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 by Marion Lloyd
-The members of the mounteine'vring evening classes I attended in London got on SQ well that they formed themselves into a group called the Marylebone Mountaineering Club.
+The members of the mountaineering evening classes I attended in London got on so well that they formed themselves into a group called the Marylebone Mountaineering Club.
- Our first trips were purely climbing ventures, but a nonconformist
-(me) became fed up with mud in the eyes, being jammed in chimneys and hanging around in the cold on a ledge waiting for the person above or
-below to make a move, so I would slink away to explore.
-The delights of the English countryside are never endings the stately home or thatched cottage at the end of a twisting lane, the villages with their quaint tea shops and village pond with its inevitable fisherman sitting in the rain waiting, whilst the duc17s waddle across the road to hold up the traffic and the parish church centuries old, with its "weekend brass rubbers" inside rubbing away furiously on ancient brasses.
-The countryside looks cluttered and dissected with its small farms, hedges and stone fences thtt have been repaired and rebuilt over many generations. Everywhere there is history and beauty, one must walk to see it. Sometimes this can be a little rushed like the 32 mile day walk I was forced to enter around the Isle of 'Ji,:;ht.
-As one walks through the seasons it is interesting to observe the
-changing moods of the landscape. Tho-daff6dils and bluebells in spring, the harvests of summer, the falling leaves and copper tinting of autumn, all this to be denuded by winter. One's favourite walking areas can be worlds apart this was particularly so on the moors.
-I went on a winter trip to the Yorkshire Koors near Whitby. We crawled along the motor my at 30 m p.h0 because of thick fog and snow and arrived at our hostel at about 6.30 a m. It was situated in a hollow on the moors, the mist swathing around it, the -And with its
-freezing penetrating sleet rose and fell from a whistle to a hum. The whole weekend was spent tramping through rain, mist and mud, but we had a lot of fun.
-The following summer a friend and I went to Haworth (Bronte sisters' fame) to do a pilgrimage to the mythical WutherinG Heights. We walked the 6 miles across the moors to Top nlkins, the supposed ruins of the
-dreamedup Wuthering Heights. Standing amongst the ruins and looking
-out over the purple moors we could see the heath flowers in all their glory and the Pennine Way winding into the distance. On this beautiful warm evening all was auiet and at peace. How different this place must be in winter. The freezing wind and rain, the utter desolation would make it a formidable inhospitable place.
-The el-a has marvellous "meets" to Snowdon, Lakes and Peaks
-districts, Scotland, Yorkshire and the West Country (Somerset, Devon,
-Cornwall). It was on Exmoor (Devon) that I saw my first fox hunt.
+Our first trips were purely climbing ventures, but a non-conformist (me) became fed up with mud in the eyes, being jammed in chimneys and hanging around in the cold on a ledge waiting for the person above or below to make a move, so I would slink away to explore.
-We watched fascinated as riders and hounds jumped over fences and hedges in hot pursuit of their quarry. Another favourite riding game is
-steeple-chasing, where riders head for one church steeple after another. But as a fellow rambler remarked, "It's not the steeple they're heading
+The delights of the English countryside are never ending; the stately home or thatched cottage at the end of a twisting lane, the villages with their quaint tea shops and village pond with its inevitable fisherman sitting in the rain waiting, whilst the ducks waddle across the road to hold up the traffic and the parish church centuries old, with its "weekend brass rubbers" inside rubbing away furiously on ancient brasses.
-for, it's the pa next door". On weekends if you can't see the spire you'll hear the noise as the bell-ringers go from church to church to ring the bells.
-The Sunday ramble might take place in Great Windsor Park, Kew
+The countryside looks cluttered and dissected with its small farms, hedges and stone fences that have been repaired and rebuilt over many generations. Everywhere there is history and beauty, one must walk to see it. Sometimes this can be a little rushed like the 32 mile day walk I was forced to enter around the Isle of Wight.
-Gardens, Epping Forest, the Surrey Downs, Chilterns, explore the canals,
-the oast houses of Kent or the stately homes with their fabulous collections. The walk followed a special ritual. It nearly always started at Victoria Station. We would then alight in a beautiful area to walk along country lanes, through muddy farmers' cow-yards, through the woods, over styles, tramp through a churchyard where some souls have been at rest since the thirteenth century, to eventually end up at
+As one walks through the seasons it is interesting to observe the changing moods of the landscape. The daffodils and bluebells in spring, the harvests of summer, the falling leaves and copper tinting of autumn, all this to be denuded by winter. One's favourite walking areas can be worlds apart this was particularly so on the moors.
-a pub r'; midday precisely.
-The pub is the hub of English life. After any occasion or just
+I went on a winter trip to the Yorkshire Moors near Whitby. We crawled along the motor way at 30 m p.h. because of thick fog and snow and arrived at our hostel at about 6.30 a.m. It was situated in a hollow on the moors, the mist swathing around it, the wind with its freezing penetrating sleet rose and fell from a whistle to a hum. The whole weekend was spent tramping through rain, mist and mud, but we had a lot of fun.
-for conversation this is where one meets friends over a guiness or an
-ale (served warm). It could be a ploughman's lunch (bread, cheese,
+The following summer a friend and I went to Haworth (Bronte sisters' fame) to do a pilgrimage to the mythical Wuthering Heights. We walked the 6 miles across the moors to Top Wilkins, the supposed ruins of the
-cranberry sauce) or a pork pie washed down with cider. Then after a game of darts we would set forth on our final leg to finish at a tea
+dreamed-up Wuthering Heights. Standing amongst the ruins and looking out over the purple moors we could see the heath flowers in all their glory and the Pennine Way winding into the distance. On this beautiful warm evening all was quiet and at peace. How different this place must be in winter. The freezing wind and rain, the utter desolation would make it a formidable inhospitable place.
+The club has marvellous "meets" to Snowdon, Lakes and Peaks districts, Scotland, Yorkshire and the West Country (Somerset, Devon, Cornwall). It was on Exmoor (Devon) that I saw my first fox hunt. We watched fascinated as riders and hounds jumped over fences and hedges in hot pursuit of their quarry. Another favourite riding game is
+steeple-chasing, where riders head for one church steeple after another. But as a fellow rambler remarked, "It's not the steeple they're heading for, it's the pub next door". On weekends if you can't see the spire you'll hear the noise as the bell-ringers go from church to church to ring the bells.
+The Sunday ramble might take place in Great Windsor Park, Kew Gardens, Epping Forest, the Surrey Downs, Chilterns, explore the canals, the oast houses of Kent or the stately homes with their fabulous collections. The walk followed a special ritual. It nearly always started at Victoria Station. We would then alight in a beautiful area to walk along country lanes, through muddy farmers' cow-yards, through the woods, over styles, tramp through a churchyard where some souls have been at rest since the thirteenth century, to eventually end up at a pub at midday precisely.
+The pub is the hub of English life. After any occasion or just for conversation this is where one meets friends over a guiness or an ale (served warm). It could be a ploughman's lunch (bread, cheese, cranberry sauce) or a pork pie washed down with cider. Then after a game of darts we would set forth on our final leg to finish at a tea
 shop. This is a very English institution, the rules and etiquette of this ritual must be strictly adhered to, especially when it entails a Devonshire tea. In the last M.M.C. magazine it even had a tea shop guide.
 More importantly, it was the people in the club that made these outings so enjoyable and my stay in England memorable.
-If you are in London and would like to go waking, or climbing, try the M.M.C., they are great fun.
-Contaets Graham Browning, Phones. 263-0699 (H) 6 Wyndham Crescent,
+If you are in London and would like to go walking, or climbing, try the M.M.C., they are great fun.
-LONDON. N.19.- 828-8070 Ext. 2640 (B)
-* * * * * * * *
+Contact: Graham Browning, 6 Wyndham Crescent,LONDON. N.19. Phones- 263-0699 (H), 828-8070 Ext. 2640 (B)
 ====DAVID COTTON'S PHOTOGRAPHIC WORKSHOP====
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 ====BUSHWALKER BOB - Setting up Camp====
-(Images Not Available)
+(Comic - Images Not Available)
 |Can't see anything we could use for tent poles around here.|
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 "The Royal National Park". On September 20th a ranger from the R.N.P. will speak about its history.
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 __50TH ANNIVERSARY DINNER__