Casting my mind back through the mists of time I can clearly recall my first caving trips and the rudimentary equipment used. We had inherited a number of texalex miners helmets which looked as if they were made out of papier mache along with some miners carbide caplamps referred to as ‘stinkies’. Clothing consisted of old clothes, (grots) under old mechanics overalls. To add a degree of water-resistance we cut arm and head holes out of old fertilizer sacks (Fison 52 was the preferred brand) and wore them as a gilet. Weight bearing belts were fashioned from old seatbelts doubled over and fed through a pair of buckles, accompanied with hulking great steel karabiners marked with the ‘phreon’ or arrow symbol denoting that they’d once been owned by Her Majesties armed forces. We were assured that these ‘krabs’ were original WW2 commando issue and they would have made a handy weapon.
A wire ladder was fashioned using aircraft control wire sourced from the RAF this time. Not being able to afford a proper climbing rope for lifelining purposes and yet not wishing to demean ourselves to the level of an old washing line we utilized some hawser laid yachting rope. Suitably equipped we were ready to face the world, or at least the caves of the Mendips, but how could we transport our valuable guidebook, first aid kit, spare carbide and various other accouterments??
This time the British Army came to the rescue with an old ammo tin that once held 200 rounds of 7.62 calibre link ammunition for the general-purpose-machine-gun (GPMG). Durable and waterproof we thought that this was just the ticket – little did we know. This blasted tin box seemed to be designed to catch on every rocky protrusion and would magically wedge itself in any hollow, preferably when in a low, wet squalid crawl. Its loud clanking sound could be heard accompanied with its blaspheming carrier over a considerable distance. Even when stood upright this menacing object made its presence known by digging its sharp corners into ones thighs or any other fleshy part. Being brown in colour it seem to dissolve into the background as soon as it was put down and several times the suggestion was made to just ‘leave the blessed thing’ as yet again we hunted for it in a muddy chamber.
With a coat of white paint we persevered with this bothersome box until one day, one of our number, being conservation minded had placed some spent carbide in this water and gas-tight container. As we dragged our weary bodies out of the cave, the fermenting carbide was causing a build up of highly flammable acetylene gas inside our cantankerous container. Emerging into the sunlight we threw ourselves onto the ground, and one of our burlier fellows grabbed the box, looking forward to the boiled sweets held within. As he released the catch, the lid flew open propelled by the gas build-up resulting in a loud ‘bang!’. Now, some swore that the gas itself ignited with a dramatic flash of yellow flame, singeing eyebrows and beards, but all I truly recall was the loud bang and the carbide stench. This was enough however for our intrepid friend who had been scared witless and had dropped the box, scraping his shin in the progress. Letting lose all of his pent up fury, he jumped up and down on the little white box “you b******d, b******d, b*******d, thing” he exclaimed until all we were left with was a crumpled piece of scrap metal, destined to never again carry our kit underground.