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QUODCUMQUE  FACIENDUM : NIMIS  FACIEMUS

Editorial

Congratulations

The discovery of a new major cave on Mendip is always an occasion for some rejoicing, and congratulations are due to Pete McNab (Snab) and his merry men of the Tynings Institute for Troglodytic Studies on their successful entry and exploration of Tynings Barrow Swallet.

Another aspect of their work which deserves praise is the way that they stabilised and maintained good relations with the farmer.  Soon after the hole first appeared, after the great storm of 1968, some thoughtless cavers got to the swallet by breaking through the nearest hedge.  The farmer; who keeps sheep in the field, was justifiably annoyed, and filled in the hole.  Last year, Snab not only managed to restore good relations, but even kept them that way after an incident where some visiting cavers  once again took the quick - but stupid - way in.

The Printing Story

In desperation, we gave last months B.B. to a professional firm to print for us, with the result which is now apparent.  It would appear that these firms are just not used to dealing with paper plates, and have no idea how to handle them.  However, we have at last got an expert to look at the printing machine and we hope that our difficulties are now solved.  What happens to this B.B. will prove the point one way or the other!

The Do-it-Yourself B.B.?

At the time of writing, it is assumed that the article by Graham Wilton-Jones giving a description of Tynings Barrow Swallet, has been included in the February B.B.  Graham volunteered to type the article on duplicator stencils and get it duplicated and supply the paper and get it included in the (already printed - after a fashion by a professional printer!) February issue of the B.B.

There seems no real reason why this cannot be done again if the need or opportunity arises.  If some member has a particular piece of 'stop press' news, and the means and opportunity, the present format of the B.B. permits such a late inclusion.  It does, however, make us wonder whether we ought to go back to numbering each B.B. separately, instead of numbering pages right through each volume as we do now. Has anybody any thoughts on this one?

Central Heating

As members will know, the committee was actioned by the last A.G.M. to go ahead and install central heating in the Belfry should this prove to be feasible.  It would seem, however, that things (as usual!) are proving more complex in practice than the A.G.M. imagined.

For example, most of the quotes so far received mean that the actual cost would be such as to spend ALL the club's available money.  This is clearly possible, but is it feasible?  The condition of the Belfry is giving the committee much cause for concern - if not alarm.  An urgent job must be done on the sleeping accommodation, and this has already got the 'go ahead' from the committee.  There are also plans for improving the showers and a longer term one for re-siting the kitchen.  Plans for both these schemes are being prepared for inclusion in the B.B. to give members a chance to air their opinions.  Certainly, the more urgent renovations to the Belfry must be carried out. On the other hand, lack of adequate heating is a contributory factor to the deterioration of the Belfry.  One answer would be an improvement to the heating but short of the idea of full central heating.  On the other hand, the A.G.M. obviously had full central heating in mind.

It’s not such good asking for less talk and more action.  What would you do under these circumstances?

N.C.A. Again

The meeting to discuss the reaction of the Southern Council to the proposed changes to the structure of N.C.A. is due to be held on Saturday 26th of March.  It is hoped to include some comment on what seems to be the present situation in next month's B.B.

Climbing

Just to remind you that there is a discount available to B.E.C. current members at Ellis Brigham’s in Whiteladies Rd, Bristol.  There is a rumour that Kevin is saving up to get married and wishes to sell some of his climbing gear, said to be worth four figures!   See him at the shop - he's the tall blond one.  Seems they've got all that new shop at Welsh Back has without the razzmatazz.

When the better weather is with us there will be a rock climbing meet at Wintour's Leap near Chepstow. Good steep, safe limestone with a good view of the river!

Russell Jenkins
Climbing Sec.

Russell has also sent a short climbing article in, which will appear in the next B.B.  Tales of the climbing exploits of members are always acceptable, so if any climbers are reading this – how about it?


 

Exploring Swildons Hole.

The author of this article, Francis Webb, died during August 1975, was an associate of Kangy’s and suggested to him that the club might be interested in reading of Swildons before modern techniques reduced it to the relatively simple trip of nowadays.

A trip made on 6 May 1938 – by Francis Webb. The Silver Jubilee of King George V.

When I was an undergraduate I made the acquaintance of a student named B---.  We used to doze opposite each other in the University Library and to a casual observer we must have looked equally devitalized.  I suppose that's why we first grew friendly - we recognised in our respective attitudes the same sort of half-contemptuous, half-guilty protest against the exertions of our neighbours around the table in the quiet bay where we sat.  There were earnest young women, bespectacled and prim, who read and wrote simultaneously with a savage concentration terrifying to behold.  The proximity of so much virtue intruding on our repose would cause us to exchange an occasional troubled glance.  Then B--- would settle himself back in his chair, and relapse into sightless contemplation of the book propped open before him, never moving his eyes or turning a page.

Still, this isn’t an entirely fair and complete picture of my friend.  B--- once removed from the debilitating academic atmosphere of the Library, could be active enough – and one and one of his chief interests lay in the 'pot - holing'.  He was the Secretary of a Society which existed to open up and explore the numerous caves in the neighbouring range of limestone hills.

One morning I encountered B--- in the University Club.  He greeted me with a little more animation than usual. "Care to come caving this weekend he enquired we're thinking of tackling - - - Hole, and we need a party of nine.  Got to have some dull looking clots to carry the gear, so I thought of you".  Now here I was woefully misled at the recollection of a previous excursion with B---.  It had been very pleasant, the party had been mixed; we had travelled in a luxury coach; there had been floodlights and underground lakes, wonderful caverns, impressive stalactites and a first-rate tea.  Nothing very strenuous and the whole thing had been undeniably interesting.  So, ignoring the somewhat equivocal implications in the phrasing of the present invitation, I accepted at once.

When I arrived next day at the hut, situated in a lonely part of the hills, which formed the headquarters of the Society, I was puzzled at first by the curious lethargy which seemed to be gripping everyone.  For the most part, fellows, about a dozen of them, were lying on their backs in the sunshine doing nothing, as only undergraduates can.  After a bit I began to wonder when we should make a start. The summer afternoon was slipping away and it would soon be teatime.  I voiced my curiosity to B--- but he was unconcerned.  "It's all right, no hurry, this is an all night show, lie down and rest".  I lay down and, as I digested this cryptic information, I began to slowly realise that this expedition, and my previous experience of caving, were just likely to be very different.

At length, Primus stoves were lighted and Bacon and Eggs began to sizzle in the pans.  Meanwhile, from a little shed, which formed an annexe to the main hut, coils of line and a bulky maze of rope ladders began to appear. These were followed by sledge hammers and crowbars.  My suspicions were rapidly confirmed.  Evidently, 'carrying the gear' was going to form no inconsiderable contribution to the exercise.

We set off about 6-30 pm dressed in filthy old boiler suits and stout hobnailed boots.  Together with two other neophytes I had been allotted the humble role of bearer to the leader of the party.  We four were to go ahead with most of the tackle to a place obscurely designated as 'the top of the forty' whilst the seasoned campaigners followed on unencumbered and at their leisure.

We crammed ourselves into a car already loaded with rucksacks and ropes and bumped for several miles over a rough track to an isolated farmhouse.  Here our leader obtained a key from the farmer and. then led us across a field to the bank of an innocent looking stream.  But there was one feature peculiar to it.  After a few hundred yards it suddenly disappeared through a padlocked iron grill into the ground - and it didn't seem to reappear anywhere either.

Our leader raised the grill and disappeared into the hole.  It was the most unimpressive entrance that could be imagined. Squeezing myself through the narrow opening I could help feeling a sneaking sense of shame in sinking out of sight down an (extra) ordinary looking drain.

Inside, the passage was narrow, low and very dark and wet.  We lighted stubs of candle and dragging our cumbersome burdens, groped forward, following the bed of the stream, wading waist deep in water.

Very soon I became familiar with two common experiences common to caving.  One was the extricating sensation of hot candle wax spilling onto the back of your hand when you clutching for your life some knob or cranny in a slippery passage, and dare not move a muscle to avoid it.  The other concerned the unbelievable perversity of loosely bundled rope ladder.  Of all the damnable contrivances to attempt to convey through narrow, twisting passages, nothing could exceed the malignancy of this horrible contraption. Lying flat on my back, with the tunnel roof an inch or so above the face, it was necessary to pass the ladder bit by bit along and over my body, into the grasp of the man ahead.  I had just pushed the leading end beyond my head when I found my arms and hands locked immovably.  Meanwhile the ladder travelled slowly over my upturned face, each rung hooking me in turn underneath the nose, until it was jerked free by an extra sharp wrench which banged the back of my head against the floor, clunk-clunk-clunk for forty interminable feet.

Of course, we were not always in such cramped situations.  Sometimes we passed through large and echoing caverns, the sombre, moisture stained walls reaching endlessly up into the darkness.  Still dragging our loads we climbed along slippery ridges and slopes following the course of the water through a maze of crevices and fissures.  Occasionally we climbed down a vertical rock face with only the faint gleam of our leaders candle at the bottom to guide us through the darkness.  Each time we came to a particularly awkward place, I began to hate my rucksack and the rope ladder with increasing force.  Sometimes I seemed jammed beyond all hope of release, then being hung like a worm on a fish hook.  I would succeed at last in extricating myself and to hurry after the flicker of my companion’s candle light, before fading into the distance

I had just become used to going this way when trouble occurred.  I overhauled the other three who were holding a council.  One of my fellow bearers, slipping on a sharp rock, had jammed his leg on a crevice and his knee was badly damaged and perhaps broken. Luckily, our leader was a doctor he decided that we would go on with the kit to the appointed rendezvous and then return to get the injured man to the surface.  So leaving the injured securely anchored to the rock with an array of candles for company, we continued along a low and narrow tunnel with the water still swirling waist high around us.  As we progressed, labouring under our burdens, suddenly the roof sloped to the surface of the water, barring our way.  Above the bubbling gurgle of the water which disappeared though its outlet I seemed to feel rather than hearing a dull reverberating roar.  Here I was instructed to make myself comfortable whist the others returned to the scene of the accident and the injured man.

For the first hour, the novelty of my situation was sufficient to outweigh the disagreeable aspects but after a while, sitting in the rushing water, I began to feel cold.

By bracing my back against one wall of the passage, and my feet against the other, I managed to raise myself partly out of the stream but even so I wasn't very comfortable.  Then I began to think of the weight of rock above my head.  Somewhere, perhaps miles above my head was sunshine and open air but all I could see was the dripping black roof of the tunnel, toothed with stalactites like the mouth of some dreadful prehistoric monster I reflected that I could not possibly find my way back alone through the labyrinth of passages and caverns through which we had traversed.  My thoughts were rather depressing and I hoped that my friends would not forget to come and collect me.  I decided to stop thinking so and amused myself by singing all the most flippant songs I knew.  Pretty soon, that got to be boring also but I found that a new interest became most absorbing - this was in watching my candle stub grow rapidly shorter and I watched with dreadful fascination it’s dwindling - I was going to miss that friendly flicker when it eventually went out.  At length it gave its last glimmer and I was alone in the darkness.  Not quite alone, it seemed however, for I began to be aware of a curious almost imperceptible flutter in the air around me, something that suggested the darting flight of a bird, but softer, more ethereal.  I’m glad that I didn’t know then that some caves are often inhabited by myriads of bats, I wasn't really sure at the time whether anything was there or not; it just felt like something flitting past my head now and again.  I thought that it was time that I pulled myself together or I might begin seeing things too and after all there wasn't anything to really worry about.  Old B--- and the rest would be along any time now and they would laugh like hell to see me clawing the wall and gibbering.  But in spite of my best efforts I must have looked pretty wan when at last a distant gleam heralded the arrival of my friends.

B--- saw no reason for the obvious pleasure with which I greeted him.  He enquired briefly whether we had rigged the ladder for the descent of the 40 foot and it was borne in on me that the night was yet young and there was plenty more caving in store for me before we finished.

We duck through here said B-- indicating the hole through which the stream disappeared.  "Take a deep breath and don't get stuck.  Give me time to get my light going again when I'm through then feed the ladder through to me.  When that's through you can follow".  I swallowed down most of my insides and took a very deep breath indeed. I suppose that the part of the tunnel completely sealed by water could not have been more than a few feet long but to me it seemed as long as eternity.  I was determined to obey to the letter B’s injunction about not getting stuck.  No eel could have surpassed my performance in getting through that hole and as I emerged on the other side I remembered thinking ‘My God, to get home I’ve got to get back through there!  I found myself clinging to B--- and perched on a sloping ledge over which a tidy sized river was disappearing into bottomless space – the cause of that curious reverberation which I had previously noted was now apparent.  The noise was deafening.  Our candle threw sparkles of iridescence on the mist of spray rising from the gulf.

B--- and the old hands got busy with the rope ladder.  I realised that it was proposed to descend the fall.  When my turn came I wasn't clear headed enough to wait for full instructions though I understood vaguely that there was a twelve foot deep whirlpool below the fall and that the technique was to swing on the end rung of the ladder like a pendulum, letting go at the right moment so as to land at the edge rather than in the centre of the pool.  But the full force of the water on my head and its removal of the candle from my grasp, half stunning me and completely blinding my vision so confused my already partly turned wits so that I could only cling like a clam to the ladder, breathing in ragged sobbing gasps that choked me with water swallowed and inhaled.  Somehow I found myself gripping the bottom rung swaying slowly in and out, in and out of the full strength of the torrent as I tried to pluck up the courage to let go and fling myself to the edge of the pool.  I lingered so long on the bottom rung that at last a peaceful end in the depths of the pool began to appear preferable to further delay so I jumped and landed on all fours in a relatively shallow place from whence I was hauled by those who had descended before me.

After that, a mere twenty foot waterfall later on in our course seemed tame.  Even a 90 foot rope descent, the rope running in a sort of inverted parabola over inky chasms and sabre toothed pinnacles of rock failed to dull the vivid impression left on me by the first waterfall.  I could not help thinking that climbing up it again was likely to be just as impressive as the descent and in this I was not mistaken.

When we arrived at the extreme point of penetration into this particular cave, my powers of sensation were pretty well used up.  I can remember eyeing the long bamboo rod which had been used in an attempt by a previous party to blast a way onwards with explosives.  I wondered what it had been like in getting them down here. Portions of a home-made diving apparatus which had been employed in an effort to penetrate further underwater moved in me no more than a heartfelt thankfulness that certain essentials had had to be taken to the surface for repair, leaving the outfit temporarily unsuitable for use.

At last we started back. Once or twice I found myself at the rear of the party with my candle stub accidentally extinguished with no dry matches.  I resolved that I should be extremely active in avoiding this particular nightmare in the future, and hastened to catch up with B---, and so it was that we arrived within the sound of the 40 foot fall far in advance of the rest of the party.

Now B--- was proud of his lamp - it was a small acetylene affair with a naked flame like a lizard's tongue; the sort of thing that miners wear in their caps in which are free from firedamp.  He turned it up until the flame was nearly a foot long.  With this he was convinced that he could climb up through the fall and that it would stay alight despite the torrent beating on it.  He proposed that instead of waiting at the foot of the fall, we should surprise our friends by waiting for them at the top. Personally, any delay would have been acceptable but I was in no state to resist argument and B-- prepared for immediate ascent.

He explained that he would take a rope with him to serve as a communication        cord and lifeline.  When he signalled by jerking the line I was to tie it round myself and follow him up.  Without further delay he disappeared up the ladder.  As soon as I was alone I began to hate the idea of swinging again on the ladder and the whirlpool seemed to be making sucking noises with a sort of anticipatory relish - but at last the ladder ceased swaying - B--- must have arrived at the top.

I grasped the life line secured to the bottom rung and hauled it back to where I was standing. With numb fingers I began to fumble the line into a bowline round my waist muttering the Boy Scout recipe for rabbits coming up out of the hole and round the tree, which is supposed to produce the requisite loop.  But try as I might my bowline just wouldn’t come out right.  In the middle of all this preparation I became aware of a tremendous bellowing from above.  This was accompanied by fierce jerks on the line, which slipped from my un-nerved hands. The noise of the fall effectively drowned the sense of B—‘s shouts but guiltily conscious of my inabilities I interpreted that as shouts of impatience at my delay. So, abandoning any discretion and the struggle with the bowline I stepped onto the bottom rung and launched myself into the torrent.

My candle put out in an instant and at the same moment the icy stream hit my head with a sledge hammer force driving the breath from my lungs and forcing my head down between my shoulders.  My knees bent beneath the pressure from above until my arms were at full stretch, the water tore at the suspended        frame, stinging face, eyes and hands and battering my bruised senses to confusion. In the overwhelming tumult, rational thought was impossible, all the same I became aware of my feet stumbling on the rungs as I began to clamber painfully upwards.

Immediately the loop of the lifeline fell from my waist to my knees and then slipped further to my ankles. For some reason B--- was not taking in the slack as I mounted.  I toiled on, trying at each rung to step out of the loop.  Suddenly, one of my feet missed the rung and I clawed desperately with the free leg, waving it madly above the drop.  The ladder, free from my distributed weight, was pushed askew by the thrust on one leg and no longer hung vertically but made sickening lunges in all directions, threatening at any moment to hurl me off altogether.  All this while, B--- continued his unintelligible roaring from above.  As I swung giddily in the middle of the torrent, what I feared most suddenly occurred. My convulsive struggling caused my other foot to slip from the ladder and I was left dangling by my arms alone. Try as I might I was unable to locate the ladder again with my toes.      It was obvious that I could not last long like this and I decided that the last breath in my body should be devoted to communicating my difficulty to B---.   With the screech of a banshee I informed him of my predicament.  His reply was an immediate hauling on the lifeline which was well and truly tangled around my ankles.  Slowly but relentlessly I found myself being pulled upside down, my hands gripping the sides of the ladder in a frenzy- and my heels disappearing above my head in the grip of that ghastly loop.  Once more I outlined the position of my affairs to B--- in a vocal record which surely must have created a record.  Mercifully, he heard me and stopped pulling.  The sheer relief at being up the right way seemed heavenly, it gave me strength for one last effort and kicking myself free from the loop of line I wrapped myself round the ladder and eventually managed to get one foot on one side of it and the other on the other side.  This is held to be the safest way I now know but here there was a particular snag, the top yard or so of the ladder lay over a projecting bulge of rock, the rungs tight against its face so I was forced to risk again taking one foot off the rungs before I could drag myself to safety on the ledge.

I was greeted by an irate B---.  "You damned fool, why didn't you wait at the bottom?  I shouted to tell you that my lamp had gone out".

Neither of us had any dry matches so we crouched on the ledge in total darkness, listening to the fall of water, our teeth rattling with cold and, in my case, with ill repressed emotion, until the rest of the party came up to join us.

The remainder of the journey was relatively uneventful.  Emerging at last through the very ordinary grill I found the pale stars of a summer dawn above my head but I was not conscious of any sublime or elevated feelings. I was just immensely glad to throw away the remains of my last candle stub.  We had been underground, in icy water off and on, for nearly ten hours. Lying in a heap of straw in the farmer’s barn, warming our numbed bodies with rum, we treated the affair with a nonchalance which I found at first a little unnatural.  But gradually the whole experience began to fall into a more rational focus and when viewed through the tawny mellowness of a tilted rum bottle it began to seem a pretty good show after all.


 

Lead Mining Methods of Mendip and Derbyshire

For a minority of Mendip Folk, mineral mining conjures up visions of great vaults and vast networks of passages having teams and teams of miners hewing their existence out of the living rock.  This is, of course, not an accurate picture and the miners endured, in their efforts to eke out a living, many dangers including those of gas, collapse and inundation.

Of the three, collapse was perhaps the easiest to deal with as almost all of the passages were in solid limestone or toadstone, so it was when the "old man" was driving through shale that he was troubled by collapse problems.  These were mainly overcome by the construction of lined shafts and arched adits or levels.  However, the shale also presented the problem of Gas.

Fire Damp (CH4) only found in mineral mines when shale or the like is exposed and the gas, when able to collect in rock crevices to mix with four to twelve times its volume of air, is potentially lethal.  The effect of its ignition could be to produce a sheet of flame which would seal the upper part of the mine passages and in the wake of the explosion would come the Choke Damp (carbonic ash residue) which being heavier than air would soon overcome and suffocate any survivors of the explosion.  Another gas hazard could arise from the imperfect combustion of the Fire Damp, Carbon Monoxide (White Damp) was equally deadly and even if it did not kill on the spot it had a more or less permanent effect on the inhaler as it was most difficult to expel from the body. Explosions were not confined to being caused by gas though, the occurrence of 'Slickensides' or 'Cracking Holes' or 'Looking Glass' (limestone or sometimes lead ore with a ribbed and polished surface) sometimes caused explosions of incredible violence due to stress and strain forces building up in them.  These occurrences were particularly common in the Eyam district of Derbyshire where there are records of many miners being killed in such explosions.

The main problem countrywide encountered by the Miner was how to drain the workings.  In Derbyshire there was usually a simple solution by driving an adit through to the nearest valley and so empty the water from the workings there.  Sometimes, where two or more mines were working in close proximity a joint effort was made to effect drainage.

Passages below this level were pumped out and several methods used are worthy of note.  The Mendip miners hampered by the absence of deep valleys, hauled out the water in nine gallon leather buckets and the miners would make use of local swallow holes both for drainage purposes and also for spoil dumps.

One of the early pump methods in use was the Archimedes screw which was generally produced by the use of a hollow log containing a wooden corkscrew inside which when turned would raise a small amount of water.  However, if it was inclined at too steep an angle the water would drain out so the more efficient Rag and Chain type pump was used.

The Rag and Chain was used extensively in the early 17th Century and through to the mid 19th Century. It consisted of an endless chain passed through a hollow log which was looped and turned by a spiked wheel of 2 to 3 feet diameter.  At intervals on the chain were mounted leather bags filled with horse hair or rags and these fitted closely inside the log pipe.  When the log was immersed in the water pumping was effected by turning the wheel and trapping water in the pipe and transferring it to the top.  This was the first pump capable of moving large volumes of water and sludge but its operation was exhausting to those driving it. The next generation of pumps were those of the steam age such as the Newcomen 'atmospheric' engine and the Bolton and Watt beam engines.

But that’s another story


 

The Festering Column

by “Plagiarist”

Following on in the tradition of 'Wig' and his 'Round and About' notes, one of our local Mendippers has, after much nagging from the production team, taken up his pen with the intention of giving us a regular series of news and in some cases gossip.

1.                  The recent incredible burst of enthusiasm on Mendip has seen the production of two new guide books as well as some major cave extensions

Barrington and Stanton have almost completed their revised edition 'Caves of Mendip" and publication is anticipated in late spring.

Tony Knibbs and 'Wig' will soon be issuing their new book (during March) which is to be titled "Mendip Underground". The book is not intended to either supplant or to be a competitor to Caves of Mendip but will be a more detailed work carrying detailed descriptions of caves which the authors opinion, 'significant'.  The descriptions are excellent and many consultants have been called in to give information on normally inaccessible cave passage (e.g. Swildons 10 to 12). It is rumoured that the information contained is so complete that it will no longer be necessary to actually visit a cave to be able to discuss it authortively - clearly this will be the best thing to hit caving since N.C.A.

2.                  Tynings Swallet has finally yielded some of its secrets to the determined onslaught mounted against it by the Tynings Institute for Troglodyte Studies (a group of select individuals dedicated to muddy digs and abbreviations).  So far the swallet has revealed 3,000 feet of fine passage of the shredded neoprene variety.  Access at present is not too easy and potential sightseers/explorers should contact Martin Bishop or Snab.

3.                  Fault Chamber (Swildons) has produced a further 250 feet of passage found by the Portsmouth Poly Brigade – these students get everywhere don’t they.  Jubilee Turn (Swildons still) just after sump 4 is proving interesting and chemical hammering should eventually result in a breakthrough.

4.                  Iran ’77 expedition has now 19 fully (?) committed members and up to the present has received over £1,000 in grants and donations.  There are prospects that a farewell barrel and drinking contest before the ‘off’ on August 1st.

5.                  The note for this session - Don't be put off by the recent collapse in the barrows. Entry has not been prevented.


 

Monthly Crossword Number 73

 

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Across (Passages)

5. Where the Marquis keeps his money near the U.B.S.S. hut?  (4,7)
6. Staid mine workings. (4)
9. After young sheep shelter right for Mendip caves. (4)
10. C.B. Chamber. (4)
11. Additional in next rawlbolt. (5)
12. There are lots of this in some caves. (4)
13. Broken off formation? (4)
14. Infill, perhaps. (5)
17. Still stal off this cave formation. (7,4)

Down (Pitches)

1. Untrue underfoot in some caves?  (5,6)
2. The hand the editor employed. (4)
3. Found in a cave, a stream – or associated with water on Mendip. (4)
4. Indent a clino – but still obtained what I wanted from it! (11)
6. St. Cuthbert’s block. (5)
7. Bury underground between. (5)
8. Vandal’s verb? (5)
15. G.B. has a gallery for one of them. (4)
16. All this when full of its last three quarters. (4)

Solution to No. 72

 

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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

 

The views expressed by contributors to the Belfry Bulletin, including those of club officers, are not necessarily the views of the committee of the Bristol Exploration Club or the Editor, unless so stated.  The Editor cannot guarantee that the accuracy of information contained in the contributed matter, as it cannot normally be checked in the time at his disposal.