Bear Grylls - woggled not stirred

I’d forgotten about my brief career as a Girl Guide until I heard the announcement that Bear Grylls, the dashing adventurer of TV fame, had been appointed Chief Scout. It has led to hundreds of enquiries and applications to join the organisation inspired by Robert Baden Powell’s book, “Scouting For Boys”, which was published in 1908. A century after Baden Powell found that boys were as keen to read his books as the men that they were written for Bear Grylls has also found a following amongst the young.

This revived interest in outdoor team activities by children and teenagers is bound to be welcomed by anyone concerned at rising levels of obesity and the emergence of the “cotton wool kid”. Cynical observers may wonder whether the new generation of Scouts may end up sending out for pizza using their mobiles provided by anxious parents as they sit around the campfire. Will they be allowed to light a fire in the first place? Things have changed since Baden Powell’s first expedition to Brownsea Island which was a deliberate attempt to bring together boys from very different backgrounds to teach them self-reliance and citizenship. Today’s Scouts and Guides are led by people who are carefully screened and conscious of potential risks.

Being a Girl Guide really wasn’t my idea but one of the priests at the local Catholic church persuaded my mother that it would be good for me (what the hell did he know about what’s good for prepubescent girls?). I think it had as much to do with the lack of local recruits as my welfare. My mother definitely has a thing about uniforms and realised that this was the one and only chance she would get to see me in one. The sort of organisation that was the equivalent of the Girl Guides in her own country was probably one step away from the Hitler Youth, at least, that’s the impression I am left with. My father had been in the Boys’ Brigade with his brother but I don’t think they had much choice - their father was the local minister.

This was the latest in a long line of things that had been considered good for me and most of them died the death fairly quickly. In spite of this we visited the Guide shop in Buckingham Palace Road where she bought the uniform, complete with really stupid hat which for some reason smelt of mushrooms. I had to put the damned thing on and show it to assorted people before I‘d done much guiding. The skirt was especially hideous because it was almost rigid, made of a really static nylon fabric.

If I had been a team player it would have done a lot for me but I was more interested in books than other people. I couldn’t see the point in gaining badges, I hated the thought of camping and no one ever took the time to teach me the words to Ging Gang Goolie. They just assumed that I knew them. So much for being prepared. When we spent a couple of hours at a retirement home singing songs to the elderly I just sat there opening and closing my mouth at the right moments. I had absolutely no idea that we were going there in the first place. This happened a lot. I would turn up at the right time and we would do as we were told. On one occasion this meant spending an evening pushing leaflets through doors. I assume that this was in return for some sort of sponsorship for our group but even I thought it a strange activity for a Guide.

For some reason we had to turn up at a Mother’s Union event and were kept supplied from the start of the evening with glasses of punch. As most of us were barely into our teens this had quite an effect and we were some of the most enthusiastic people there. I can’t remember anything else about that night which is hardly surprising. Apart from the occasional church parade I think we were at these does to make up numbers.

The military bits where you had to stand in line and salute or whatever were intriguing for a while but it already felt a bit old fashioned at the time. Being told how wonderful I was for being a Guide probably helped to keep me interested but somehow I got out of it in the end without ever having to endure a camping trip. The uniform was given away and I steered clear of that church hall for a very long time.

I don’t want to be too mean about the people who ran the group of Guides that I was involved with because they were kind and gave up many hours of their time to do it. There were fellow Guides for whom it really was an opportunity to get away from a grim home life for an evening or a weekend. I grew up in an area where the obscenely rich often lived alongside the very poor and the group drew members from both.

Looking back at my experience I don’t like the fact that it was tied in so closely with a Catholic church or the mock military rituals. I hope that things in this area have changed or disappeared altogether. I would also like to think that they make room for the child who is less gregarious than the rest. And I’m really glad that the bloody awful uniform has gone.

The words to “Ging Gang Goolie” - learn them and be prepared.
http://www.djmorton.demon.co.uk/scouting/songs/ginggang.htm