hung the bloody thing from Suicide’s Leap”, he
added.  I remarked that it was more
sporting the way it was.

Andy came down next very quickly.  He explained that, Pete was rigging a double
line.  We lifelined Pete down and set off
for Sump I.  An hour later, we were back
at the Forty, feeling cold and tired.  We
found another party descending and arranged to come up between their descents.  Jim climbed up first and lifelined the
remainder of the other party down.  I took
the lifeline from the man who had just descended and tied on.  My turn at last!  My feet were numb and I wondered if I could
make it back up the ladder.

“Take up slack!”  I
shouted.  The line went tight.  I climbed up fairly quickly.  At first the water splashing over me made no
difference, but soon my clothing felt like lead weights.  Out of the water now and not far to go.  It’s good to feel the lifeline tight round
one’s waist.  I stop a second to get my
breath. A last effort, and I pull myself up over the top, panting.  I untie the line and struggle through the
keyhole.  Soon, we are all back at the
top of the pitch.  Pete and Andy are rigging
the pitch with the other party’s ladder, while Jim and I fold our ladder for
the carry out.

Twenty minutes later we are back in daylight walking slowly
over the fields to Maine’s Barn and thinking of the thermos of coffee and warm
clothing that awaits us.

Editor’s
Note:     I have since found that this was
written by person than your friendly Hut Warden – Chris Batsone. Thanks, Chris.

  

Mik’s Peregrinations

One of the many snags of late publication is that ‘topical’
features become old history by the time they get read.  All the same, here is an account of the
Christmas festivities at the Belfry!

During the Christmas celebrations at the Belfry in 1974,
when a group of diners could find no room at the inn, it was decided that an
attempt woulld be made to repeat the ‘performance in 1975.  Being kept on tenterhooks during the year as
to who would, or would not, be able to come, some of those at the 1974 dinner
finally agreed that they would be able to come, and an open invitation was
offered to the remainder by way of Hunters.

Anyway, Arthur Laws agreed that since he would be working in
any case and since he enjoyed the 1974 effort, he would come and chef for us
again, so on Christmas Eve a small group turned up at the Belfry to scrape away
last weeks cooking fat, clean the windows and put up some Christmas trimmings
to bring about the usual festive Belfry look.

This done, and with firm instructions to those resident to
keep the fire going, we went away to meet again on Christmas Day when the
Hunters opened.  I’m not quite sure who
turned up first, but early arrivals were Mike and Maureen Wheadon with the
Palmer family of Theresa and Kirstine.

Next came the Belfry residents – Garth, John Dukes, Chris
Zot, Jen Sandicott, Pete Eckford and Maryon, Paul and Pat Christie.  Alan and Hilary were then speedily on the
scene followed by
Keith Murray
recently returned from his spell in the Republic of Chad.  Next to arrive were Mike and Pat Palmer with
the chef’s four children and a few catering items.  Finally, to complete the intending diners
came Keith Newbury, who incurred the wrath of the Wessex for joining our
gathering in ‘74 but now seems to be on speaking terms with them again.  Of course, by this time the Hunters was
beginning to become quite merry and although the session was shorter than
usual, it was very enjoyable.  At closing
time, quite a large group gather at the Belfry, but since our barrel was late
in arriving and people started shifting round the tables, they drift off to
places unknown.

This year, although the Belfry table naturally had pride of
place, we made use of our connections with the village hall and borrowed tables
and chairs from them with a certain amount of juggling (while Zot incited the
children to riot) we managed to get everything ready for the magic time when
Arthur would arrive.  After our long wait
last year, we were surprised when he arrived at full gallop quite early and in
no time at all we were seated round the table tucking in to a pleasant un-named
soup (could have been asparagus, but Arthur wasn’t quite sure) which was
followed by prawn cocktail which was in turn followed by the main course of
turkey or beef with roast and new potatoes, sprouts, swede and carrots, after
which a large plateful of turkey was passed round to keep the plates topped
up.  There was either white or red wine
(Some by courtesy of
Keith Murray
ex-Algeria) to rinse between mouthfuls and when we had completed this course
there was Christmas pudding and, after Arthur had dashed off home to fetch it,
some trifle.  This was followed by brandy
in coffee or coffee in brandy according to taste.

Very replete bodies then tottered off to various places –
Zot to his pit, Maureen to somebody else’s pit, Jen and Pat Christie to their
respective sleeping place and Timothy Ashleigh fell out of his on to the Belfry
floor.  We were then joined by Richard
Stevenson who, with Chris Batstone, Jon Jon, Chris Hannam, Rodney Hobbs, Claire
Chamberlain et al. were dining at Greystones later in the day.  Then came the Collins family, who seem to be
cramming in a lot of appearances at the end of the year.  They stayed to cheer us up for a time before
departing for the Wessex.

After some hours, we all felt able to totter up to
Greystones for a tot on the way to the Hunters, where we were regaled with port
and mince pies and treated to the spectacle of Hobbs and Hannam washing
up.  Then on to the Hunters itself, where
we reluctantly drank several pints before returning (after closing) to pasties
and Bubble and Squeak for all at the Belfry. Thus ended Christmas day.

 

Seeing the Error Of their Ways! 

Scientific caving with a twist.  An interesting oddity to make surveyors think
twice.

by Alfie.

A cave surveyor is approached by a digging team.  They want to sink a deep shaft to break into
the far reaches of a big cave. Unfortunately, the passages in this part of the cave are small, so they
want to know where to sink the shaft to the greatest degree of accuracy
possible.  Other methods, such as
electromagnetics, hay proved unsuitable, so they are depending entirely on the
surveyor, who they approach with high hopes.

The surveyor points out that, however carefully he checks
and calibrates his equipment and however careful he takes his readings and
avoids mistakes, there will be an error left due to the imprecision of his
readings.   I will be a random error, but
should not amount to more than 0.5O in bearing and a total of 0.1 m in position
and distance combined (let us conveniently forget elevation to make the
argument simpler!)

The diggers say that this is fine.  4 inches for instance, and they weren’t
expecting anything quite as good as this. The surveyor (noting that the diggers are bigger and uglier than he is)
points out that these errors are for each leg of the survey.  As the cave is about 1km long (5 furlongs to
you!) there will be about 100 such legs from the entrance to the point in
question.

The diggers scratch their heads, and finally ask the
surveyor how far out he reckons to be. The surveyor says he reckons to be about 1½ metres out.  The diggers, after more head scratching, point
out that over a hundred measurements, he ought to be about 400 inches out and
50O, since these figures are a hundred times his error a single leg.

The surveyor, assuming a crafty expression, says that you
might expect that sort of thing, but luckily the errors tend to cancel each
other out.  His figure of about 1½ m
allows for this.

One of the diggers, who has been lost in thought, asks the
surveyor what he means by the errors tending to cancel each other out.  Does this mean that the surveyor is taking a
gamble when he says that he is within a metre and a half of the real point
underground?

The surveyor, abandoning his crafty expression, has to agree
that this is so.  He points out that
there is about a 70% chance of his point on the survey being within 1½ of the
true point underground.  The diggers say
that this is all very well, but they are going to have to sink a three hundred
foot deep shaft through solid rock, and they don’t want to be fobbed off with
excuses (if the shaft misses the passage) about what rotten luck it was.  The surveyor, noting that the diggers are
getting somewhat belligerent, says that if they want certainty, then he cannot
guarantee that his end point is better than about 12m from the real point, but
adds that it would be very unlikely indeed to be so far out.

The diggers, after much calculation, agree that 12m is a little
over 39 feet.  They ask the surveyor if
he can tell them in what direction the true point will lie.  The surveyor admits that he cannot.  One of the diggers, a more educated man, then
draws a diagram illustrating the state of affairs.  If ‘S’ is the surveyed point and ‘T’ is the
true point, then the areas shown are the state of affairs, except of course,
that the position of ‘T’ will not be known. Thus all one can say with certainty is that ‘T’ must lie somewhere
within 12m of ‘S’.

The surveyor says that this is true, but again says that it
would be very hard luck if the distance anywhere near 12m.  He says that, if they are really worried
about the chances, then he can run a second independent traverse from the
entrance to the point in question, by a different route if necessary.  He will then have two points representing the
point they want, and the real point will almost certainly lie somewhere between
them.  He points out that this will
reduce the whole uncertainty by quite an amount.  The digger who drew the diagram shakes his
head.  He asks the surveyor straight out
if he accepts the 12m radius from the surveyed point as being all that can be
stated with certainty about the possible position of the true point, like
this….


….and the surveyor agrees. The digger now says that if a second point is surveyed, the same sort of
thing will also apply for it as for the first, except that the radius might
well be different depending on the second route through the cave.  He now draws this diagram….


The surveyor agrees that this is so, but says that it is
unfair the way that the digger has shown his two points to be almost as badly
out as is possible.  He says that he is
quite sure the two points will be much closer together than the way the digger
has showed them to be.

With a crafty leer, the digger accepts this change.  He draws a new diagram showing a much smaller
error…


As the surveyor looks at the new diagram, his jaw drops and
beads of sweat form on his brow.  The
amount of mis-closure between the two traverses is now much less, showing that
the surveys are now more accurate – and yet much less is now known about the
true position of the point in question! It would appear that the less accurate the survey, the better was the
position of the actual point known to the surveyor!

The diggers wait patiently for the surveyor to come to some
conclusion.  They finally (because it is
getting dangerously close to opening time) ask the surveyor what this means.

The surveyor replies that it means he will be resigning from
B.C.R.A. and taking up some entirely different pursuit in the future.  The diggers, faced with the possibility of
having to drive adits from the bottom of their shaft and, in any case, being
possibly even less accurate in depth (a nicety that we agreed earlier to
overlook, since things are quite bad enough without any further complications)
agree to join him.  At present, we
understand they are looking into Morris dancing as an enjoyable pastime!

The editor wonders what any of the club’s cave surveyors
make of the above, and would be pleased to hear if we still have any left after
they have read this article!

 

A Constant Current Battery Charger

After what seems a clear case of
club members putting the club motto into practice again, we move into somewhat
higher realms of thought with this recipe for a battery by the indefatigable
Graham Wilton-Jones.

The simplest way to charge up a cell is to use a source of
D.C. voltage higher than that produced by the cell to be charged and to limit the
current to the 1 or 2 amps required by means of a voltage dropper
resistor.   A 12 volt car battery can be
used as the source of D.C. and an ammeter placed anywhere in the circuit can be
used to monitor the current.

Figure (i)

 

Many of us use such a system for charging cells from a car
battery charger.  Two cells can be
charged together and wired in series. This simple system has disadvantages. The voltage dropper resistor, which can be a piece of electric fire
element, becomes very hot and may get hot enough to cause fires, melt
insulation on nearby wires etc.  In
addition to this, as the e.m.f. of the cell being charged increases, the
current flow decreases and thus, if you want to charge at a constant current,
the voltage dropper resistor must be constantly decreased.

A simple form of constant current charger appeared in the
March 1975 issue of the Journal of the Northern Cave Club.  (I thought that there were several clubs up
in the North! – Ed.) and is reproduced below:-

Figure (2)


The transistors are NPN power transistors.  Such a circuit provides a constant currant of
2 amps across output.  Exchanging the
0.35 ohm resistor for one of twice its value reduces the current from 2 amps to
1 amp.

This system, too, has its disadvantages.  Control resistors of 0.35 or 0.7 ohms have
normally to be fabricated.  Again,
electric fire element wire is suitable. However, the circuit is unstable and is especially affected by
temperature changes.  Tr.1, in
particular, gets hot and this affects the output current.  The control resistor gets almost as
dangerously hot as does the voltage dropper in the simple circuit of Figure
(i).  Lastly, it requires a 12 volt
supply which must remain constant at 12 volts.

In the circuit shown in Figure (iii) below, all these
disadvantages have been eliminated.  Tr.3
has been replaced by an operational amplifier and the Darlington pair of Tr.2
and Tr.1 has been replaced by a Darlington pair in a single unit.  A Zener diode cuts excess voltage and all
components are standard and commercially available.

Figure (iii)


 

Switzerland 1975

An account of a trip made by club members last year

by Roy Marshall

On the 27th of July, Bob Sell, Derek Target and myself were
at Saas Grund in Switzerland.  We were
half way through a Swiss climbing holiday. With us were our wives (girl friends, children etc.)  The weather was fabulous – the sun shining
and not a cloud in the sky.  It couldn’t
last.

In the previous week we had climbed two training routes from
the valley.  The Mittaghorn – 3143m
(10,312ft) and the Gemshorn.  The
Mittaghorn is a steep easy ridge above Saas Fee.  We were prevented from making the round trip
Mittaghorn-Egginer-Felskin-Sass Fee by bad weather and the fact that we had
little equipment with us.  The ridge from
the Mittaghorn to the Egginer looked quite interesting.

The lower slopes of the Mittaghorn have an interesting walk
planned out.  The path follows the lower
slope around Saas Fee and at intervals walkers are persuaded, to perform
exercises described on notice boards. These slopes also abound in Chamois and Marmot.

Two days after our ramble up the Mittaghorn we an early
start to climb the Gemshorn.  We left the
camp site at 3 a.m. to drive the 2-3 Km (1¼ – 1⅞ miles) to Saas Fee (½km or 550
yards on foot).  The long slog through
Saas Fee was uneventful.  The slog up to
the snow was more pleasant, once we had cleared the houses.  On reaching snow we were disappointed to find
it was in rotten condition.  The slope
was about 45O but the snow was so rotten that we would often fall through up to
our thighs.

We struggled to a point about halfway up the slope to a

rock island
at the foot
of a gully.  There was some evidence of
recent snow slips, like mini-avalanches. We sat on these rocks, gathering our breath and eating our lunch when we
were disturbed by a low rumbling, cracking sound.  Without waiting to see what was going on, we
ran across the snow away from the sound. From a safe distance we saw that half a ton of rock had fallen from a
wall about thirty feet away from us.

After a reasonable wait we returned to our discarded gear
and after some discussion we decided to continue up the gully.  As we climbed toward the ridge the snow
became even worse.  The walls on either
side – much closer now ¬looked horribly unstable.  Discretion took the greater part and we
reversed.  As we staggered across the
last patches of snow we were hysterical. We had fallen through the snow so often that we were just falling about
laughing.  We stayed on the rocks for
some time, eating our witchity grubs and watching a couple of ibex feeding
among the rocks a short distance away.

On the following day we drove to the Mattmark.  This is a nice easy way to reach the snow,
the car park being at 2200m (7,218ft). It is a nice place to take the family for a walk.  Sunday, being a day of rest, we spent in
preparing our gear for our Matterhorn climb. Late in the afternoon, Bob, Derek and myself piled into Derek’s car to
drive to Tasch.  The road to Zermatt is
not open to tourists and the only way is to walk or to catch a train from
Tasch.  From the train, there was no way
to make us walk from Tasch, we walked through Zermatt towards the Hornlii hut
on the Matterhorn.

The Hornlii hut is four hours walk from Zermatt or two hours
from Schwarzee.  From Zermatt, two cable
cars take you to Schwarzee.  We, of
course, took the cable cars as far as we could. The walk from the cable station to the hut has been described as an
endless series of zigzags.  We described
it in one word.  This word was uttered
softly and frequently, with backs bent and gasping for breath.  Sh….!

At about six o’clock we booked into the hut and set about
cooking a meal.  Cooking is not allowed
in the dining areas of the hut, but a special room is available at ground
level.  We changed our boots for hut
boots – solid wooden clogs with remains of a fur lining and set up our stove to
cook our stew, followed of course by witchity grubs.

On the way up, we passed an American climber who, when
meeting us at the Hut, asked us if he could join in on the climb.  This we agreed to.  A German climber also joined us.  He had climbed the Matterhorn seven times
already, reaching the top twice and was too good to pass up (unpaid guide, my
boy!)

The evening was glorious. From the dormitory window it was possible to look down to Swarzee and
beyond to
Zermatt.  We went with George (our German companion) to
suss out the first part of the route.  As
we climbed, we could see the Monte Rosa to the east (?) and on the skyline we
could just make out the top of the Eiger. As the sun set, we watched the snow change colour from white to silver
to golden red.  After scrounging some of
George’s tea, we settled down to sleep. The nights had been pretty cold in the valley, so we thought that up in
the hut it would be even colder.  We got
into our sacs fully clothed and pulled the two blankets supplied over the
top.  The hut was unheated, but the heat
generated by the twenty five sleeping bodies made it very warm.  In the end, we were all just lying under our
sleeping bags.

We had prepared our gear the evening before.  We had religiously read the guidebook and
decided the course of action.  We tore
out the pages of route description from the book and put them to more useful
purpose.  The guidebook is of little help
in route finding.

At about 3.30 a.m. we started our climb.  It was cool with a bright moon.  The moon was so bright that our headlights
were only necessary in deep shadow.  We
solo until daylight.  This is something I
regret in many ways and certainly is something that I don’t recommend.  Three climbers had been killed doing just
this during the previous week.

The climbing is easy but steep, the rock loose dusty.  Below the Solvay Hut (an emergency bivouac
hut) the route become very steep and metal belay spikes have been
provided.  The Solvay Hut at 4,000m
(13,123ft) is blessing.  I had taken so
many photographs in taking crafty rests that I risked running out of film.  This was the highest I had climbed and I was
finding that the height was affected me quite badly.  I had to rest for a short while in the
hut.  We were all feeling the altitude to
a greater or lesser extent.  The hut was
also a good place to leave our heavy gear.

We climber on from the Solvay Hut.  Again, steep loose rock until it was time to
put on our crampons.  Altitude sickness
usually passes when you have passed your critical altitude – with some of our
party it did not.  This left us with the
decision whether to split the party or not. Splitting would have meant leaving people on the mountain from up to 3
hours.  This fact and the forecast of
thunderstorms in the afternoon decided us. We turned back at 4,100m (13,451ft) a mere 300m (984ft) from the
top.  The worst over, with an easy snow
slope followed by fixed ropes to the top. The fact that the last cable car down from Swarzee left at 6.45 helped
us to decide.

Higher than the Eiger, we could have pushed it to the top,
but it would have left us pretty knackered. The trouble with mountains is that you have to climb back down, and
going on would have drained our energy for the necessary return trip.

We weren’t pleased to find that the guided parties had gone
through our sacs which we had left in the Solvay Hut and drunk all our
water.  This only reinforced our opinion
of the guides.  They had climbed over us
going up and now they had taken all our drink. Anyone would think that they owned the mountain.  This, of course, did not apply to all of the
guides; we had pleasant conversations with a couple of the older ones.

Money and other considerations being equal, we hope to
return in 1977 to have another go.  This
time, we need to be fitter and more acclimatised to the altitude.

 

Monthly Crossword – Number 64

 

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Across:

1. Cops out in Cuthbert’s
chamber. (7)
4. Direction of travel after pot-bottoming? (2)
5. Small caving operation. (2)
8. Safer bet illustrated by cavers entering and leaving cave. (4,3)
9. Masters of cave follows these. (7)
10. Exclamation. (2)
12. Correct. (1,1)
13. Drunkards walk in formation? (7)

Down

1. See 5 across. (2)
2. Northern trespassers angry in afterthought. (7)
3. Thus. (2)
4. Discover caver underneath muddle without Plumley’s. (7)
6. Risk pus with a climbing knot? (7)
5. Individual entries on a list of gear, perhaps? (5).
7.  South proverbially mad east Mendip
cave. (7)
11. Old English. (1,1)
12. Officer commanding. (1,1)

Solution to Last Month’s Crossword

R

A

W

L

B

O

L

T

S

H

 

 

A

 

R

 

 

T

I

 

I

N

L

E

T

 

R

N

O

T

E

 

S

I

T

E

O

 

E

 

 

 

G

 

A

R

I

M

S

 

T

H

E

M

I

 

S

H

O

R

T

 

W

F

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A

T

H

E

W

E

T

W

A

Y

 

Club Headquarters

The Belfry,

Wells
Rd
, Priddy, Wells,

Somerset
. Telephone WELLS 72126

Club Committee

Chairman          S.J.
Collins

Minutes Sec      G.

Wilton
-Jones

Members           Chris Batstone, John Dukes, Chris
Howell, Tim Large, Mike Wheadon, R. Marshall, Barry Wilton.

Officers Of The Club

Honorary Secretary        M.
WHEADON, 91 The Oval, Englishcoombe,

Bath
.  Tel :

BATH

713646

Honorary Treasurer         B.

WILTON
, ‘Valley View’,

Venus Lane
,
Clutton, Nr. Bristol. Tele :

TEMPLE
CLOUD

52072

Caving Secretary            TIM
LARGE,

15 Kippax Avenue
,
Wells, Somerset

Climbing
Secretary         R. MARSHALL, 7 Fairacre
Close, Lockleaze,

Bristol

Hut Warden                   C.
BATSTONE,

8 Prospect Place
,
Bathford,

Bath
..

Belfry Engineer              J.
DUKES,

4 Springfield Crescent
,
Southampton. SO1 6LE  Tele : (0703) 774649

Tacklemaster                 G.
WILTON-JONES, ‘Ilenea’,

Stonefield
Road
. Nap Hill,
High Wycombe,
Bucks. Tele : (024) 024 3534

B.B. Editor                    S.J.
COLLINS, Lavender Cottage, Bishops Sutton, Nr. Bristol. Tel : CHEW MAGNA 2915

Publications Editor         C.
HOWELL,

131 Sandon Road
,
Edgebaston,

Birmingham

17.  Tele : (021) 429 5549

B.B. Postal                    BRENDA

WILTON
  Address as for Barry

Spares                          T.
LARGE,  Address already given

Membership Sec.           Mrs. A.
DOOLEY, c/o The Belfry.  TO WHOM ALL SUBS
SHOULD BE SENT.

 

All contribution to the Belfry Bulletin, including those of
officers of the club, are not necessarily the opinions of the editor or the
committee of the Bristol Exploration Club, unless explicitly stated as being
such.

© 2024 Bristol Exploration Club Ltd

registered in England and Wales as a co-operative society under the Co-operative and Community Benefit Societies Act 2014, registered no. 4934.

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