Tribute to Robert Keith Hunter: 16 May 1925 - 30 March 2009

What is a Man of Substance?
Several times throughout Robert Keith Hunter’s life, he asked himself, “What is a man of substance?” He wondered if he was one — or, if not, if he would ever become one. Today, as we remember —with tender feelings of love and gratitude —his life, and his influence on each of us, I would like to offer my response to those questions.
A man of substance is kind. He is gentle. He may not be a man of many words, but the words he chooses are words of faith, hope and charity. He knows how to laugh, sometimes at himself. And he knows how to help others see the humorous, lighter and brighter side of life. He may not be a man of great substance, in terms of wealth and possessions, but he shares what he has with others. Particularly widows, the fatherless, the down-hearted and those down on their luck. He is also a man who recognizes that the most enduring substance of all is that which comes as gifts from God: truth; light; faith; testimony; forgiveness; and peace. And that which is offered as gifts to God: sincere prayer; a curious intellect; a pure and forgiving heart; sacrifice; patience; loyalty to family and friends; and service to others.
Robert Keith Hunter has all of these qualities, and more. I know more completely my heavenly father, because my earthly father is so much like Him. And I know more clearly the kind of father and human being that I must be, because my dad showed me how to live a life full of rich, fertile substance. He mixed the eternal with the temporal seamlessly and without apology. He did all of this and more, quietly, and without fanfare, but always with the welfare of others in mind.
I believe that he will know — as confirmed by a loving Lord who knows him intimately and who, like so many of us, loves him deeply…and when greeted by his parents and other loved ones who have gone on before — who he truly is. Indeed, a man of great substance. May his life and legacy be memorialized in our lives, as we too seek to be men, women and children of substance.
Richard Hunter (3 April 2009)

Pah's Hands

The following is a transcript of an interview with Janny Say. She is remembering Pah's hands.

The first thing that comes to mind with Pah's hands is blessings, priesthood blessings. Of which I have had many. And there were so many times when I was very sick or sometimes almost dying and as soon as those gentle hands went on my head he sort of just moved them around my head and then he'd settle and he'd give me a blessing. As soon as those hands went on my head I knew that all would be well because I knew he took the priesthood seriously and that he was my link to Heavenly Father. So that was my first thought. The second one is, one time in Townsville we'd gone up there for a conference and I was pretty sick. I collapsed in the chapel during Sunday morning session and he carried me. I must have been about fourteen or eighteen, I don't know how old I was, I was in my teens. But he carried me out and he kept saying, "Oh Jane, Jane." I think it was Jane - Jane or Janny. He called me Jane often. Anyway he kept saying my name over and over again as he walked through the courtyard with me in his arms. I thought, "I woundn't mind staying like this." Because he wasn't a demonstrative man. He did things but he didn't say much. So when he was saying my name over and over again I just thought, "I could stay in his arms forever.' Another one is the time he gave we three girls a belting. He asked us to put our hands out and with his hand he gently tapped our hands as softly as he could. Then he said "that was your belting, never do it again." These are some of my memories of his hands.

Tribute to Pah on His 80th

Uncle Barry: Toowoomba and Beyond

This will be my third and final. I am calling these effusions drafts, because I am aware of the many omissions. For instance, I did not mention that our mother for a time in the 30s taught Sunday School at St. Mary’s, Kaimkillenbun, nor that from our earliest years she taught us to say our night prayers, kneeling at the bedside - something I continued to do for many years afterwards.

I think back to the Toowoomba years, and 1941. Keith was 15 years old when he started work at the Toowoomba Foundry; and I was 13 starting at secondary school. The war was on, but we were not all that much aware of it, even the recruiting rallies held in town were barely relevant to us, and the occasional air raid warning and drills into slit trenches did not change for us the remoteness of it all.

Our mother was more involved, of course, and I remember how she used to make camouflage netting, with occasional slight assistance from us. I joined the Air Training Corps when I turned 16, but fortunately for me, the war ended in time for me to miss out on a call up into the armed forces. I thank God for that. Keith, of course, was in a protected industry, and would not have been allowed to join up.

Work for Keith, School for me. This meant a new kind of separation, which continued later on. Keith made acquaintance through his fellow Engineering cadets with a group of young people who were attached to St. Stephen’s Presbyterian Church - the P.F.A. - Presbyterian Fellowship Association.

They were a lively lot, well led, organising social life for young folk, social evenings, and the Fellowship Tea and Worship at Church on Sunday evenings. There was a tennis club comprising these young people mainly, with play on a couple of courts at the Presbyterian Manse. I was able to join in the tennis games there too, and I enjoyed the company. Keith drifted away from St. Luke’s Anglican Church because of this Fellowship, but I continued to go along there with my mother for Sunday worship, perhaps not as regularly then as I should have done.

A regular weekly event was going to the pictures on Friday nights, choosing one of the three cinemas. Two main features, news, and a cartoon was the regular diet, and there was also the luxury of a milk shake, and perhaps a hot pie sold there by the pie man. Afterwards we walked home, and that tended to be a slow journey, with frequent halts for conversation.

50 Herries Street was on a regular bus route to and from town, and we rode in Mr. McCafferty's bus on many occasions. This means of transport was supplemented by our push bikes, and Toowoomba provided many opportunities for us to ride to the various scenic spots. But at some stage, and while Ross Maclean was boarding with us, he and Keith became attracted to motor bikes. This caused our mother constant worry and concern. For one thing, the bikes had frequent mechanical problems, and for another, it meant that Keith could ride away from town, out on the highways. Mum was always on tenterhooks until he returned safely.

Foundry cadetship lasted four years or five, I forget which. When their time there was over, many of the cadets tended to leave for other positions, Ross went to Brisbane, and Keith found employment after a while at Walkers at Maryborough, a large firm which built ships and manufactured other heavy equipment. This would have been 1945 or thereabouts, the war was about to end, Roy Adams came home late in 1945, skin and bone from the Japanese Prison Camps, and our lives continued to change.

I stayed at 50 Herries Street until 1946, when I moved to live and work in Warwick. As Roy regained strength, he and our mother moved from Herries Street to a succession of places in and near to Toowoomba, engaging mainly in fowl and egg production. Keith and I had left the nest, our paths had divided and the only significant convergence after that was in 1951, I think it was, when Keith and Jo invited me to be best man at their wedding in the little Methodist (?) Church at Hemmant (Brisbane). I was then a theological student in Brisbane They went north and I eventually went west and our life paths remained separate from then on.

But blood is thicker than water. We share, to change the metaphor, a common root system - we are two separate grafts as it were, in the hands of our heavenly Gardener, to do with as he wills.

Enter the Hunter Family

The following was written by Keith's brother, Barry. It is one of a series of recollections he is kindly sharing with us. Most of the action in the following post takes place in Kaimkillenbun, Queensland. For a satellite picture, go here. The picture to the left was taken in the area.

Enter the Hunter family

The first General Store in the Bun was opened in late 1908 and was run by two brothers-in-law of Rev. Tullock - Forest (Dave) and Bert Mitchell. Bert did not stay long and Forrest was joined by a Mr. Hunter as partner. This store handled the Postal business until the Railway Station was built. At the end of 1911 this partnership sold out to Messrs. Russell and Smith.In 1911 Mary Rubina A. Hunter was enrolled as a pupil at the Bun School. (Ihave a suspicion that this is not my Aunt Mary, later Gibson.)

There is mention of a boarding house which was built adjoining the first store, and it was opened early in 1909. After a succession of owners, this Boarding House was occupied in 1917 by the Hunter family for approximately eighteen months as a private residence. And it is also recorded that the Hunter family were engaged in a timber business in the Bunya Mountains.

Turning again to the school enrolments, in 1917 James, Mary, Beatrice and Jean Hunter’s names appear. There are a couple of other items of significance to us in the school booklet. Several sawmills operated at different times at the Bunya mountains and a huge quantity of logs and sawn timber was railed annually from this centre. In the peak period of this industry, from about 1916 to 1923, up to twenty teams, both bullock and horse teams were engaged carting logs and timber to the Railway at Kaimkillenbun. (I was told long ago that the Hunter family were involved in the timber industry.)

There is mention also of the infestation in the district of prickly pear. 1922-23 saw one of the worst droughts that had been experienced. Prickly pear was prevalent at that time. Many land-holders used the pear after it was boiled down or the prickles singed to feed the starving stock. So the Hunter family, or at least some of them, lived at the Bun for some years after 1917, and possibly before that.

When I was a child I was told that our father John (or as he was called, Jack) Hunter worked hard on the job of prickly pear eradication, and this on top of a dose of scarlet fever when he was younger, contributed to the heart problems which led to his death in 1927. But before that, he obviously met Dorothy Winifred Town, and they were married in 1924. Grandfather Hunter provided them with a farm at Peak Hill, near Boonah, and they were there I presume when Keith was born in 1925, Jack's health continued to decline, and he died on 11 August 1927 (I’m pretty sure that is the date).

I was born on the 15th, a few days later. I have seen old photos of my mother, with Keith, and myself as a very small baby, taken with other members of the Hunter family at their house at Rocklea, Brisbane. She apparently stayed with them for a time, before returning to live with Grandfather and Grandma Town at The Oaks. So Keith was enrolled at the Bun school in 1931, and I in 1932.

The mention of the Hunters being associated with running a store at the Bun in 1909 is significant, in that from my early memory of trips by train to Brisbane in the early 30s, I remember that we stayed with the Hunters at Kangaroo Point, where the residence is at the back of a shop, a corner store, which they conducted there, near to where the ferry crossed the Brisbane River to near the Customs House.Going to school at the Bun involved a journey of a bit more than two miles. I don’t know how Keith got there when he started, but I remember being carried kicking and screaming down to our front gate to be loaded on to a horse-drawn cart which carried the Skerman family. I was terrified of the school master, Mr. Peter Green. Fortunately for me, he was transferred up the line to the school at Bell the next year, and we benefited after that from the more kindly pedantic skills of Mr. Reginald Horn, from September 1933 to August 1939.

After a time Keith and I were given a horse to ride to and from school, Keith holding the reins and me holding on to him behind. Tommy was a small pony, very fat and round, so that when he decided to shy at something, we could only roll off. I think we had a few busters. Tommy’s ultimate disgrace came when he turned angrily on our mother as she opened the gate for us, and bit off a small piece of her ear.

Tommy disappeared from view soon after that. He was replaced by a taller, younger horse, who was sometimes skittish. But for some time the two of us rode him to and from school, often passing the time by rehearsing lists of the capital cities of Europe, or the countries themselves, and other items of newly gained knowledge. There was a small paddock at the back of the school for the horses which the children rode, with a small shed for saddles and bridles. After school was over, there was a kind of race from there to the large windmill and trough near the railway line, because the horses had no access to water during the day, and they were thirsty. The journey home after that was much more leisurely, often just a walk and an occasional canter.

The horses knew who was boss, certainly not us their riders. On one occasion as we were going home our horse bolted, and we both came off near a culvert on the Bunya Road half a mile from home. Keith was knocked unconscious for a short while. After that, we ceased our equestrian activities, and either walked to and from school, or rode push bikes. The latter had the disadvantage of being vulnerable to nasty prickles and thorns, and I suspect that after a time, we mostly walked.

I have memories of hurrying home while storm clouds gathered, gaining the safety of the house verandah just the heavy drops of rain began to fall. While we lived at The Oaks with our mother during the 30s we were very close to her. We were all she had. Charles Town our grandfather was a solid father figure in the background; our grandmother, Winifred, was kind and fussed over us, and Keith Town our youthful uncle (Nunky) was part of the family circle. But the three of us were a little family ourselves.

Our mother would talk to us about books she was reading, we learned to know the Dickens characters for instance, and we played games like ludo and Chinese checkers, and games with cards together. And there was our own reading, and learning to play the piano, our mother trying to teach us, and playing the gramophone, as well as the few household chores, like gathering kindling for lighting the stove in the mornings. The two of us were siblings, of course, and I suppose there was some rivalry, but I think it was rather trivial.

From time to time we traveled the long journey (15 miles) to Dalby in Granddad’s Dodge sedan. There were frequent visits to the dentist, and our mouths were well equipped with amalgam fillings. These visits were ordeals. On the other hand, a regular treat was a visit to a cafe for a fruit lunch. We were probably starved for fruit, and so when asked, this was what we preferred to have.

Our mother began to involve herself in the Bun community life in various ways. I heard somewhere that she was involved in one of the stage revues in the Bun Hall. She was Secretary of the Country Women’s Association for a time, and used to ride the big horse, Blucher, to meetings. Mr. Horn, our school teacher, gave her a sketch which he made of her, a la as a barefoot aboriginal woman, entitled Secretary of the Chin Waggers Association.

In 1937 (I think it was) our mother consented to marry Cyril Roy Adams, an Englishman who was a casual labourer in the district. A small wooden cottage was built near the Hay Shed at the Oaks for our accommodation, and I think that Roy worked for a while on the farm. But not for long. He preferred employment as a labourer in the road and railway gangs. Our mother joined him in these for a while, and so Keith and I returned to the care of our grandparents, who I think by this time were living on the (almost) adjoining property of Rossmoyne, closer to the Bun, for Keith Town had married Ruby Jones, and they remained at The Oaks.

In 1939 my brother Keith was sent to be a Boarder at the Toowoomba Grammar School, probably at a considerable financial sacrifice, while I stayed on at Rossmoyne. When World War 2 started in August 1939, Roy Adams joined the A.I.F. and was eventually posted overseas, returning to Java in time to be captured, with the rest of the 8th Division by the Japanese in 1942. He spent three years in the notorious prison camps of Burma.

After Roy enlisted, our mother found work in Toowoomba, in the employ of Canon Perry, Rector of St. James’ Church. She worked as a domestic, housekeeper, maid, cook). She needed the money to keep Keith at school, and it was convenient to be near him during his two years there. While this was happening, there were changes at the Bun. Mr. Reg. Horn was transferred from the Bun School in August 1939 and was succeeded by Mr. McDade. It didn’t take long for my mother to sum up his teaching quality adversely, and in 1940 I went to live with Uncle Will Perry and Aunt Myrtle and their children Jean and Reg, at his school at Lockrose, near Lowood, Queensland. That was to try to ensure that I passed the Scholarship exams well enough to gain entry at the Toowoomba Grammar School, where I was enrolled in 1941.

Our mother then had a regular income as Roy’s dependant, and she decided to buy (?) a house to live in, in Toowoomba - 50 Herries Street - and I attended TGS as a day boy. She augmented her resources by taking in boarders, and the last one of them, Ross Maclean, who had been in Keith’s form at TGS, became a good friend to us both, very much part of the family. Keith was offered a position as Cadet Engineering Draughtsman at the Toowoomba Foundry, which manufactured farm machinery, engines, windmills, wearing the Southern Cross brand, and other equipment. Ross Maclean was with him in the same job.

End of episode 2. The next one will focus on life in Toowoomba together.

Dum

This is Keith and Barry's mother, Dorothy. This photo was taken in 1987, a few months before her passing on October 19. She was born in Boort, Victoria, Australia on March 3, 1903. One of her grandsons, Richard (that's me), married a young woman, Laura, who shares Dorothy's birthday. When Janny (Pah's eldest child) was small, she could not pronounce 'Grandma', and what came out was 'Dumah'. This name stuck, sometimes shortened to 'Dum'. Her name had nothing to do with her intellect, though. She loved to read and was a bright, engaging woman. She lived many years in Mackay as well as Toowoomba. She was living in Oakey when she passed away. She was kind to her grandchildren and to others. She loved cats and gardening. Her vegetable patch in Toowoomba (on South Street, close to Hume, heading towards the Range) was first class. Orderly, productive and a wonderous place for little ones to play. Rich remembers her love and gentleness. On one occasion she spent half a day creating dice out of small pieces of wood, that she wittled, fashioned and painted so we could play a board game one Christmas holiday. Her kitchen was always clean, warm and well stocked. Delicious roast meat with vegetables on a cold, rainy day was a special time with Dum. The fact that both her boys are so kind, gentle and good speaks volumes about Dum's depth of character and strength, to raise them both so well, without the support of a husband.

Pah's Brother

Pah's one and only sibling is his younger brother Barry. He is a retired Anglican bishop. He was the Bishop of the Riverina Diocese from 1972 to 1992. He has a wonderfully deep voice and a gentle and kind manner. He has kindly shared some of his memories of his childhood.

"Your requests have stirred up my little grey cells considerably, and you might as a result get more than you have bargained for. But then, you can make use of whatever you like, while I can amuse myself with memories, and a little bit of research maybe. In responding to your three questions, I shall probably do so in series, based on localities, such as The Bun, The Oaks, Rossmoyne, and then Toowoomba, but we shall see.

In the year 1906 Charles Town brought his family from where they had lived in Boort, in northern Victoria, to live on land that had been opened up for closer settlement in the northern Darling Downs, Queensland. Jimbour Station was being broken up into farms called selections; the people who took them up were called Selectors. Charles Town's selection was of 640 acres of rich black alluvial soil, on which he was to build a house to be called 'The Oaks'. It was 2 and a half miles north of the village of Kaimkillenbun, usually referred to as 'The Bun'. He was then 41 years old, and his wife Winifred was 39. They had five children - Geoffrey Charles (always called Jack), Myrtle, Edith, Muriel, and Dorothy, their youngest, then aged three. A second son, Keith, was born to them later on.

They travelled up partly by ship, and by train, for Kaimkillenbun was on a branch railway line from Dalby to Bell. The new selectors brought dairy herds; milking sheds and yards were soon built, and in our district the milk was separated into cream and skim milk. (Other districts supplied cheese factories.) The cream was put in 8 or 10 gallon cans, and sent by rail to a Butter Factory in Dalby. This was a co-operative enterprise, owned by the farmers themselves. Typical of the farms roundabout, The Oaks added a small piggery, cultivated land for wheat, oats and barley (about 100 acres), and there was a small paddock of lucerne, which was baled and stored in a large hay shed. The farm was watered by an arm of the Myall Creek, a tributary of the Condamine River, which in turn is part of the Murray/Darling River system.

I recall a wooden house with verandahs on three sides, built close to the creek. The lav. (lavatory, toilet) was a few yards away close to the creekbank. There was a large shed, or barn, a small silo; the wood-heap was between house and shed, and close to the milking shed there was a small building which housed farm machinery, and had an annexe which was used as a smithy, with anvil and forge. The herd of cows was small by today's standards, they were Australian Illawarra Shorthords, useful for both milk and beef. Dairying provided the chief product of the farm, providing regular earnings. The separated milk was fed to pigs, which were sold from time to time at pig sales. There were horses and dogs for mustering the cows for milking, and horses were for riding when visiting the Bun, or friends. I remember travelling with my grandmother in her one-horse sulky to visit family and friends - my job being to open the many gates on the way. Some time ago I wrote a bit of doggerel about that.

The Recipe

A horse and sulky on a country road,

My grandma on a visit, with her load

Of pots of jam, and greens, and generous heart,

Sponge cake, high risen, product of her art:

And I, a little boy of eight

For company, and to open up the gate.

With half an ear I heard the women talk.

New babies on the way, new neighbour folk

(They must be well to do, they have a car.)

I'm knitting bootees now for Jenny Barr.

I love your scones, dear Mrs. T.

Oh, would you like to have my recipe?

There always was a recipe, on scrap

Of paper in the bag upon her lap.

Large bag, large lap, to comfort and bring joy

To lonely farmers' wives and one small boy.

And then the goodbye kiss, the sun

Was telling us the cows were coming in.

My grandma died. And then, (the hour seemed late),

She found herself before another gate.

"Woman", said Peter, awful with his key,

"The Master says, 'What have you done for me?'"

And she was flustered, what to say?

Would she depart, or would they let her stay?

"Tell me", he said, "now what have you to give

To him who died for you that you might live?"

She wept and wept, for she could only stand

With nothing but that bag, still in her hand.

"I have a pot of jam", sobbed she,

"That's all, unless He'd like to have a recipe."

And while she stood and felt her spirit flag,

St. Peter smiled, and said to her, "That bag

Reminds me of a boy with fish and bread.

The Master blessed that gift and many fed.

Come, join that little boy",

The Master says, "and enter into joy".

On the farm there were also some sheep, and from time to time one would be slaughtered for mutton. There were fowls, to provide eggs and an occasional feast; vegetables were grown for the table, and I recall a mulberry tree, useful for staining the face in games of Cowboys and Indians. There was much home cooking, cakes, jams, scones, biscuits, so that morning and afternoon teas were well provided for. There was a hand-operated churn, for turning cream into butter, mainly used by our grandmother, but sometimes Keith and I were asked to turn the handle, which we did until our small arms ached, and the cream never seemed to turn.

Thinking of Cowboys and Indians, I am reminded that there was hardly any sign of the original, aboriginal inhabitants in the area, during the 30s anyhow, apart from the name of the village itself, derived I think from Cumkillabah - there were various spellings. Its meaning, according to the School Anniversary book, is 'Opened the mouth with a finger'.

To the north of the farm was the outline of the Bunya Mountains, about 30 miles away, part of the Great Dividing Range. The Bunya road between the Bun and the hills passed our farm gate. In the early days the cows were milked by hand. There were simple ploughs and other farm machinery, which were drawn by big draught horses. Farming then was labour intensive, and so a large family was an advantage. Many children helped with milking and other chores before and after school.

As the years passed, The Oaks and the farms round about began to be mechanised. The draught horses were superseded by tractors; and larger and more efficient ploughs, combines (for planting seed), harvesters or headers became the norm. At The Oaks hand milking was replaced by machines. I recall the Lister Diesel single cylinder engine with its whirring flywheel, and distinctive irregular rhythm, the sound of which lives in my memory. This engine provided power for the milking machines and the separator.

Milking, morning and night, was a chore, but on the whole, a pleasant one. The cows had particular personalities, all had names, most of them were placid by nature, happy to exit the bail after giving up their milk. I remember seeing our mother feeding the calves (poddies), enticing them with fingers to suck, and leading them down to the bucket of milk, from which they soon learned to drink.

My brother Keith and I were not regular labourers in the cowyard, but would play there, learning to balance walking around the top rails of the fence, sometimes ushering a cow into thebail for milking. Our mother deliberately kept us back from this work, knowing that our future could not be on a farm, for we had no such inheritance to look forward to.

In 1909 a State Primary School was established in the Bun. Families were at first consulted as to their interest and need for a school for their children, and the school was built and began service with 29 pupils; ArthurJohn Stevenson being first Head Teacher. Our Aunt Muriel was enrolled onthe first day, our mother Dorothy Winifred, being only six, followed with enrolment on the second day. Charles Town was a member of the first school committee. In 1911 Mr. Stevenson was replaced by William Robert Perry. When World War 1 began he joined the AIF and served overseas. On his return he married Myrtle Town and became our Uncle Will. The names of the children reflect those of the selector families, as well as other families who lived in the village, who included postmaster, baker, butcher, storekeeper, stationmaster and railway workers, and hotel keeper. There was a rather eccentric loner too, Neil Beard, who had a smithy, near to the school. The farmers were a mixed lot, with varying skills. Charles Hurford, who took up Roscommon, was a bush carpenter. His skills at building houses, yards, and sheds were very much in demand. He married my Aunt Edith, and they had a large family, including Richard, Robert, Winnie, Gladys, Nell, Myrtle, Joan and Warwick or Warry, who was Mongoloid. Up the road from The Oaks lived the Skerman family. That brilliant familyproduced at least one Professor at University, a noted scientist,(microbiologist I think), and two of the men who stayed on the land became noted for leadership in Agricultural Science and the practical applications thereof.

Not many people living in that area in those days were well-educated. Grandfather Town left school at the age of 9 to go droving. Secondary education was fairly rare. Yet there was great eagerness to learn. For many years Grandfather Town subscribed to the Sydney Bulletin, which was a weekly, providing a Red Page, featuring and promoting Australian poetry and literature, lots of clever cartoons both humorous and political, political comment, news and other articles. The Bulletin was a great educational tool for country people, and it was supplemented by books. Many of the people read widely. Our mother owned a set of all Charles Dickens' works, read avidly so that Peggotty and Mr. McCawber and Mr. Pickwick and Scrooge were familiar characters whom we knew from her conversation, as well as reading many of the books myself while in Primary School. The Oaks even had a piano. Our mother learned to play it, being taught by nuns at Dalby, (with some certificates to prove it), so that she was in some demand as accompaniste, and organist at Church. I recall that during the1930s we had a gramophone, wound up by hand, with records of the popular songs of the time, Stephen Foster, Gilbert and Sullivan, Gladys Moncrieff and even Nellie Melba. Grandfather didn't like sopranos and their screeching. I played those records often. Then later came radio, and doors opened to a wider world.

The community of the Bun built a hall which was called the School of Arts. It contained a Lending Library, and various functions were held there, including regular dances (violin and accordion) - the girls sitting aroundthe walls and the boys standing near the door, trying to pluck up courage to approach a girl and ask her to dance. I recall a childhood memory of a revue in that hall, and the row of chorus girls doing a rather legs-up routine. They were pretty much up to date at the Bun. (To be continued.....)"