At twelve years of age, I anticipated my first Guide Camp with such enthusiasm that I feared I would not live long enough to see the dream materialise.

We arrived at a site near Worm's Head in South Wales to find the tents already pitched by the Patrol Leaders of the District. Our first duty was to fill our palliasses (two sheets sewn together on three sides) with straw and then sew them up on the fourth side. While we were thus engaged, a wasp came to investigate the intruders into his territory. We Guides were apprehen­sive but my own Captain, who was in charge of the palliasse squad, told us firmly to sit still, not fuss, and the unwelcome visitor would depart.  It did indeed disappear and we obediently returned our attention to the exciting business of stuffing straw into the palliasses.  Suddenly, we were startled by an agonised "Ow" from our worthy Captain.  The wasp had quietly crawled up the long sleeve of her Guide uniform and stung her on the arm.  This amused us immensely!

The next day I was in the Cook Patrol and I shall never forget the feeling of utter hopelessness which overtook me when we were confronted by a huge bath full of potatoes which had to be peeled. Doubtless there was joy in store for the local pigs, but not for the hapless Cook patrol.  When my protesting wrists would no longer hold the knife, I cried into the bath and my Patrol Leader said I was lazy.  Then my Captain came and took me into her tent and gave me a piece of chocolate, which made her my friend for life.  She still is, in fact, and sends me the Guider magazine every month.

That night, because I was the smallest Guide in camp and had not borne up too well during the very strenuous first day, I was sent to bed instead of going to the camp-fire.  As I lay looking out of the bell-tent doorway at the stars, I could hear the sound of camp-fire singing in the distance.  The only song I
remember is "Eengonyama, imvubu" which melody, after all these years, takes me back to my first night at my first camp.

The next day, we went for our introductory dip in the icy Atlantic Ocean. My mother had knitted me a very smart brown and yellow swimming costume and I floated with tremendous pride over the gold sand and into the inviting waves.

My vanity rapidly evaporated when the knitted costume stretched on coming into contact with the water and I had to hold it up to prevent it from dropping right down to my ankles.  Complete humiliation overwhelmed me at the
sound of the screams of laughter from the rest of the District campers

Yes, I have never forgotten my first camp and I still maintain that it was the best camp I ever went to.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

< Back                               List                                 Next >