AUGUST 1979
EDITORIAL
AUGUST 1979
Next month is the presentation of Club Member of
the Year award. It has excited quite a
deal of interest and the competition has been keen. Apart from the prestige it is quite
worthwhile winning Club Member of the Year – with a perpetual trophy donated by
Tonight our Raffle for the Driving Lights and
Pump will be drawn. Thanks go to
Rallyquip,
Tom & Jude.
_______________________
AUGUST
RIDES
SUNDAY 5
KBCP 9.30 AM
SUNDAY 12 CASTROL TWO HOUR AND BIKE SHOW
KBCP 9AM
SUNDAY 19 YOU YANGS
KBCP 10AM
SUNDAY 26 COMBINED CLUBS RUN ARTHURS SEAT
KBCP 10AM
SEPTEMBER
SUNDAY 2 CLUB CAPTAIN’S RIDE
KBCP 9AM
FRIDAY 7 GENERAL MEETING. ‘CLUB MEMBER OF THE
YEAR’
PRESENTATION.
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CAPTAINS RAVE
The Combined Club ride
to Anakie Gorge went off very well until we decided to go for a combined
ride. Greg Free had organized the ride
but as his Ducati had gear box trouble he had to go home early. The Ballarat Touring Club Captain, Brian was
to take us on a scenic tour down back roads – but unfortunately, Brian and
myself as captains failed to organize the ride properly – corner markers left
corners before the Rear Rider arrived and bikes were scattered all over the
eastern half of Vic.
Please accept my
apologies and Brian’s on my behalf for the shambles.
__________________
WATERFALL GULLY 1.7.79
With a weather forecast
not being ideal for biking, I was having second thoughts about fronting up on
Sunday, but come departure time at KBCP I was there with 9 other bikes. With
only a few rain drops and gusty winds we made an uneventful but cool run down
With eating over and
taking over from Greg Smith as rear rider, we blasted up Arthurs’ Seat to
Waterfall Gully. We didn’t actually see
the waterfall, though we did hear it and Mick did assure us it was just beyond
a bunch of trees. But, with no track to
follow and the whole gully full of trees we ventured no further than 50yds from
the parking area. We then moved onto the car park at Arthurs’ Seat for a view
of
The highlight of the
run, at least judging by the lewd comments, was when Greg Smith’s zipper became
stuck while we were preparing to leave.
With Christine (Kwaka pillion) failing to solve the problem after a good
5 minutes of tugging, pulling and generally re-arranging Greg’s clothes, it was
left to Mick and a bloody great pair of pliers to fix.
While fuelling up on the
run back to Melbourne (my bike only) we were entertained with an exhibition of
trench digging by the guy (name unknown) and his Honda 900.
Our final destination was
Greg Smith’s flat at Elwood for coffee, biscuits and a warm; while there we all
enjoyed a video recording of the Eiger Sanction with the only interruption to
the film being somebody and his rattling balls.
Keith Honda 360
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TOLMIE, OR BUST!
or LIFE WASN’T MEANT TO BE EASY!
Friday 13th I believe that’s where it all started. Finding a weekend free, I decided that it was
about time I spent some love and attention on my poor neglected Boomer. So, I decided that this was going to be
it. I would attend the run on Sunday to Tolmie. No worries I thought. Hah, it was Friday the
13th.
Saturday 14th Many plans have been made. Rising early (for me) I set about tuning the
bike and checking all the little fiddlies like clutch cables, tyres, battery
etc. “Boy, the sun’s out, you need a wash
old pal,” I muttered. So off we went to
the tap and with the help of a bottle of Nifty, I really shone the alloy
up. Then it was a tickle and rub with a
chamois and a burn up the road to clear the cobwebs from both of us. I was really looking forward to tomorrow’s
run now.
Sunday 15th Morning crept in and I bravely arose,
determined to meet my mates on time. Now
living at
Being the logical fellow
that I pretend to be I worked out that a club coming from
One hour later, I was
starting to wonder! I had allowed 2 ½
hours from
The sun was now
providing some warmth and the snow caps near Mt Bulla looked beautiful
indeed.
Well here was
I called in for a wee at
the local BP and started a chat with a bloke and his chick on a Laverda
1000. He was heading to Mt Bulla to see
the snow, but he was rugged up in sneakers and gear suitable for a Spring
day. Do Laverdas go so fast that you
can’t feel the cold on them? We parted
company and I sped off up the Tolmie road for about 30 kms. After passing a shop and a house I decided
that I had gone past Tolmie so I returned to the shop to ask where the bikes
were. “No, we haven’t seen any bikes
today”, the lady answered. The answers
were all a bit the same weren’t they.
Feeling rather lost and
dejected I headed back for Mansfield and rather than a fang up Mt Buller, I
returned to Bonnie Doon and followed the shoreline of Lake Eildon through Fraser
National Park to Eildon township and home.
The story, believe it or not, does not end yet. My wife informs me that the club had tooted
as it passed my front door and went for a brief tour of Eildon before it headed
for home.
Oh well, I made it to
Tolmie. The weather was crisp but exhilarating. I had a great ride and next
weekend I’m going to find a track to lead
Yours in motorcycling
Greg Moore BMW750
Secretary
“TOLMIE”
8.15 Sunday morning –
stumble to the window; uh huh, greyish sky.
Oh well, never mind. After a
quick shower and a reminder to sleeping beauty (Ian) that it is now 8.30, I
throw breakfast together.
9.15 and we’re off,
hoping to meet the Club in Lilydale.
Surprisingly, although the sky looked rather bleak, travelling was quite
pleasant. We met up with Keith, Tom and
Judy at Lilydale and whilst I answered a quick call of nature, the rest of the
club arrived consisting of 7 bikes and one strange white corolla that persisted
in following us the rest of the day!
We left at about 10.25
travelling down the
After lunch, we
reluctantly left for Tolmie, a quick 30km of wet dirt road. Upon arrival we marvelled at the bustling
township and inspected the Tolmie cricket pitch and famous, flood swollen river
(a trickle). Half an hour later we left
via a different more enjoyable route back to
From there, Kevin led
the trek to Yea and then to Whittlesea to his place for coffee. Apart from the
cold weather, drizzle, snow and a few pairs of numb feet, it was a most
enjoyable ride for all.
Ian & Lynne Yam 750
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DARREN’S TOUR 15.7.79
The Itinerary said “NO
DIRT, NO TRAINS”, so I thought to myself, just up my alley. I brushed the cobwebs off the bike and
proceeded to the Car Park.
There were 11 bikes
there when I arrived, and pretty soon Darren was giving us the rundown on where
we would be heading. The day was fine
but the wind cool, and I was glad I had my electric vest on.
We left Melbourne via
the “Freezeway” to quote Darren, and went up to Sunbury. From there to Riddells
Creek, Darraweit Gum, Wallan, Wandong, Strath Creek and Flowerdale. Upon leaving Flowerdale I went onto reserve
and spent the next 20 minutes wondering if I was going to reach Yea or
not. Luckily I made it with 1 litre to
spare.
Fagan had an argument
with a car driver in Yea who accused Mick of going over 60K per hour. Mick denied this, and, we all know that Mick
never speeds. Les Leahy was riding pillion with Mick but he couldn’t comment
because he had his eyes closed at the time of the incident.
Anyway, we had lunch at
Yea and then it was off to Eildon via Alexandra and Thornton. We stopped at the Causeway to look at the
view and then went up to Mount Pinninger lookout. It was a one way road up to the top. And, you guessed it, Fagan went the wrong
way. On the way down we looked at the
huge powerlines that spanned the valley.
They stretch for 1 ½ miles. They
were very impressive. We then went to
Marysville for coffee and picked up 2 friends of Micks who tagged along with us
on the way home.
We headed back through
Narbethong, where a certain policeman took $30 off me, to Healesville, Yarra
Glen, Xmas Hills to Eltham where we dispersed.
It was one of the best
thought out runs for a long time. We did approx. 430kms. And I would like to
congratulate Darren on a job well done.
Greg Smith Honda 750
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ANAKIE COMBINED CLUB RUN 22.7.79
About 25 bikes were in
evidence by departure time on that Sunday morning, including 2 or 3 from the BM
club whose day run had been cancelled due to lack of numbers. Anyway, we left under Darren’s expert
guidance with Peter P bringing up the rear.
Skipping the main roads
and travelling through Footscray, Deer Park and around Exford Weir we found
ourselves in Bacchus Marsh. Departing
here most people got underway but the 350 Kawa and a Guzzi Sports both proved
reluctant to fire up.
Eventually, however, we
all headed in the direction of Anakie via the scenic route. Mick and Joy passed me as the road grew
tighter and shortly thereafter I found myself following Greg Free through some
sweepers. Makes a lovely sound two
Ducatis but my complacency was shaken as on the road ahead, which had just
turned to dirt, stood several kangaroos.
One big bloke in the middle just refused to move and Greg braked
quickly. I thought he’d stalled so I
proceeded on slowly, kangaroos moving ahead like frightened cattle.
The Ballarat Club were
in evidence at Anakie Gorge, but so too was another group. Volunteers National Parkising the gorge, working with chainsaws, tractors, borers etc
were rather destroying the tranquil picnic atmosphere. However, by the time they’d stopped for lunch
we had our steaks sizzling and had forgotten them.
After lunch people did
their own thing. Les Leahy went riding
while Greg Free headed for home, gearbox jammed in first. Most of the MTCV went walking in the gorge. Good
day for it too. One didn’t want to stay
still long. Some of the Ballarat club
joined us whilst others drank by the BBQ.
‘Twas decided that the
Ballarat club would lead to Ballan via roads they knew.
We passed through
Steiglitz, their club exhibiting some interesting riding characteristics
especially in the dirt. At one stage
near Morrisons, I think, I was surprised to see a corner marker indicating
another side road to the left. Little
did I realize he would be the last corner marker I would see, but as I neared
Sebastopol and Ballarat I saw just two of their riders and they were heading
straight for home.
Ballarat as usual was
cold, wet and uninviting and there was no group of riders waiting so we headed
straight for the Western Highway and home.
Coming in through Melton we ran into Johnno and Christine and gratefully
accepted their invitation for coffee at Niddrie where we learnt that our club
was scattered over the countryside due to the corner marking inefficiency of
the Ballarat club.
Still, never mind, with
the exception of the home run, it was a good day out; an ideal run for the
chilly circumstances.
Brendan 750 Ducati
________________________
ANAKIE GORGE 22.7.79
It was rewarding to see
good numbers turn up for this run as the weather was cold and the forecast was
for rain. Every time I counted bikes I
got a different number. I know there
were 13 bikes plus pillion riders from the Ballarat club and that there were
over 30 bikes at the gorge.
As we had plenty of time
Darren took us a round about way, through Footscray, past Exford Reservoir to
Bacchus Marsh where some filled up with petrol and others with munchies and
drinks. The people who run this place
deserve to get ahead as they were very pleasant. I heard the woman ask if we were coming back
that way. If so, and we told her what time, she would have the water boiling so
we would not have to wait while it came to the boil. Such service is rare today and much
appreciated when comes across it.
At this point I should
say I can only write about the part of the run I was on, not the last 70 miles,
because for reasons unknown to me I was by myself for about that distance. Bearing this in mind, the only unfortunate incident
was when before Anakie. Greg’s Duke took such a liking for 1st gear
it refused to go into any other which meant he left early for what must have
been a frustrating ride back to Melbourne.
Soon after our arrival
the Ballarat club arrived and soon the Boy Scout members with 2 matches and
kerosene had a fine barbeque going.
After eating, some went for a short walk, some for a long walk and
others a very long walk; looking into holes, walking through them etc. If you
don’t know what the holes were, all I can say is if you were there you would
know. For those who couldn’t go, the
holes were tunnels, at least six carrying a water pipe from a reservoir not far
away to somewhere.
The Apex or some such
club were helping the National Parks people till lunch time, but for gods sake
don’t tell the unions or we will have another strike and you know what they are
like.
A few years ago it was a
strike because the new Redfern Mail Exchange was a terrible place. Now they are
striking because the government woke up to what the union said and agree it was
terrible and inefficient and now they are going to decentralise mail exchanges
so now they are on strike again.
A few people at the
gorge seemed a little disappointed that we didn’t live up to their expectations
of what motorcyclists are like, probably because we didn’t use foul language
and smash up their cars with bike chains and rape their kids and wives.
One car drives past the
sign saying ‘Dogs are prohibited’ with a look on their faces which said it
didn’t mean me and let their dogs out.
But not for long as the parks people told them to put them back in the
car again.
To get back to our run
again. We left going part way back with
the Ballarat club. We went via the dirt
road through the Brisbane Ranges park to Stieglitz and towards Ballarat. Some bits of dirt road were a bit wet as it
started to drizzle and continued and got colder but it stopped soon after
Ballan on the way back.
We came to a little town
just past the bit of dirt road, turned right here due to corner markers being
there. Some of us stopped to put wellies
on. When I left, a corner marker was
still there and a few riders behind and I estimate 20 or more ahead. Well, all I can say is god must have picked
them all up and taken them to heaven or dropped them out to sea. If he didn’t do that, I don’t know where 20
or more bikes go to as I saw no one. Corner markers were non existent or anyone
else.
Before leaving Anakie I
asked Fagan where our next stop for petrol would be, and he told me Ballan
about 40k away and could I make that. I
assured him I could. Well, I am one of those strange people who when told we
are going to Ballan assume we are going there. Besides, I kept to rules which
said if not corner makers, go straight on and this took me to Ballan anyway,
though a lot of intersections were at an angle and seemed uncertain. However,
Ballan I was told, and Ballan was one place where bikes were not, and had not
been, according to the petrol station.
Well, as it was wet and cold,
and as I couldn’t read minds to know where everyone went, I came back alone.
I was curious about
those behind; did they find the others, were they told a different place, am I
getting senile, or did the corner markers not wait. Looking back on it, I think we should all
have been called together and told exactly what was happening at the car park
before leaving.
While I am used to
travelling alone, and carry spares, spanners, etc many don’t and only travel in
clubs for the security and if what happened to me happens to some of these
people, particularly newcomers, we could lose members. Apart from that it was a good run.
Lloyd 750/4
________________________
ALPINE OR BUST
Having never been to the
Alpine Rally before and hearing so many stories about mud, clogged roads and
washaways, I decided to kit my bike accordingly. So, Trials universal tyres were fitted, you
know the good ones at $25 a pair, as I figured I was going to need them. I had decided to ride to Canberra on the
Friday and stay with friends, leaving Saturday to battle whatever on the way to
the rally.
The ride to Canberra was
more than interesting, the trials tyres gave the bike an uneasy feeling which
gave me an uneasy feeling.
Arriving in Canberra at
nightfall isn’t the best, especially if you don’t know where you’re going, so I
pulled up to consult my map. As people
will tell you I have a habit of stopping (or trying to stop) in only the best
of places. This time I braked on some soft shale which gave an undesirable effect. That’s not bad; I’ve dropped the bike before
I started the hard work.
Canberra hasn’t changed
much. I doubt if it ever will. But when one wakes up at nine o’clock and looks
out of a secluded window to find your bike surrounded in fog, you start to wonder
if you’re sane or not. Well, I decided
to make a start, after all it was 10.30 am and the fog was still there. The ride out of Canberra and out towards
Cotter Dam was breezy, cold, icy and very awakening. I even missed the right
hand turn to Brindabella but managed to stop and turn around (without falling
over) to regain the correct route.
The fog lifted (or did I
come to the end of it?) as I was heading into the ranges on a fantastic piece
of road, a new bitumen surface winding through the picture postcard scenery but
it had to end, and it did.
Onto the dirt which
seemed quite firm and cruise up and down the mountain roads. This reminds one
of the Omeo Highway. An hour and a half later the border into New South Wales
was ahead of me.
After taking a couple of
photos and chatting to some other bikers I discovered that the road ahead was
to be without effort: no mud or washaways, just a couple of slippery sections
that offered no real resistance. It would seem my Trials tyres were not
needed. After a four hour ride entering
the Rally site after such an easy ride it felt good to be there but
disheartening as the challenge I expected was not overcome.
Setting up camp and
organising a meal takes time but its better to do it first and then wander
around to see who you know and what bikes there are. As the evening became real, to settle down
beside a fire to talk about things gone and things coming or anything is what a
rally is all about.
As the evening passed by
the inevitable gymkhana started with a donut contest which passed to a wheel
standing show and ended in a sidecar versus solo bout but the sidecar was too
much. This finished with a show of spinout stops by the sidecar, scattering the
crowd senseless. The prize winner of the
night had to be the guy on the XL175 (bloody trail bikes) who constantly shone
its headlight at right angles to the ground while sitting the bike on its tail
light.
The morning came and
with it the realization that it was cold outside; bikes, tents, everything was
covered in ice, the water in the billy had frozen and there was little or no
wood to throw onto the fire. It was hard
work gathering firewood, slipping and sliding on the icy ground, but it was
worth it.
When people woke up and
started wandering from campfire to campfire the endless progression around the
rally site starts again, looking for someone you hadn’t already chewed their
ear off, you soon realize that if you didn’t enjoy this kind of adventure you
wouldn’t be there.
This was my first Alpine
but not my last. I’m only sorry for the people who feel rallying is not for
them, but we can’t all be mad.
Dave Ducati 860
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ALPINE RALLY
10TH ANNIVERSARY MY FIRST
TIME
After hearing all the
raves about the Alpine Rally I’d decided to check it out. Learning that I had to work on the Queens
Birthday Monday did nothing to deter my enthusiasm. Accordingly, as prearranged that dark and
drizzly Friday night, saw Trevor Michie, with Sally in the sidecar and myself
on the Ducati wending our way slowly through thick fog towards Thornton.
Saturday morning, nice
and dry and crisp saw us farewelling Greg and Noeline and heading north. Both solo machines now, as we’d removed the
sidecar which had been pulling strongly to the left. Sally still opted for comfort of the BM. The
day gradually improved from uncomfortably cold to quite pleasant. Moderate speed on the Hume Highway took us to
Albury without incident where we were passed by Mick and Joy and another BM
rider.
Boredom with the long,
straight stretches of NSW Hume Highway saw us gradually increasing speed. Our
thanks to a truckie near Tarcutta who flashed a warning of imminent radar.
Across to Tumut where
the motorcycle population was increasing noticeably, and then a few miles of
bitumen before sticky clay. The clay
lasted ¼ mile or so and then the surface became hard once again. These sticky sections became quite regular
and occasionally the front wheel would lock with mud making steering a bit
tricky. I noticed that the BM wheel
would lock marginally before the Ducati.
So by keeping an eye on Trevor and noting when it slipped sideways I was
able to ascertain clearing time.
Numerous bikes passed us
with their front guards removed, an idea which Trevor was much in favour of,
but with my system and front cylinder to worry about, I was naturally opposed
to it.
Any rate, the road
changed to hard and rough surface. After I held the show up by getting a wee
bit lost, we eventually turned onto a track which heads through numerous farms
along the valley in which the rally is held.
I had thought we’d scrape into camp with daylight but soon the long file
of single headlights could be seen snaking along the valley. The bikes comprised all types. Fully equipped BM tourers, battered early
Honda Fours flying along the dirt and some incredible outfits bringing entire
families to the rally site.
Entering the site is an
unreal experience. On the approach you
can look right over the site and there was an eerie blue smoke rising out of
the valley and diffusing light beams from below.
At the site we erected
the tents while being entertained by a fantastic amateur fireworks
display. After tea, we soon stumbled
across the BM club where we found a few familiar faces around a big log fire. Met the other BM people, crazy people, some
of whom seem to just ride from rally to rally with the odd trip around Oz to
kill time in between. Anyrate I look
forward to seeing them at Quorn.
I was surprised to find
so much grog in evidence at a ‘no grog’ event and went to investigate what was
happening in a natural arena formed by hundreds of people in a circle of
torches. In the centre was a guy doing
incredible monos on an XT 500 and large numbers of inebriated gentlemen trying
stunts on a couple of outfits.
As the night grew colder
and the stunts got more dangerous, it seemed appropriate to retire for the
evening. Now whilst several people have
commented that it was quite cold, it could be overcome by adequate preparation,
like taking a heavy down bag and a very good friend.
Morning, thick and heavy
frost, but sunshine starting to dry everything out. Fortunately, no one near me started their
bike too early and we let ours defrost before trying.
With daylight more
familiar faces came to light, Dave (blue 860) and the Morgan family from
Sunbury amongst them.
Bikes were coming and
going in all directions. Late arrivals,
people gathering firewood, day trippers on trail bikes and persons wishing to
be close to nature, the lean-to dunny having been burnt down in the previous
nights excitement. In excess of 6
persons were seen travelling up a rise on one bike and an impromptu contest to
see who can pick up a Kawasaki 1300 on their own was organised.
Anyrate, at about
10.45am, having gathered our badges, we left the excitement for Melbourne. The valley looked even better in daylight,
really beautiful. The sunshine had dried
the mud considerably and we reached Tumut without stopping. Our return trip was without incident,
pleasant during the day and absolutely freezing when we farewelled Trevor at
Alexandra and headed for home.
If you haven’t been to a
rally yet, it’s an experience not to be missed.
Brendan 750 Ducati
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GET RID OF THE PEOPLE AND THE SYSTEM RUNS FINE
Until Theseus terminated
his fell career, Procrustes, the legendary Attic brigand, used to measure his
captives on an iron bed. If they were
longer than the bed, he chopped off their surplus parts; if they were shorter
he stretched them till they fitted. Some
revival of this procrustean precept that the people should be made to fit the
system can be detected these days.
Note this newspaper
report from the Midlands of England; “Complaints from passengers wishing to use
the Bagnall to Greenfields bus service that ‘the drivers were speeding past
queues of up to 30 people with a smile and a wave of a hand’ have been met by a
statement pointing out that ‘it is impossible for the drivers to keep their
timetable if they have to stop for passengers.
It will thus be seen
that the official function of a bus service is not, as popularly misconceived,
to carry people from A to B, but to meet its timetables. The sacred schedules must be maintained, even
if the bus has to run empty. Therefore,
ultimate efficiency of bus services can be achieved only if passengers are
banned altogether. Such a prohibition
would have the ancillary advantages of extending clutch and brake longevity and
markedly reducing the wear and tear on the upholstery.
Much of the same
attitude can be observed in the facial expressions of the staff at any airport
as they handle your tickets, while longing for the day when they can be left to
run the place like clockwork with their TV screens and admonitory announcements
without all those blasted, disorganized air-travel passengers milling about all
over the place.
On the stationary side,
John Cleese, the skyscraping British comic of Monty Python fame, runs a
television series in Britain in which he plays a manic and domineering hotel
proprietor. He said he got the idea from
actually staying at a West of England hotel “where there was this wonderfully
rude owner who maintained that the guests stopped him from running his hotel… It
was the first time we’d come across such a situation – now I know it happens
all round the world.”
And all round the world,
hoteliers painstakingly display their monastic rules and detailed eating
routine on that card on the bedroom door.
Only if all prisoners obey its timely regulations can the
establishment’s system be operated harmoniously. The virtue most in request, as Emerson once
demoaned, is conformity. It is
ill-trained guests like you and me, who forget the feeding orders and lie abed
to unhinge the cleaning roster, who are the monkey wrenches in the hospitable
works – thus driving hotel managers to dream of that perfect Grand Hotel which
runs with daily, clockwork precision, where all meals are completed on time,
all rooms are cleaned to split second schedule, and the bartenders can keep
their glasses eternally polished to perfection – because the place steadfastly
refuses to take in any guests at all.
An occupational
psychologist employed as a consultant to a Middle Eastern air force recently
reported an unusual method of fitting people to prevailing constraints. There was a local supply difficulty in
obtaining irregular sizes of uniform shoes for airmen. So, in a philosophical compromise, the
recruiting board selected successful candidates on the regular proportions and
commonplace dimensions of their feet.
A popular weapon of
Bureaucrats bent upon keeping people subservient to their system is the regular
demand that they categorise their lives on meaningless forms and unnecessary
returns. I have long admired the ploy
that George A. Birmingham, the novelist and essayist, adopted in
retaliation. In his non-literary life he
was a clergyman in Ireland and as such, he was pestered by bishops and other
authorities to fill in recurring questionnaires. He took particular umbrage against the annual
demand from the education office to report the dimensions of his village
schoolroom. In the first and second
years, he duly filled in the required figures.
On the third year, he replied that the schoolroom was still the same
size as before. Schoolrooms are not
trees, he observed, they do not grow. The education office badgered him with
reminders until Birmingham finally filled in the figures.
But he didn’t put in the
same figures as before. He doubled the
dimensions of his schoolroom. Nobody
queried it. So he went on doubling the
measurements until in the course of five or six years that schoolroom became a
great deal larger than St. Paul’s Cathedral. But nobody at the education office
was at all concerned. So, the next year,
the Canon suddenly reduced the dimensions of his colossal classroom “to the
size of an American Tourist trunk... It would have been impossible to get three
children without a teacher, in that schoolroom.” And nobody took the slightest notice, for
nobody needed the information. But the
system did, and the system had to be satisfied.
So why not try the George Birmingham treatment next time they send you a
form to fill out.
By Patrick Ryan –
submitted by Lloyd
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EDITORS’ NOTE
The more observant of
our readers will probably have notice a discrepancy in Greg Moore’s write-up on
P.3. The ride he was referring to was
held the previous Sunday – so no wonder he did not find us at Tolmie.
Lets hope he teaches his
pupils to read better than he does.
_______________________
OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
As of this magazine, the
house at 153 Cornwall Rd., Sunshine, is to be known as Joy and Mick’s place –
instead of Fagan’s place.
_____________________
ATTENTION ATTENTION ATTENTION
Greg Smith’s telephone number
as mentioned in a previous magazine is 531-4608. The itinerary has the phone number
incorrectly.
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