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 All are cancelled on the holiday weekends, June 7-10th and June 14-17th.
+----
+=====What A Day!=====
+J.C.H.
+A few Sundays ago, skippered by Rene Brown, 85 eager kiddies spilled themselves from the bus at the gates of National Park, Fuller's Bridge, Chatswood, and with joyous whoops raced along devious paths to the chosen glearing where the annual Xmas Treat (postponed on account of strikes) was to be held.
+Despite the coolness of the day the hardier soon donned their costumes and dived and swam in the river: others gathered around a skipping rope or took part in a game of rounders, while a few of the hungrier souls looked on at the busy helpers madly buttering bread and cutting salads (both vegetable and fruit), which were soon to disappear down the yawning throats of our young guests.
+Now and again one heard a loud cry of "Oo Miss, look at Johnny", and there would be Johnny hanging from a high branch of a nearby tree: or "Let me, Sir, oh let me Sir" and one saw Arnie showing his admirers how to stoke a fire and cook the potatoes. One couldn't help noticing Phil Hall devotedly tagged by an acrobatic 6 year-old (female) who turned catherine-wheels to order and did a one-and-a-half somersault without blinking an eyelash.
+Shortly (all too shortly for the small band of helpers Rene had) lunch time came and it didn't take long for the hungry kiddies to form a circle and begin on their eats. What piles of food they devoured - meat and salads, hot mashed potatoes ("Oh boy, mashed potatoes!") accompanied by bread and butter, followed by fruit salad and ice cream. Did I say ice-cream? Never have I soon so much ice-cream eaten by so few! (This applies to the helpers too).
+Lunch over, what next? Races, of course. After the ordinary races, i.e. straight running for all age groups, the fun began. Have you ever seen a frog race? The competitor places the hands on the ground and hops the course in a squatting position. Or a duck waddle race? One gets down on one's haunches and, with hands on knees, waddles the distance! Then there was the vheelbarrow race - generally the barrow collapsed on the wheel and flattened the said wheel in the dust, with accompanying squeals and yells.
+The afternoon sped by, but what is that over there? A sick child? And that? A sick Bushwalker? The excitement of the day, plus the huge lunch, had affected quite a few, and the position became nightmarish as one after another became violently ill.
+Those able to eat were given their tea - vividly coloured cakes were the highlight - and this meal over, belongings were gathered together and the tired picnickers made their way to the waiting bus. By this time the malady had affected half the kiddies and some of the helpers - six of us were left to get eightyfive back to Central! All didn't go too well, but we managed to disembark the lot at Central, leaving our trail behind us, and by supporting and carrying the ailing ones, delivered them safely home to bed.
+"Never again", I was dejectedly thinking, as we trailed up a hill with our three remaining children, when a lad said "Oh well, Miss, we've had a beaut day, it's the best picnic we ever go to - but I think we ate too much", and my spirits revived enough to be able to cheerily say "See you at Christmas" as we bade him goodnight.
+But, oh boy, what a day!
+----
+=====Breakfast Out Of Doors.=====
-WHAT A DAY 1
-J. O. H.
-A few Sundays ago4'skippered. by Rene Browns 85 eager kiddies spilled thamgolvocy from the bus at the gates of National Parks Fuller's Bridges Ohatswood, and with joyous lid10013S raced along devious paths to the chosen glearina Tohora the annual Xmas Treat (postponed on account of strikes) was to be held.
-Despite the coolness of the day the hardier soon donned their 00StUMAS and dived and swam in the river: others gathered around a skipping
-rope or tool' a game of rounders, while a few of the hungrier souls looked on at the h, "t,iers madly buttering broad and cutting salads (both vegetable and fruit)s vo.,..ch were soon to disappear down the yawning throats of our young guests.
-Now and again one hoard a loud cry of "Oo Miss, look at Johnny", and there would be Johnny hanging from a high branch of a nearby tree: or "Let me, Sir, oh let nn Sir" and one saw Arnie showing his admirers how to stoke a fire and cook the potatoes. Ono couldn't help noticing Phil Hall devotedly tagged by an acrobatic 6 year-old (female) who turned catherine-wheels to *.order and did a one-and-a-half somersault without blinking an eyelash.
-Shortly (all too shortly for the small ,band of helpers Rene had) lunch time came' and it didn't take long for the hungry kiddies to form a circle and begin on their eats. What piloth of food they. devoured - meat and salads, hot mashed potatoes ("Oh boys mashed potatoes.") accompanied by broad,and butters followed by fruit salad. and ice cream. Did I say ice-cream? NevOi.' have I soon so much s-cream eaten by so fewl (This applies to the helpers too).
-Lunch overt what next? Races, of course lifter the ordinary races, i e. straight running for all age groupe, the fun began. Have you ever seen a frog race? The compoti tor plaoes' the hands on the ground and hops the course in a squatting position, Or a duck waddle race? One gets down on one's haunches and, with hands on knees, waddles the distance'. Then there was the vheelborrov re oe genca-ully the barrow collapsed on the wheel and flattened the said wheel in the dust, with s..ccompanyIng squeals and yells.
-The afternoon sped by, but what is that over there? A sick child? And that? A sick Bushwalker? The excitement of the day, plus the huge lunch, had affected quite a faws and the position became nightmarish as one _after another became violently ill.
-Those able to eat were given their tea - vividly coloured cakes were the highlight - and this meal over, belongings were gathered together and the tired picnickers made their way to the waiting bus. By this time the malady had affected half the kiddies and some of the helpers - six of us were loft to got eightyfive back to Central: All didn't go too well, but we managed to disembark the lot at Central, leaving our trail behind us, and by supporting and carrying the ailing ones, delivered them safely home to bed.
-"Never again", I was dejectedly thinking, as we trailed-uil a/0'M-
-with our three remaining children, when a lad said "Oh well, Miss, we've had a beaut day, it's the best picnic we ever go to:7 but I think we ate too much", and my spirits revived enough to be ableo cheerily say "See you
-. at Christmas" as we bade him goodnight.
-Bu- c1 boy.) what a dayt
-BRELKFAST OUT OF DOORS
 By K.M.
-:Well, we cannot always go camping, but the next best thing is to live out of doors as much as possible.
-So at 0 a;m. out we go with breakfast, my three furry friends and I. They have already eaten, so it is not the lure of creature comforts but pure sociability that brings them aaong.
+Well, we cannot always go camping, but the next best thing is to live out of doors as much as possible.
-The eldest, a middle-aged bachelor, settles beneath the cypress pine for digention and meditation. Angela, a demoiselle of tender age, sports with the purple,lnqiandra petals floating down on the light breeze; but mother-cat lies with one tawny paw draped across my foot and her cheek nestled against my shoe.
-. This is a habit of hers, and I can never decide :whether it betokens affection for me or an irrosistibke yen for the pungent odour of shoe-leather. I like to think it is the former.
+So at 6 a.m. out we go with breakfast, my three furry friends and I. They have already eaten, so it is not the lure of creature comforts but pure sociability that brings them along.
-Let me say before going further that if you would enjoy your meal in tho garden you must first purge your mind of the deplorable instinct for reform. In the bush you do not say to yourself: "This grass needs cutting. This plant is a weed and should be uprooted." So must it be on your own
-estate. Once you have rid yourself of the profit motive everything in the garden is lovely. You are free to admire the dandelions blooming bravely in the pumpkin bed, yellow as the great cups of the pumpkin flowers themselves, where bees zoom and nose-dive into the golden depths. You may gaze Untroubled at the couch-Egrass flowering with its four or five (never more, never less) yard-arms, hung with minute creamy bells and bordered
+The eldest, a middle-aged bachelor, settles beneath the cypress pine for digestion and meditation. Angela, a demoiselle of tender age, sports with the purple lasiandra petals floating down on the light breeze; but mother-cat lies with one tawny paw draped across my foot and her cheek nestled against my shoe.
-with feathery wine-coloured tufts. You may note with astonishment that out of a vile clot of dung has sprung a company of fairy fungus like Japanese umbrellas no bigger round than a lead-pencil, frail and almost as trans.. parent as glass.
-You may look with equanimity at the woodspurge flourishing amongst the rhubarb, and think perhaps of poor Rossetti, desolate with grief for his dead wife, staring, head in hands, at this same weed,.
+This is a habit of hers, and I can never decide whether it betokens affection for me or an irresistible yen for the pungent odour of shoe-leather. I like to think it is the former.
-Under the wattle tree the bird-table, safe on a high pest, does not lack patrons. Willy Wag chatters noisily as hp darts down for a mouthful, and wrens and finches keep up a dim perpetual twitter as they
-.
+Let me say before going further that if you would enjoy your meal in the garden you must first purge your mind of the deplorable instinct for reform. In the bush you do not say to yourself: "This grass needs cutting. This plant is a weed and should be uprooted." So must it be on your own estate. Once you have rid yourself of the profit motive everything in the garden is lovely. You are free to admire the dandelions blooming bravely in the pumpkin bed, yellow as the great cups of the pumpkin flowers themselves, where bees zoom and nose-dive into the golden depths. You may gaze untroubled at the couch-grass flowering with its four or five (never more, never less) yard-arms, hung with minute creamy bells and bordered with feathery wine-coloured tufts. You may note with astonishment that out of a vile clot of dung has sprung a company of fairy fungus like Japanese umbrellas no bigger round than a lead-pencil, frail and almost as transparent as glass.
-come and go, Mother Magpie, whose left leg was broken long ago and hangs awkwardly at an angle, alights on the bird-table and eyes the fare a trifle querulously.. No meat this morning; only bread. Ah well, we are still rationed you know, Her husband stalks about on the ground and finds a stray rabbit bone. Last year the pair raised a fine youngster, and I had great hopes of a repetition this season, as mother was absent for some weeks and father flew off purposefully with any titbits I threw him, instead of consuming them himself, Something must have gone wrong though - one of the small unchronicled tragedies of the bush.
-From the quiet house my vigilant cloak announces six-thirty, Time to begin the scurry and racket of living: chores to be done, a train to catch, an office to be reached on time,
+You may look with equanimity at the woodspurge flourishing amongst the rhubarb, and think perhaps of poor Rossetti, desolate with grief for his dead wife, staring, head in hands, at this same weed....
-But from this early half-hour in the garden one goes to face the day, believe me, fortified with more than material food,
-m
+Under the wattle tree the bird-table, safe on a high post, does not lack patrons. Willy Wag chatters noisily as he darts down for a mouthful, and wrens and finches keep up a dim perpetual twitter as they come and go. Mother Magpie, whose left leg was broken long ago and hangs awkwardly at an angle, alights on the bird-table and eyes the fare a trifle querulously. No meat this morning; only bread. Ah well, we are still rationed you know. Her husband stalks about on the ground and finds a stray rabbit bone. Last year the pair raised a fine youngster, and I had great hopes of a repetition this season, as mother was absent for some weeks and father flew off purposefully with any titbits I threw him, instead of consuming them himself. Something must have gone wrong though - one of the small unchronicled tragedies of the bush.
-m M
-LIMILILL22-PLIOLL
+From the quiet house my vigilant clock announces six-thirty. Time to begin the scurry and racket of living: chores to be done, a train to catch, an office to be reached on time.
-Recent additions to the Library include "Yarravonda", the first annual of the Caloola Club, pioneered by Allen Strom. As a first production
-the magazine is excellent, and shows that even new clubs can be high-classCongrats to Beverley and Elaine Johnstone, the editors, and to the members and associates who contributed to its success.
+But from this early half-hour in the garden one goes to face the day, believe me, fortified with more than material food.
-.1.1.111,EM,Cajg_AL (By lOnk 'One.)
-Applications are invited for a new era in walking! Pioneered by Aacing Ra toliffle surragorang burn-up. Munching on the march supersedes eating at ease, as the four-miles-ctn-hour minimum slows down to a steady 3 m p.h. for lunch', We're hours overdue fcr the bus, but what care we? A time4 lift in Rus. Wilkins' jallopy enables us to catch the 3 p m. BimlOw bus at a.1.5, Unionists need not apply,
+----
-MtLITILLZEILDEI)
-"The man in the street tells the popular story bout Govett's Leap, of the Bushranger who, pursued by police and determined to larvade capture, gallopped boldly on his horse to the cliff's edge, and jumped overs but the ta3o is more fanciful than correct. William Romaine Govett was a Governmont surveyor and an explorer of the Blue Mountains, and the waterfall at thellead of the Grose was named after him, from the fact that he discovered it",
+====Congrats To Caloola.====
+Recent additions to the Library include "Yarrawonda", the first annual of the Caloola Club, pioneered by Allen Strom. As a first production the magazine is excellent, and shows that even new clubs can be high-class. Congrats to Beverley and Elaine Johnstone, the editors, and to the members and associates who contributed to its success.
+----
+===='Ere We Come!!====
+Applications are invited for a new era in walking! Pioneered by Racing Ratcliff's Burragorang burn-up. Munching on the march supersedes eating at ease, as the four-miles-an-hour minimum slows down to a steady 3 m.p.h. for lunch! We're hours overdue fcr the bus, but what care we? A timely lift in Rus. Wilkins' jallopy enables us to catch the 3 p.m. Bimlow bus at 3.15. Unionists need not apply.
+----
+====A Myth Exploded.====
+"The man in the street tells the popular story about Govett's Leap, of the Bushranger who, pursued by police and determined to evade capture, gallopped boldly on his horse to the cliff's edge, and jumped over; but the tale is more fanciful than correct. William Romaine Govett was a Government Surveyor and an explorer of the Blue Mountains, and the waterfall at the head of the Grose was named after him, from the fact that he discovered it".
 (W.F. Waters in "The Melbourne Walker, 1946").
-MOUNT HOTHAM THROUGH THE WIND SCREEN
-By 012M HALLSTROM) (With apolog1e5 to Nr.Milliam Hatfield).
+----
-THE SUBJECT: Roughest and toughest ride that any of Colin Lloyd's party has yet experienced.
-THE TRIP: Upwards'from Yrepuncha, a little township at the foot of Mt, Buffalo,
+=====Mount Hotham through The Wind Screen.=====
-TIM CONVEYANCE: A timber-trftek of proverbial bitsa type, with fractious gremlins in every nut and bolt (of which most were missing).
-Jumping Jehosaphat, what a ridet You've heard the parody of course:
+By Clem Hallstrom.
-"Oh milordt How he roared,
-In his old tin-fashioned Ford, Upon the road to Gundagait"
+(With apologies to Mr. William Hatfield).
-The very vehicle, folks - the self same one, New, the flooring for instance:
-just a collection of-loose boards forming a tray with no sides, except for a piece of two by three onwhich to crack tho skull at every curve, As for the springing - Roman chariots were lounge chairs, alongside this leviathan of the road.
+The Subject: Roughest and toughest ride that any of Colin Lloyd's party has yet experienced.
-From the sun there was ho protection no covering at all. The only shadow was cast by a clattering jib overhead, swaying and alanging to the twist and turns buck and heave of the maddened monster on whose back we had perforce to ride. And not only the sun -for the vehicle itself kicked up dust and flying gravel that 411 bu* asphyxiated the unhappy passengers; we poor unfortunates who had imagined that a truck ride was so much better than road walking,
-There are those who say that we are governed by instinct, and those who say we 'are governed by fear well, we knew all about the fear k and we hoped, the driver had the instinct, for we were certain that he could not see the road. As the windsorson was half-way between translucent and Opaque, and crossed by myriad cracks, it was obvious that he saw nothing ahead. Hence, instinct
+The Trip: Upwards from Porepuncha, a little township at the foot of Mt. Buffalo.
-alone was guiding him and a rizhty good instinct, too, as he swerved sickeningly dn hairpin bonds, with chems on the outer side Myt what a nightmare; Aht but what was thil? 9.h4 ,giraffe - like neck craned outwards from the driver's cab? So that was Ho looked around the wind screen: My estimation of his instincts faded into the dust, even as my fellow passengErs had faded into it, long before,
-Throughout the trip, Roley was as usual, very quiet - more quiet than ever. Probably thinking over some matter that meant nothing to no one, but everything to himself (hadn't made out his will, maybe). His apprentice, Luke Priddle, looked all wonder-eyed at the hillside; no doubt visualising the sacks of gold he hoped to deport from the Owens River Valley. Doug Johnston swayed on the brink of eternity; with teeth clenched tight, he held grimly to the edge of the tray, as each bounce and curve threatened to unseat him onto the racing road beneath. For a moment, he almost forgot his vengeful calculations of paying back the woman at Bright for selling him "tinned cow" in lieu of a glass of milk - ah oel is unto bushwalkers when civilisation hits the bush!,
+The Conveyance: A timber-truck of proverbial bitsa type, with fractious gremlins in every nut and bolt (of which most were missing).
-The curly headed boy was cushioned on the rucsacks, unable to account for the roughness of the ride, and much distraught at not having his pipe. And then we saw the rucsacks cushioned on him George Dibley seemed contented, but When we dismounted his logs were quivering as he stood behind the driver. Was it tvoltching muscles, or was that a contemplative look in his eye? Phil Hall was sore and sorry from his jolting on that damnable perversion of automobility, and muttering incoherent epithets about the glories of the quiet bushe
-Looking at them all, one would thinIthey were really in a bad way, and I f3lt gonuino17 ',orry for them Lci there stirred in my breast many manly sentimel'1.ts ei pity for those beings in agony - me2 on the upholstered seat, in the cab beaide the driver.
+Jumping Jehosaphat, what a ride! You've heard the parody of course:
-RETURN OF THE NATIVE
-She's backt Yes, the girl with the Flannels Spur legs is on us cr4ce
+"Oh milordt How he roared,\\
-Norma Barden, returned from hitch-hiking Tasmania from north to south, and east to west. On her own admission, she hiked much more than hitched. What'. have Tassio drivers no appreciation of legs?
+In his old tin-fashioned Ford,\\
-O. I. un or
+Upon the road to Gundagai!"
-Anent the ditty on tho title page, and yarns when night has fallen, did anyone note the looks upon the faces of the males when one female (strictly practical type) remarked, "lhat about the moony anyway? It's only a light, after all." Ah, but how their faces brightened when a brown-eyed damsel cooed ''Whatt. Is there no romance in 'your soul? To me (sighs) a moon suggests a yacht, rippling waters and a soothing breeze "
-Vacancy f or a male philandropist.
+The very vehicle, folks - the self same one. New, the flooring for instance: just a collection of loose boards forming a tray with no sides, except for a piece of two by three on which to crack the skull at every curve. As for the springing - Roman chariots were lounge chairs, alongside this leviathan of the road.
-.922121LEMIEILa_gNaggl. TRIPS
-By BONA DEA.
+From the sun there was no protection - no covering at all. The only shadow was cast by a clattering jib overhead, swaying and clanging to the twist and turn, buck and heave of the maddened monster on whose back we had perforce to ride. And not only the sun - for the vehicle itself kicked up dust and flying gravel that all but asphyxiated the unhappy passengers; we poor unfortunates who had imagined that a truck ride was so much better than road walking.
-Yost Bushvalkers have known what it is to be hungry. Only a very few
-have known what it is to be genuinely short of food, and realize, as Niniao Malvin() said on his Colo trip, that food fads did not matter, what did matter was to have some kind of food in your inside, no matter what sort. But no bushvalker has known what it is to starve. Millions of people in Europe are starving, really starving.' Every loaf of broad you waste means po much less wheat to send to Europe.
+There are those who say that we are governed by instinct, and those who say we are governed by fear - well, we knew all about the fear and we hoped, the driver had the instinct, for we were certain that he could not see the road. As the windscreen was half-way between translucent and opaque, and crossed by myriad cracks, it was obvious that he saw nothing ahead. Hence, instinct alone was guiding him - and a mighty good instinct, too, as he swerved sickeningly on hairpin bends, with chams on the outer side! My! what a nightmare! Ah! but what was this? That giraffe-like neck craned outwards from the driver's cab? So that was it! He looked __around__ the wind screen! My estimation of his instincts faded into the dust, even as my fellow passengers had faded into it, long before.
+Throughout the trip, Roley was as usual, very quiet - more quiet than ever. Probably thinking over some matter that meant nothing to no one, but everything to himself (hadn't made out his will, maybe). His apprentice, Luke Priddle, looked all wonder-eyed at the hillside; no doubt visualising the sacks of gold he hoped to deport from the Owens River Valley. Doug Johnston swayed on the brink of eternity; with teeth clenched tight, he held grimly to the edge of the tray, as each bounce and curve threatened to unseat him onto the racing road beneath. For a moment, he almost forgot his vengeful calculations of paying back the woman at Bright for selling him "tinned cow" in lieu of a glass of milk - ah, woe! is unto bushwalkers when civilisation hits the bush!
+The curly headed boy was cushioned on the rucsacks, unable to account for the roughness of the ride, and much distraught at not having his pipe. And then we saw the rucsacks cushioned on him! George Dibley seemed contented, but when we dismounted his legs were quivering as he stood behind the driver. Was it twitching muscles, or was that a contemplative look in his eye? Phil Hall was sore and sorry from his jolting on that damnable perversion of automobility, and muttering incoherent epithets about the glories of the quiet bush.
+Looking at them all, one would think they were really in a bad way, and I f3lt genuinely sorry for them. Yes, there stirred in my breast many manly sentiments of pity for those beings in agony - me, on the upholstered seat, in the cab beside the driver.
+----
+====Return of the Native.====
+She's back! Yes, the girl with the Hannels Spur legs is on us once again! Norma Barden, returned from hitch-hiking Tasmania from north to south, and east to west. On her own admission, she hiked much more than hitched. What! have Tassie drivers no appreciation of legs?
+----
+Anent the ditty on the title page, and yarns when night has fallen, did anyone note the looks upon the faces of the males when one female (strictly practical type) remarked, "What about the moon, anyway? It's only a light, after all." Ah, but how their faces brightened when a brown-eyed damsel cooed "What! Is there no romance in your soul? To me (sighs) a moon suggests a yacht, rippling waters and a soothing breeze...."
+Vacancy for a male philandropist.
+----
+====Don't Waste Bread On Your Trips.====
+By Bona Dea.
+Most Bushvalkers have known what it is to be hungry. Only a very few have known what it is to be genuinely short of food, and realize, as Ninian Melville said on his Colo trip, that food fads did not matter, what did matter was to have some kind of food in your inside, no matter what sort. But no bushwalker has known what it is to starve. Millions of people in Europe are starving, really starving. Every loaf of bread you waste means so much less wheat to send to Europe.
+----
 Our Shoalhaven correspondent reports that Bill Cosgrove and John Johnson are still in form. All who sallied forth on the recent hoo noes ware expedishun are now thoroughly versed in the bush bla-bla of camp-fire communism.
-0..1...01.1-
+----
 UPPER SHULHAVEN
 By FRANK LtYDEN.