QUODCUMQUE  FACIENDUM : NIMIS  FACIEMUS

Editorial

Once again, it is Christmas time.  On behalf of the B.B. team (now much
enlarged!) your editor would like to wish all club members; all readers of the
B. B. and all cavers everywhere a very happy Christmas.

No Medals For ’76

With an almost record low level of publication for the B.B.
this year, it has been decided to finish as we have unfortunately gone on, and
not to make this issue of the B.B. the traditionally large one which has come
to be the usual form for Christmas. Thus, we have the ‘normal’ page B.B. Instead, effort is going into the January B.B. so that we can hopefully
get 1977 off to a good start and go on from there.  If all goes well, we hope that it will be a
very different tale by Christmas next year.

Apology

With ‘only’ a normal page B.B., the editor apologises to
readers for the relatively large space taken up by his own annual contribution
– another of the allegedly humorous tales of Pete Pushem and Co.  This was written some time ago when it was
hoped that the B B. would be large enough to ‘lose ‘ it in.  Sorry.

Goodbye To A5

As explained last month, once again we are about to change
the size of the B.B. – by almost the unanimous choice of those present – to
twice the present page size.  As hinted
last month, I found myself in a minority over this choice, but have no reason
to grumble, since the meeting made it clear that, should I feel strongly
enough, about the format, it would remain as it is now.  The new arrangement has some advantages over
this size, and some disadvantages.  One
of these is that, even if we manage to increase the ‘normal’ recent size of the
B.B. from 20 pages like this, it will still look thinner.  However, we hope we shall be improving the
general appearance of the B.B. next year to be more in line with what the club
might hope for.  Time will, of course,
tell.

The N.C.A. and All That

For some time now, the B.B. has carried no real news on the
subject of N.C.A. and its possible reorganisation.  The reason, as you may remember, was that
while the Working Party on the structure of N.C.A. was conducting its research,
it was thought best not to try to influence matters in any way.  This Working Party has now finished its work,
and will be presenting its findings to the Annual Meeting of N.C.A. on the 4th
of December.  The Southern Council is
going to ask for the report to lay ‘on the table’ until a special meeting – to
be held in the spring of next year – can have time to consider it and act
accordingly.  One hopes that, both at the
Annual Meeting and the Special meeting (if agreed to) commonsense will prevail.

“Alfie”

 

Not Happy on The Surface

A description of a trip with a
difference sent in by Barbara Turner

Early one Sunday morning, David woke up and decided to go
for a good trip.   As I don’t like to
miss out on anything, I decided to join him instead of lying in bed.

We reached the field, and David thought I was going to sit
in the car while he went off, and was quite surprised when I announced that I
wanted to join him and his friends.  It
was a beautiful morning, and I soon got ready – completing my preparations by
putting on my helmet.  Although it was my
sixth trip, I was still a little apprehensive as we left the surface behind,
but I didn’t find it too arduous.  The
scenery was beautiful and the air smelt fresh, but being a trifle nervous, I
was continually telling David to mind this or that, in spite of the fact that
he has perfect eyesight.  Obstacles do
seem to appear from nowhere, and I asked if we could keep still for a moment,
but he said we must carry on.  The other
thing that worried me was the light.  I
wondered what would happen if it went out, but I was assured that it wouldn’t,
although David admitted that if it went out at a tricky point, or stayed out
for good, we might not stay alive long enough to worry much about it.

I diverted my thoughts to other things, and was surprised
when David said that it was time we thought about getting back to the
surface.  We approached it slowly at
first, them suddenly it was there with a bang and everyone landed on top of
me.  What a good trip!  An unusual one, you may think – but life is
very eventful being married to someone who is not happy at ground level.

The trip I have just described took place 1,000 feet above
the ground in a balloon – not 1,000 feet below it in a cave!

 

Rest Assured

Author’s Note: The B.E.C.
of Pete Pushem, and the rest of that fictional band of cavers, bears no
relation to the Bristol Exploration Club, but are a purely fictional set of
characters who come up against and somehow overcome difficulties which
represent extrapolations of trends in present day caving as their author sees
them.  The trend being flogged to death
this year is topically.  Public Liability
Insurance and its effect in a purely hypothetical future.  In presenting this episode, the author must
stress that no resemblance of any kind is intended to any real cavers or
incidents; to any caver’s relatives; to managers of actual insurance companies;
to actual Claims Investigators, Solicitors or to anyone connected in any way
with the subject dealt with.  This
fictional tale is intended as a Christmas fantasy, and not as comment on an
actual situation of any kind

——- I ——-

It is a dark, wet, cold, foggy, typical Mendip autumn
evening.  Inside the old Mendip pub,
which all form of progress have luckily overlooked, the cosy – not to say snug
– atmosphere is failing to have its customary effect.  In short, the B.E.C. have a problem.  Pete Pushem, one huge, hairy fist clutching
his tankard is, as usual, holding forth.

“If I’d known that ruddy twit Wethen’s ruddy parents would
threaten us with ruddy negligence, I’d have wrung his ruddy neck for him.  No ruddy gratitude for being taken caving!”

“We shouldn’t have been caving.”  Fred Ferrett remarks.  “We all know that when the insurance went up
to £50 a member, and we stopped paying it, we weren’t covered for this sort of
thing – only for Social Activities.”

“I know that:” growls Pete, taking a savage swig at his
beer.  “We play ruddy dominoes when
anyone’s about and go ruddy caving in the middle of the ruddy night.”

“That’s the snag.” muses Ron Runnitt.  “We were all tiddly at that time of
night.  Completely slewed, in fact, it
was rough luck that somebody lurched a bit, as a man will, and knocked young
Wethen into the pot, where he broke his leg. Can’t very well deny that it happened.”

“We’ve ruddy got to!” points out Pete.  “Otherwise they’ll collar all our ruddy
assets to pay the ruddy damages.”

Sid Spanner has so far said nothing.  He has been thinking.  “We might get away with it,” he now remarks,
“given good luck.”

Unfortunately, it is not the B.E.C.’s lucky day.  Lurking in the deep shadows at the other end
of the, bar sits Stan Sniff, the claims investigator.  Owing to the acoustics of the room, he has
not heard the entire conversation, but he has, he feels, heard quite enough to
exonerate the insurance company from any possible claim.  As they continue to talk, he slides expertly
and quite unnoticed out of the pub.

——- II ——-

It is a few days later. We are in the offices of the Helictite Insurance Co., known in the trade
as ‘the old Erratic.’  The manager,
Charley Coverall, is conferring with his secretary, the attractive Belinda
Bedworthy.

“This letter from the B.E.C.” he says, waving the offending
piece of paper in the air, “reporting that a guest received an injury while
engage in social activities.  Isn’t this
the case we put Sniff on to?”

Belinda nods.  Past
experience has taught her never to say ‘yes’ to even the most innocuous of
Charley’s remarks.  She hand him a file,
which he looks at.

“Ha!”, he snorts.  “Here
it is!  They admitted they were caving –
and drunk as well.  ‘Tiddly’ and ‘slewed’
I see.  We’re in the clear.”

Belinda frowns. She has often found this a good move.

“It’s only their word against Sniff’s and possibly Wethen’s”
she suggests.

Charley looks at her. She has, he thinks, the most delightful legs.  She really should wear shorter skirts with
legs like that.  With an effort, he
recalls the subject of the conversation.

“Get Sniff to look in at their Hut, and try to trip them
up.  I want to make dead sure we get the
better of that lot.”

——- III ——-

It is early one evening when Stan Sniff knocks most
deferentially on the Belfry door.  It is
opened, after the merest pause, by an obsequious Ron Runnitt.  Sniff is invited to enter.

Pete Pushem is seated at a table, playing patience.  Nearby, an animated game of dominoes is in
progress. At a side table, Sam Strangeways is pouring himself a small orange
juice.  It is a peaceful, if dull, scene.

Introductions are soon made. Sniff has expressed his interest in joining the club.  Sam, giving every appearance of a man
speaking the truth, is replying.

“So you see, we are now a social club dedicated to the
playing of harmless indoor games.  You
will appreciate that we cannot allow you to join at once, because many
newcomers tend to find our way of life too dull for them.  Have an orange juice?”

Sniff adopts a crafty expression.  “I had heard,” he suggests, “that you still
go caving.”

“Ah”, says Fred Ferrett, “A mistake that people often make,
I fear.  It is true that we once went
caving but, guided by our insurers, we came to realise that it was an anti-social
pastime.”

“One that we were well rid of!”, adds Sam.

Pete Pushem’s face is slowly turning purple.  Blood vessels stand out on his neck.  It may, of course, be the effect of drinking
orange juice, but Sid Spanner fears that the strain is proving too much.   As Pete rises to his feet, Sam wonders
whether all will be lost.

“I feel it is time,” Pete finally says in a voice totally
unlike his usual bellow, “that we all sang a few hymns.”

——- IV ——-

We are back in the offices of the Helictite.  Charley Coverall is pacing up and down,
snarling to himself. The wretched Sniff cowers in a corner.  The atmosphere is tense.

“So!” hisses Coverall, “You completely failed.  Do you realise that I have had to write to
them and actually ask them if they will take our representative to see, the
spot where the accident took place?”

Sniff prudently remains silent.

“And do you know what they have had the nerve to reply?  They say that, as they have no insurance
cover, they cannot help, but since we are both, no doubt, interested in furthering
the cause of truth and justice, they will gladly take our representative to
wherever he thinks an accident might have taken place, provided that we arrange
a years cover for them at our expense.”

Charley glowers at the wretched Stan Sniff.

“And what is more, we’ll damned well have to do it, if we
want to visit the scene of the accident. I can’t send you – you’re too incompetent.  I wonder if our Belinda could soften them up
a bit?”

——- V ——-

It is some time later. Belinda has just returned from her caving trip.  It has turned out a strangely quiet affair
for there is scarcely a man – or woman – in the party who is not wrestling with
some knotty mental problem.

Fred Ferrett, for instance, wonders whether this girl will
insist on staying at the Belfry and playing dominoes and drinking orange juice
and if so, how he can manage to slope off. Pete Pushem is wondering how much longer the club can hold out against
such an attractive girl.  Some one, he
thinks gloomily, is bound to crack up sooner or later.  Unbeknowing to Pete, this has already
happened.

Sid Spanner can only think what a marvellous girl Belinda
is.  She has taken to caving like a duck
to water.  He now feels certain he can
trust her, and had resolved to tell her all. Belinda, in turn is thinking that Sid is terrific and is looking forward
to caving with him as much as possible. In fact, her thoughts have progressed as far as making little wetsuits
for the children, when she remembers that she and Sid are supposed to be on
opposite sides.  Her job is to drop Sid
in the clag.  Its a situation that the
late P.G. Wodehouse would have appreciated, even though (by some oversight, no
doubt) he was never a member of the B.E.C.

——- VI ——-

It is snowing much later that same evening.  A uniform state of gloom hangs over the
B.E.C.  It would not be stretching a
point to say that morale is at a low ebb. Fred Ferrett, for example, has not managed to slope off and an evening
of dominoes and orange juice has left him physically and mentally
exhausted.  Sid Spanner has found matters
even more frustrating.  This girl, who he
had so much admired, has now shown herself to be a girl who likes drinking
orange juice and playing dominoes.  He
has just decided to remain a bachelor for life. Pete Pushem is deciding that now she has at last gone, he is so full of
orange juice that there is no room for beer.

Belinda, on the other hand, has made up her mind.  She has driven straight to the nearest pub,
where she is gratefully drinking a restoring pint of bitter while phoning her
favourite uncle.

“…so you see, uncle, why I have got to help these boys.  Wethen’s description of the place where he
got knocked over is a bit vague, and now I have been down a cave, I’m sure it
could fit almost any pitch.  What the
boys need is a good story to explain what that horrible man Sniff
overheard.  That, uncle is where you come
in.  You remember when you used to be
quite an expert.”

Belinda’s uncle – always the sportsman – grins to himself as
the scheme unfolds.

——- VII ——-

We are, luckily, for the last time in the offices of the
Helictite.  A meeting is in progress
between Charley Coverall, Stan Sniff and a solicitor representing the
B.E.C.  There is also, of course,
Belinda.  For some reason she is wearing
her shortest skirt and her lowest cut blouse. The effect is such that none of the others can really concentrate on
what they are supposed to be doing.

“I really cannot see,” Charley manges to say, why we are
wasting time like this.  There can be no
question of our meeting any claim, since Mr Sniff here is prepared to state
that he overheard them admit they were down a cave and in an inebriated
cond1tfon. There is really nothing more I have to say.”

The club’s solicitor smiles blandly, for all the world as if
about to tell the truth.  “It seems,” he
says, “that Wethen claims to have sustained- injuries as a result of falling
into or on to a pot.  He has given a
description of: the place where the injury is alleged to have occurred which he
could easily obtained from any of the old guidebooks.  The rest of your story is based on what Mr.
Sniff here thinks he heard in a public house, while he was no doubt, consuming
alcoholic refreshment.  There is some mention
of a person or persons being ‘tiddly’. The word ‘slewed’ has also been mentioned.  Wethen apparently fell into, or on to, a pot
after somebody had lost his balance and fallen against him.  Whether this action amounts to negligence is
a moot point, since this habit of the B.E.C. drinking orange juice may, for all
I know, affect their balance, but,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “it is also
well known that the B.E.C. now play indoor games, since they can no longer
afford the insurance to go caving.  I
have, you will be interested to hear, been in touch with an expert on the
traditional English game of Tiddlywinks.

It appears, not unreasonably, that at some stage of this
game, a player is said to be tiddly.  It
also appears that a certain kind of shot is called a slewed shot and that the
vessel into which they endeavour to flip the counter known as the wink, is
called the pot.  It would seem that Mr.
Sniff, who perhaps had found it necessary to fortify himself against the cold
with a certain amount of alcoholic refreshment, in fact overheard the cavers
going over what had happened during a particularly hard fought game of
Tiddlywinks, during which Wethen fell on to (not ‘into’) the pot.  I am, of course, prepared to produce my
expert witness if necessary.”

There is an awkward silence. It is broken at last by Belinda.

“What do you think of this explanation?” she innocently
asks, leaning as far forward in their direction as is consistent with retaining
her balance on her chair.

“Lovely,” murmurs Sniff.

“Beautiful,” breaths Coverall.

Belinda dutifully notes their replies.

——- VIII ——-

It is early one evening, just before Christmas, soon after
these shattering events have taken place. The B.E.C. are, naturally, on their way to the pub.  Now that they have a fully paid up insurance
policy, they have been able to go underground in the daytime, but even this has
failed to have its customary euphoric effect. Pete is wondering whether the beer he is currently brewing for Christmas
will be seized with his other effects, as he does not yet know what has occurred.  Sid, equally in the dark, is still bitterly
disillusioned.  They file gloomily into
the pub.

Standing by the bar, looking lovely in the soft glow of the
oil lamps in spite of the old clothes she is wearing, is a girl.  It is, of course, Belinda.  She is just draining a pint of bitter in a
manner that even the experts of the B.E.C. are forced to admire.  She would, Pete thinks, prove an asset to any
team in a boat race.  Slowly, she turns
round and smiles at them.

“It is my round.” She says. “What are you having?”

——- IX ——-

It is very much later that same evening.  It may even be early the next morning.  It is not a point likely to worry the
B.E.C.  Much, after all, has happened.  Belinda has brought them up to date on recent
events.  She has even managed to get
their new policy into the file marked ‘automatic annual renewal’ – for she is
not a girl who does things by halves – although she has to tell them that their
old policy now has an exclusion forbidding them to play the dangerous game of
Tiddlywinks.  This news nearly causes
them to spill their beer.  One way and
another, they have had quite an evening.

Now, Pete Pushem is sitting in the Belfry, contentedly
surveying the scene which meets with his entire approval.  Ron Runnitt is fast asleep in another chair,
his tankard dangling from his hand. Outside, Pete can hear the melodious sound or Fred Ferrett honking in
the moonlight.  Over the far side of the
room, Belinda is expertly putting the unconscious form or Sid Spanner into his
bunk.  He gazes on this domestic touch
with particular approval.  If all goes
well, he reflects as his eyes finally close, the B.E.C. will not be losing a
son so much as gaining a daughter.

 

The Adventures of P.C. Plod

or, “The Advantages of having a policeman around the
place.”

By Paul Christie.

The scene is a sunny Saturday in July on Mendip.  The Belfry was inhabited for the weekend by a
number of familiar faces, including our own intrepid ‘Mr’ Plod.

Breakfast had come and gone and so had lunch at the
Hunters.  Surrey Heath Caving Club,
having spent all the morning festering, finally decided that they would have to
go caving.  Even the Hut Warden was
mumbling about going down a cave, and hastily assembled a party.  These two groups of cavers appeared to
include everybody who was staying at the Belfry except for ‘Mr’ Plod, who
rarely goes caving anyway.  However, the
ever watchful and observant ‘Mr’ Plod had noticed something else.  In true detective story fashion, we will call
the extra man who ‘Mr’ Plod had noticed when everybody else overlooked his
presence, Mr. X, for want of a more descriptive name.

The events of the next three hours are unknown to me, but it
appears that X was left alone at the Belfry when ‘Mr’ Plod went to see his
family.  By the time the cavers had
returned, Mr X had left Mendip to go no one knew where.

Showers were taken, cooking tea began, and everything seemed
quite normal.

The next item on the agenda was the Hunters.  Everyone went to their pits to get their
purses and wallets etc. Then, simultaneously from the four points of the
Belfry, an agonising sound was heard. Investigations quickly revealed that four people had lost a total of
£42.50.

The police were informed and the people who had lost money
were interviewed.  At the end of the
weekend, we all went out individual ways, a little poorer and a little
wiser.  Don’t leave money and valuables
in your pit!

(That’s the obvious place for a thief to look ).

Months passed, and the money was as good as forgotten.

We were now into September, and two contingents of club
members were gathered in Manchester for the B.C.R.A. Conference.  All were assembled in the Renold Building of
U.M.I.S.T. along with cavers from all over the country and various exhibitors
and organisations selling their wares.

Sometime during the Saturday afternoon, an excited ‘Mr’ Plod
approached me, looking serious, and asked me to go down to the Y.B.A. stand and
see if I recognised anyone.

On getting there, I was shocked to discover that I did.  It was our friend X who, by this time, I
thought I would never see again as he was the obvious candidate for the theft
already described.  Well, that was two of
us who recognised him, but ‘Mr’ Plod, being a good policeman, wanted to make
sure.  Who else was at the Belfry who
could remember this person?  We quickly
remembered Sandy, who even remembered speaking to him and who was probably the
best witness.  She recognised him
immediately so (softly, softly,) ‘Mr’ Plod moved into action.  Questioning began and our Mr X was not having
it at all.  Although unable to offer an
alibi or other proof, he was adamant that he had not been at the Belfry on the
weekend in question despite being faced by three people who remembered him from
that weekend.  ‘Mr’ Plod was “not
satisfied with his story and decided to fetch the cavalry, sorry, the local
fuzz (OINK!)  Mr X was then taken away to
“help the police with their enquiries” at about 4 p.m. and after
nearly three hours of questioning decided for once in his life to be a white
man and confess.

The story continued at Wells Magistrates Court on the
following Monday, where the young man was asked to pay the £42.50 compensation
and fined a further £50.

Whatever else one might say about policemen when they pull
you up for speeding; it is handy to have one for a friend.  This is a true story.  Only the names have been changed to protect
the innocent (OINK!) and the guilty, whose true punishment awaits him should he
dare return to the Belfry.

 

Fifth Column – A Birds’ Eye View of Mendip

We are assured, or perhaps threatened that this could turn
into a regular feature of the B.B. in the future!

If this gets past the new B.B. team it will become the first
of a series of monthly articles of a slightly satirical bent, by a syndicate of
‘Mendip Birds’ giving readers a bird’s-eye view of the social scene.  Firstly, I suppose we must defeat our own
laziness and make an effort to provide seven pages of material apiece during
our time of membership.  Since there are
at least five of us, we should be able to go on for some time particularly
since we intend only to deliver the best insults which are, by definition,
brief.

First, I bring to your attention, the B.E.C. representation
on the Hunters Shove Ha’penny team. Although the team are doing very well at propping up the league (they
haven’t won a match yet, have they?) Barrie and Jon-Jon have at least
excessively won their rounds and it seems that we might have to recruit moody
Pete if we are to retain only B.E.C. representation.

It must be cold in February, for at least three of our more
senior members celebrated getting older in November.  Alan Thomas, Mike Palmer and Mike Wheadon (to
name but one.)  Reviewing this scene, I
can’t see that it is much of a triumph for sobriety.  Their ages total at least the century even if
Alan IS only thirty!

I have often wondered if there is any truth in the rumour
that educational standards are in decline and on balance, I think that this
years’ influx of ‘freshers’ (for their Hunters initiation) removes any
doubt.  Still perhaps their studies will
keep them too busy to come back again!

Back at the Belfry there has been a significant lack of
Chris Batstone, who seems to spend most of his week ends now at weddings (Pete
Eckford was the latest) and it is beginning to be doubtful now whether Chris is
the cause or the effect.  Incidentally,
we notice that ‘Mr’ Nigel is back to sub-normal and free from potential
matrimonial situations – SNAFU!

Novels and publications seem to be coming back into vogue
now that S’nab has joined the long line of aspiring novelists.  However, with such exalted family connections
who knows?  We may yet see his non-de-guerre
in the bookshops.  Talking of books and
publications (who was?) you may have seen a rather sorry Yellow Biddle version
of ‘The Caving Songs of Mendip’ published by Grampian.  It’s quite flattering to know that our
folklore has spread so far, but it’s a shame that he managed to get the words
of even some of the well-known songs wrong. Never mind.  It may be just the
spur to our Alfie to produce the definitive version (but don’t hold your breath
waiting, folks!)

Did you notice the brief mention of the Grampian back
there?  Well, they’ve recently held their
dinner and it was well attended by B.E.C. bods, some of whom were heard to
mutter ‘never in the field of human thirst have so many quested so far for so
many pints’.  Martin Bishop went up and,
naturally managed to inflict yet another injury on himself – only a sprain this
time – but it is rumoured round the Hunters that if he fractures any more he’ll
have to go bionic!

That’s about all for this month, but I thought it would be
nice to finish with the odd quote or so if there is room, heard around the pub
or the shed.

“If you’re older than him, why does he look older than
you?”

“Swildons is different from when I was last down in
1960.”

 

Extracts from the Caving Log

Another series of highlights from the caving log.

compiled by Andy
Sparrow

Some accounts of original exploration in Ireland by Sue
Jordan – now Mrs. Sue Lord.

10.7.76. Carrickbeg, Fermanagh.

Paddy O’Reilly, Jeff Philpis, Martyn Farr, Dave Morris, Pete
Lord, Sue Jordan.  Could this have been
Ireland’s biggest diving trip in history? Ten hours of digging put the Irish Caving Non Club (of which no one is a
member) into this resurgence, no more than six feet from the road, in May.  Jeff reached a sump in early July at the end
of 1,800 feet of impressive streamway. Spurred on by Martyn Farr’s visit of the 10th, he dived the 15′ deep by
50′ long sump and named the newly discovered passage beyond “Far Out
Passage”.  Our object was to explore
down this passage, which Jeff had been content to observe from the sump.  All six dived successfully, a good first dive
for Paddy and Sue, and passed up the streamway in a good sized passage.  Unfortunately, after 1,300 feet the passage
closed down, the stream disappearing in a tight rift.  We explored the bedding planes &c. in
this zone and found one passable way on if dug.

Meanwhile, M.F. and Dave returned to pick up bottles to a
static sump for 160 feet without surfacing, by which time they were back in the
flowing water of the streamway.  1,300
did not seem much to the Irish, but it certainly impressed us English!  Incidentally, the rough survey suggests that
this is NOT Reyfad resurgence, as was originally thought.

11.7.76. Cascades Cave (Prods Resurgence) Fermanagh.
Irish Caving Non Club and Martin Farr, Dave Morris, Pete Lord and Sue Jordan.

Grand trip through resurgence dig; dug in April ’76 to reach
impressive stream passage reached at Easter via prods by M. F.

Entrance is sixty feet above the Cascades in Marble Arch
Valley.  Twenty feet of loose boulders
leads into 1,000′ of fairly accessible ‘hands and knees’ and crouching rifts
and boulder chokes – interesting route finding.

Upstream, there is 3,000′ of impressive main stream as far
as Prod’s Sump 7 with high aven but few inlets and a great variety of passage
shapes – mainly phreatic roofing.  A
1,000′ sump by-pass in a fair sized rift ending in a bedding plane crawl on
upstream end.

Between sumps 7 and 6, there is a further 1,000′ of passage
of fine Irish quality, except that we did not see much in our sub-group, with
two lights between four of us. Fortunately, we met the photographers early on the return trip, with the
carbide stores.

Other trips from the log.

19.9.76.  Great
Oones Hole
.  Graham Wilton-Jones and
Wig.  Digging in entrance with Trat and
Co. for archaeological objects.  Wig was
late, then he lost his presence of mind and couldn’t find the right place in
the cliff above.  Went inside and
explored whole hole.  Also did Long Hole
where the bats are believed to be of that rare species – Greater Horseshoe.  G.W-J.

18.9.76.  St.
Cuthbert’s
. Graham Wilton-Jones, John Dukes, Andy Sparrow.

Trip to investigate supposed passage above Gour Hall.  Climbed and Jumared up fixed rope to the top,
about 60′ above the Great Gour.  Passage
in opposite wall does not exist.  There
is, however, a small hole above the end of the fixed rope that may pay bolting
into.

10.11.76. Trip to Lyme Regis and Isle of Portland.  Bob X, Nigel Taylor and Chris Hannam.

Entrance to Blacknor Cave was visited.  Entry involves an abseil of about 60′ and a
swing.  Portland is best described as a
mess!

 

Monthly Crossword – Number 70

 

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Across:

1. Often followed by pot – not
necessarily in a cave. (7)
5. This has locks usually above ground, but just water in a cave. (5)
7. Somehow to rot gold in Swildons. (3,6)
8. Landscape feature composed of southern fish. (5)
9. Blocking up, not swearing, sometimes practised in caves. (7)

Down

2. Bloke or agricultural holding
Mendip cave. (5,4)
3. Scout op.  1 across in Cuthbert’s. (7)
4. A trip where the entrance is not the exit. (7)
5. Puts E.C., V.D.P. etc. (5)
6. Showcaves are, and cavers occasionally. (3,2).

Solution to Last Month’s Crossword

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Club Headquarters

The Belfry, Wells Rd, Priddy, Wells, Somerset.  Telephone WELLS 72126

Club Committee

Chairman          S.J.
Collins

Minutes Sec      M.
Wheadon

Members           C. Batstone, P. Christie, J. Dukes,
R. Jenkins T. Large, Barry Wilton, G. Wilton-Jones.

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.
JENKINS, 10 Amberley Close, Downend, 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

 

The post of Membership Secretary has now been discontinued
and all correspondence previously dealt with by the membership secretary should
now be sent to Mike Wheadon.

Contributions to the Belfry Bulletin, including those from
officers of the club do not necessarily represent the views of the committee of
the Bristol Exploration Club or the editor, unless specifically 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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