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--- 194902 [2018/05/17 13:17] – tyreless
+++ 194902 [2018/05/18 13:11] (current) – tyreless
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 By "The Dog in the Fog"
-The S.B.A. was polishing his glasses when I came in. "Ha, how did Christmas go?" "Tolerable". He polished his glasses more vigorously and settled them on his nose, still roseatefrom the same season.
+The S.B.A. was polishing his glasses when I came in. "Ha, how did Christmas go?" "Tolerable". He polished his glasses more vigorously and settled them on his nose, still roseate from the same season.
 "Laden with liquor, I suppose?".
@@ Line 230: / Line 230: @@
 by "Skip"
-Conversation was at a low ebb. A few contented sighs and some sleepy meanderings hardly disturbed the serenity of the evening. The grass trees drew in toward the fire, the she-oaks bent lows flames flickered softly, and a full moon shone down in peace upon the calmness in the valley.
+Conversation was at a low ebb. A few contented sighs and some sleepy meanderings hardly disturbed the serenity of the evening. The grass trees drew in toward the fire, the she-oaks bent low, flames flickered softly, and a full moon shone down in peace upon the calmness in the valley.
- All should have been calm, but the majority were rather apprehensive of the morrow. They were recalling, regretfully now, how Rastus had joined the party. He'd sort of said "hello", as we left the station, in a friendly off-hand manner, with no hint of his evil ihtentions. At the first rest he came charging on rather blindly, but hastily retreated when he saw he'd gone too far. The retreat, so we thought, was for good. Merely wishful thinking though. At the next stop he brazenly joined the party. Most of us were rather child-like in our innocence, and unaware of the subtleties of mental torture our openheartedness was letting us in for.
-Later tl-at day we had our first misgivings, for ten miles in an afternoon will make anyone hungry, and such was his nature that Rastus had nothing with him. This doesn't seem very important when you are full unto busting with a tin of sphagetti, bread and honey, Milo, Bill's peaches, Eric's custard, and Merle's Bonox, and when the rest are in a similar condition, for it would seem that on the surplus an extra mouth could be fed. But Rastus was fussy, very fussy. A quarter of a pound of ham was but a mouthful, and the surplus was not to his liking. So except for some odd scraps of bread and cake, Rastus chose not to eat further. Then he turned round and went to sleep.
--
-The morning was rather gloomy, and 'having nothing else to do we-slept in. Rastus was the worst off-ender (we still don't know his name), but he 'put in an appearance at breakfast time, where he-ate even less than the night before, due, of course, once more, to-his gastronomic, prejudice.
-However, he bore us no illwill, and made quite a to do about having a swim. Although not a good swimmer he put up a creditable
-.
-performance, but showed no affection to the soap with which Bill and I were laving ourselves. EVen in the midst of this merrymakingRastus worried us. No more charming companion could one have, none more discreet or affectionate, none less demanding, but none more dependent.
-Already his necessarily restricted diet was having its effect on his appearance, although he was still as lively as ever, even pathetically so. What else could we do, the4,but abandonIians for lengthening the trip, and return to our starting point in a district presumably familiar to him, although I will admit we were swayed somewhat by the unattractive weather, the time of day, and general lassitude of all concerned.
-About morning tea time, then, we broke camp and began retracing Our steps towards home. With hearts nearly as heavy
-as our tread we slowly climbed out of our valley intent on doing our best for Rastus, alias Fleabite, Boy and Fella. For know your as if you hadn't already guessed it, that Fleabite was a dog, and a large dog at that. Eric said it was a foxhound, and who am I to be quarreling with Eric? And so if you have been following my tail, the moral will surely be evident already.
-If, however, there be those who find no fault with Fleabite so far, let me finish my episode of woes. True, our friend as yet had caused us no inconvenience, bar having to come back the way we came, but later he insisted on getting lost. For on top of the ridg,B he found yesterday's trail and immediately set about tracking us down at an alarming rate. In five minutes Rastus was only a far off baying in the valley below, and we spent some anxious, and it could have been precious, minutes baying hack until he "homed" on our voices and re-appeared as quickly as he went.
-This wasn't all. Lunchtime came, and he dined sparingly
-from bread and Bonox, and plum cake. We hastened back to Springwood in a drizzle heaving sighs of expectant relief with just a little apprehension about his owner's state of mind and the animal's state of Surely he would go home as soon as we got there. But apart from various excuroions into and out or divers front gates, Fleabite adamantly refused ta leave. He thought he was in on a good lurk - after all we had put up with him for a weekend, why not longer?
-Of course I was the mug; I went to the station with the others and changed into a more civilised outfit for Operation Highways. I left the station, then I took Rastus back to the party. I went into the waiting room, hut the door, went out the other door and shut it, and then slunk off-up the stairs trying to be as anonymous as possible. Of course this didn't work. Springwood offered Fleabite no welcome, and' he showed no signs of transferring his allegiance to any passers by, local buildings, or lady dogs. Exhortations, nay even threats, about going home, only made him gambol even more playfully around my feet, which is rather an under-
-.
-statement of his affection which reached even unto placing his colossal paws on my chest and licking my face, and I'm no babe.
-The end had to come. I met up with a friend in a car (yes, I did) and the last we saw of poor old Rastus he was coming hell for leather after the car. 'My conscience still twinges at the recollection. The moral is obvious. Prospectives are urged officially not to bring friends or dogs on test walks,, and I hope they never do. Well, dogs anyway.
-MININ..111fiVymANIMI.m.....7.....
-"WE ARE WHAT WE EAT" It would be wrong, to infer from the title
+All should have been calm, but the majority were rather apprehensive of the morrow. They were recalling, regretfully now, how Rastus had joined the party. He'd sort of said "hello", as we left the station, in a friendly off-hand manner, with no hint of his evil intentions. At the first rest he came charging on rather blindly, but hastily retreated when he saw he'd gone too far. The retreat, so we thought, was for good. Merely wishful thinking though. At the next stop he brazenly joined the party. Most of us were rather child-like in our innocence, and unaware of the subtleties of mental torture our open-heartedness was letting us in for.
-E-C1eni-Half;frOirE lecture that the mind of the vegetarian is
-as green as the things he eats. This eating, let it be understood, is a serious business, but the time to be serious is not during or after meals, for too much thought about food when, or after, eating it, leads only to indigestion and the medicine bottle. However it is apparently in order to consider the matter after 8 p m. on Fridays. Life is not froth and bunle, but a successful reduction of the uric acid content of our insides by the absorp-
-tion of alkaline foods. The lowly cucumber (it grows on the ground), is packed with everything good. We learnt that our insides are 38 feet long, that meat takes too long to get from one end to the other, that pain is our friend because it warns us when things go wrong, and that all diseases can be prevented if our organs receive the right nourishment. Many disagreed with Clem's views, but if only one spurns the (medicine) bottle and reaches for a cucurbit, his words will not have been in vain
-LOST GROUNDSHEET: Rene Browne lost her groundsheet at the Christ. Fijstr-ert.--Would anyone who was there please look over their groundsheet and see if they got the right one? Apart from its monetary value the groundsheet has some pleasant associations for Rene.
+Later that day we had our first misgivings, for ten miles in an afternoon will make anyone hungry, and such was his nature that Rastus had nothing with him. This doesn't seem very important when you are full unto busting with a tin of sphagetti, bread and honey, Milo, Bill's peaches, Eric's custard, and Merle's Bonox, and when the rest are in a similar condition, for it would seem that on the surplus an extra mouth could be fed. But Rastus was fussy, very fussy. A quarter of a pound of ham was but a mouthful, and the surplus was not to his liking. So except for some odd scraps of bread and cake, Rastus chose not to eat further. Then he turned round and went to sleep.
-PERSPECTIVE : It was ever thus. Fifty thousand people are drowned in China and receive two lines of publicity. One person is murdered in North Sydney and gets the Whole front-page.' Countless trees are killed or warped by fire's' 'within 30 miles of the . ud nobody hears about it, whereas the felling of one ugly fig tree in Anzac Parade gets columns of publicity. But let us not condemn the press too hastily. Did any of the conservation bodies take the trouble to write to the papers about the fires in our reserves?
+The morning was rather gloomy, and having nothing else to do we slept in. Rastus was the worst offender (we still don't know his name), but he put in an appearance at breakfast time, where he ate even less than the night before, due, of course, once more, to his gastronomic prejudice.
+However, he bore us no illwill, and made quite a to do about having a swim. Although not a good swimmer he put up a creditable performance, but showed no affection to the soap with which Bill and I were laving ourselves. Even in the midst of this merrymaking Rastus worried us. No more charming companion could one have, none more discreet or affectionate, none less demanding, but none more dependent.
+Already his necessarily restricted diet was having its effect on his appearance, although he was still as lively as ever, even pathetically so. What else could we do, then, but abandon plans for lengthening the trip, and return to our starting point in a district presumably familiar to him, although I will admit we were swayed somewhat by the unattractive weather, the time of day, and general lassitude of all concerned.
+About morning tea time, then, we broke camp and began retracing our steps towards home. With hearts nearly as heavy as our tread we slowly climbed out of our valley intent on doing our best for Rastus, alias Fleabite, Boy and Fella. For know you, as if you hadn't already guessed it, that Fleabite was a dog, and a large dog at that. Eric said it was a foxhound, and who am I to be quarreling with Eric? And so if you have been following my tail, the moral will surely be evident already.
+If, however, there be those who find no fault with Fleabite so far, let me finish my episode of woes. True, our friend as yet had caused us no inconvenience, bar having to come back the way we came, but later he insisted on getting lost. For on top of the ridge he found yesterday's trail and immediately set about tracking us down at an alarming rate. In five minutes Rastus was only a far off baying in the valley below, and we spent some anxious, and it could have been precious, minutes baying hack until he "homed" on our voices and re-appeared as quickly as he went.
+This wasn't all. Lunchtime came, and he dined sparingly from bread and Bonox, and plum cake. We hastened back to Springwood in a drizzle heaving sighs of expectant relief with just a little apprehension about his owner's state of mind and the animal's state of health. Surely he would go home as soon as we got there. But apart from various excursions into and out or divers front gates, Fleabite adamantly refused to leave. He thought he was in on a good lurk - after all we had put up with him for a weekend, why not longer?
+Of course I was the mug. I went to the station with the others and changed into a more civilised outfit for Operation Highways. I left the station, then I took Rastus back to the party. I went into the waiting room, shut the door, went out the other door and shut it, and then slunk off up the stairs trying to be as anonymous as possible. Of course this didn't work. Springwood offered Fleabite no welcome, and he showed no signs of transferring his allegiance to any passers by, local buildings, or lady dogs. Exhortations, nay even threats, about going home, only made him gambol even more playfully around my feet, which is rather an understatement of his affection which reached even unto placing his colossal paws on my chest and licking my face, and I'm no babe.
+The end had to come. I met up with a friend in a car (yes, I did) and the last we saw of poor old Rastus he was coming hell for leather after the car. My conscience still twinges at the recollection. The moral is obvious. Prospectives are urged officially not to bring friends or dogs on test walks,, and I hope they never do. Well, dogs anyway.
+----
+=== "We are what we eat" ===
+It would be wrong to infer from the title of C1em Hallstrom's lecture that the mind of the vegetarian is as green as the things he eats. This eating, let it be understood, is a serious business, but the time to be serious is not during or after meals, for too much thought about food when, or after, eating it, leads only to indigestion and the medicine bottle. However it is apparently in order to consider the matter after 8 p.m. on Fridays. Life is not froth and bubble, but a successful reduction of the uric acid content of our insides by the absorption of alkaline foods. The lowly cucumber (it grows on the ground), is packed with everything good. We learnt that our insides are 38 feet long, that meat takes too long to get from one end to the other, that pain is our friend because it warns us when things go wrong, and that all diseases can be prevented if our organs receive the right nourishment. Many disagreed with Clem's views, but if only one spurns the (medicine) bottle and reaches for a cucurbit, his words will not have been in vain.
+=== Lost groundsheet: ===
+Rene Browne lost her groundsheet at the Christmas treat. Would anyone who was there please look over their groundsheet and see if they got the right one? Apart from its monetary value the groundsheet has some pleasant associations for Rene.
+=== Perspective: ===
+It was ever thus. Fifty thousand people are drowned in China and receive two lines of publicity. One person is murdered in North Sydney and gets the whole front-page. Countless trees are killed or warped by fires within 30 miles of the G.P.O., and nobody hears about it, whereas the felling of one ugly fig tree in Anzac Parade gets columns of publicity. But let us not condemn the press too hastily. Did any of the conservation bodies take the trouble to write to the papers about the fires in our reserves?
+=== The Barren Lands: ===
+The Barren Lands above the Albion-Park, Kiama Berry district are covered with a thick swamp vegetation of coarse grass, flowering plants, scrub and low trees. When rain falls the water is held in this swamp-vegetation as in a sponge, and very slowly it seeps down through the porous sandstone below until, at the foot of the cliffs, it meets the non-porous shales (weathering into clay) of the Upper Coal Measures. Here the water can go no further down and it comes out of the ground in the form of those springs which are a characteristic of the district. These both form streams themselves and help feed the streams which flow from the swamps on the seaward side of the Barren Lands.
+If the Barren Lands became a desert, both the springs and the streams would dry up. The rain would quickly run away in storm water channels because there would be no spongy vegetation to hold it. The little springs and streams, the life-blood of the district, depend on that dense swamp vegetation on the top of the Barren Lands, and when it goes, they go too.
+After an absence of many years I recently walked over the Barren Lands, and I was shocked to see how the swamp vegetation had degenerated. In places there were even large patches of bare earth, and the swamps were a great deal drier. There were obvious signs that fires had swept across, and that these accounted for the poorer, sparser, vegetation. Some fires, I am told, are deliberately lit by saw-millers, some by graziers hoping for young grass shoots, some by misguided people who think it is a "good thing to clean up the bush." Whatever the cause, the bush fires, if allowed to continue, will eventually turn the Barren Lands into a desert, and that will be the end of the lovely streams of the Albion Park and Berry and Kiama districts. Bushwalkers can do their part helping to form that enlightened public opinion which ultimately does change things. (By Marie B. Blyes - adapted from article reproduced with the permission of the "Kiama Independant").
+----
+In some regions, areas which were far too steep for safe use either as grazing land or for cropping have been cleared of their timber. Such areas extend from Scottsdale in Tasmania to the Atherton Tableland, Queensland. Sometimes after heroic efforts farms have been established on such country; more often than not the forces of nature have triumphed and the land has reverted either to bracken or scrub or to a less desirable type of forest than that which originally covered the ground. In some cases such land has reverted to or been repurchased by the Crown; in others it is still nominally the property of the owners who have arrears of rates standing against them. They do nothing with it and the fallen trees which litter its surface are particularly difficult to deal with in the event of a bushfire sweeping the area. From the point of view of effective land development, these failures, which are numerous, represent economic waste on the one hand and social disasters on the other. These also represent wasted forests which if clad with their original timber to-day would be worth many millions of pounds.
-THE.BARREN_LANDS: The Barren Lands,above-the Albion-Park, Klama Berr7y alstria7are covered with a thick swatp vegetation of coarse grass, flowering plants, scrub and low trees. When rain falls the water is held in this swamp-vegetation as in a sponge, and very slowly it seeps di through the porous sandstone below until, at the foot of the cliffs, it. meets the non-porous shales (weathering into clay) of the Upper Coal Measures. Here the water Can go
-.
-no further down and it comes out of the ground in the form of those springs which are a characteristic of the district. These both form streams themselves and help feed the streams which flow from the swamps on the seaward side of the Barren Lands.
-If the Barren Lands became a desert, both the springs and the streams would dry up. The rain would quickly run away in storm water channels because there would be no spongy vegetation to hold it. The little springs and streams, the life-blood of the district, depend on that dense swamp vegetation on the top of the Barren Lands, and when it go es, they go too.
-After an absence of many years I recently walked over the Barren Lands, and I was shocked to see how the swamp vegetation
-, had degenerated. In places there were even large patches of bare earth, and the swamps were a great deal drier. There were obvious signs that fires had swept across, and that these accounted for the poorer, sparser, vegetation. Some fires, I am told, are deliberately lit by saw-millers, some by graziers hoping for young grass shoots, some by misguided people who think it is a "good thing to clean up the bush." Whatever the cause, the bush fires, if allowed to continue, will 'eventually turn the Barren Lands into a desert/ and that will be the end of the lovely streams of the Albion Park and Berry and Kiama districts. Bushwalkers can do their part helping to form that enlightened public. opinion which ultimately does change things. (By Marie B. Blyes - adapted from article reproduced with the prmission of the "Kiama Independant).
-In some regions, areas which were far too steep for safe use either as grazing land or for cropping have been cleared of their timber. Such areas extend from Scottsdale in Tasmania to the Atherton Tableland, Queensland. Sometimes after heroic efforts farms have been established on such country; more often than not the forces of nature have triumphed and the land has reverted either to bracken or scrub or to a less desirable type of forest than that which originally covered the ground. In some cases such land has reverted to or been repurchased by the Crown; in others it is still nominally the property of the owners who have arrears of rates standing against them. They do nothing with it and the fallen trees which litter its surface are particularly difficult to deal with in the event of a bushfire sweeping the area. From the point of view of effective land development, these failures, which are numerous, represent aconomic waste on the one hand and social disasters on the other. These also represent wasted forests which if clad with their original timber to-day would be worth many millions of pounds.
 From the Third Report of the Rural Reconstruction Commission.
+----
+===== What Has Paddy Got? =====
+Paddy is in Tasmania, but during his absence the following wares are displayed for sale:
+Japara Water Buckets, weight 3 ozs. small 5/-, large (2 gallons) 5/3. With zips 7/9 and 8/3.
+Rubberised (yellow) water buckets, weight 5 ozs., capacity 10 pints, 4/9 (none with zips).
+Li-lo air beds 78/-.
+Air pillows from 7/6 to 13/-.
+U.S. Army Ponchos, weight 2 lbs. 2 ozs. £1.
+Tropical blankets, weight 2 1/2 lbs., 17/6.
+__Skiers take note:__
+Paddy is stocking up with a full range of ski gear, including skis made by Johannsen and Nilsen, also waxes, stocks, bindings, boots, etc.
+----