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.


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.



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



















































































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)


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



















































































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.