Differences

This shows you the differences between two versions of the page.

--- 194605 [2016/04/26 15:04] – tyreless
+++ 194605 [2016/04/26 15:42] – tyreless
@@ Line 178: / Line 178: @@
 ----
-MOUNT HOTHAM THROUGH THE WIND SCREEN
+=====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.
+By Clem Hallstrom.
-THE TRIP: Upwards'from Yrepuncha, a little township at the foot of Mt, Buffalo,
-TIM CONVEYANCE: A timber-trftek of proverbial bitsa type, with fractious gremlins in every nut and bolt (of which most were missing).
+(With apologies to Mr. William Hatfield).
-Jumping Jehosaphat, what a ridet You've heard the parody of course:
-"Oh milordt How he roared,
+The Subject: Roughest and toughest ride that any of Colin Lloyd's party has yet experienced.
-In his old tin-fashioned Ford, Upon the road to Gundagait"
-The very vehicle, folks - the self same one, New, the flooring for instance:
+The Trip: Upwards from Porepuncha, a little township at the foot of Mt. Buffalo.
-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.
-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,
+The Conveyance: A timber-truck of proverbial bitsa type, with fractious gremlins in every nut and bolt (of which most were missing).
-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
-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,
+Jumping Jehosaphat, what a ride! You've heard the parody of course:
-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 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
+"Oh milordt How he roared,\\
-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.
+In his old tin-fashioned Ford,\\
-RETURN OF THE NATIVE
+Upon the road to Gundagai!"
-She's backt Yes, the girl with the Flannels Spur legs is on us cr4ce
-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?
+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.
-O. I. un or
-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 "
+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.
-Vacancy f or a male philandropist.
-.922121LEMIEILa_gNaggl. TRIPS
+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.
-By BONA DEA.
-Yost Bushvalkers have known what it is to be hungry. Only a very few
+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!
-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.
+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.