Chaper 4 - Mostly about Camp Fires
Have you ever heard of a 'Veillet'? I hadn't until I was in Paris, and found it on the list of engagements, and I wondered what it meant.
It tumed out to be one of the loveliest performances that I have ever witnessed—a Ranger Camp Fire.
It happened in a little wood, which stands untouched like a small oasis on a vacant building plot in the district of St. Cloud, which was being used by some Wolf Cubs, and each Ranger company of the whole of the Paris area had been allowed to nominate two chosen members, so that it was a very specially representative gathering.
There were only about sixty-five altogether, and they put on a unique programme for me all prepared without any help from the Guiders. In fact, Guiders were not invited, and everything had been arranged by the Rangers themselves. They were most considerate in their planning for me, even providing me with a seat to sit on. By the way, whilst I am mentioning that, I think I might just drop a little hint about this sitting question at Camp Fires because I am getting old, and though it is easy enough to
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jump up and plop down again quickly and tidily when you are young, when you get to my age it isn't so easy. In fact, it isn't easy at all ; and I think perhaps that when visiting friends attend Camp Fires it is rather nice to give them a camp stool, or a camp chair, or a log, block, stone, rope-lashing seat or SOMETHING to sit on. I speak a little feelingly for myself now that I am nearing sixty, but I also drop the hint on behalf of the occasional rather ill and delicate friends, elderly male visitors, and our important Presidents and Vice Presidents, and Committee members, who do sometimes come to our Camp Fires at Rallies, and who find it a little awkward squatting on the ground.
It is just a matter of Being Prepared ' and the little courteous thought for us older folk.
And while I am talking about courtesy, there is just one other thing—one of those things which is so little in itself, but so big in making people comfortable.
It is this business of shyness. Are you shy ? When I was your age I was so terribly awkward and shy that I could not even face arriving at a small party and well remember tuming tail and bicycling away again !
So many people who you least expect to be shy have got that feeling, and even quite oldish people and those who take part in public affairs have it, and have to make tremendous efforts to overcome it and to make the functions they attend go well.
So I think it is up to all Guides to help people like that, and however shy they are themselves, they can consider the feelings of others—to make any visiting Commissioner feel at ease amongst them, to come out of their shells and be nice, replying intelligently to her remarks and giving her the feeling of cheerfulness and welcome-ness.
A shy giggle gets nobody anywhere, and has a paralysing effect on the poor person who is doing the inspecting and herself making a real effort to give pleasure.
On the other hand, a sparkle of enthusiasm and responsiveness
makes a vast difference.
I remember so well on one occasion when, after a heavy day and a rather dull sort of Rally at the end of it, I came to a Guide in the row of others, and as I stopped and asked Do you enjoy Guiding ? ' she pulled herself up, looked at me with bright twinkling eyes, took a deep breath and gasped out : I love it ! '
I, who had been feeling a bit worn a moment before, immediately felt myself up-lifted and caught a joyous wave of her enthusiasm
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which she probably thought she was gaining from me as her Chief. So you see an inspection is a two-sided affair—a chance to meet and to give and take, not just an official parade to which a grown up visitor comes to see if your badges are clean.
If you are one of those shy ones, will you try and remember this, next time, and do your share of the giving and the courtesy ?
These Paris Rangers had got that idea of courtesy very much, as when I walked round the circle to talk to each one in my very poor halting French, many of them replied to me in English, having mugged up a few words in order to greet me in that friendly way.
Though these were individual Rangers from many different companies they formed themselves for the evening into Patrols, each Patrol giving me some special shout of welcome.
Then they danced, and they sang — OH How they sang !
There were speeches from them to me, and from me to them, and then in amongst the trees, in the half light, they lit two big Camp Fires to light up the open space which was to be the stage for the great event of the evening.
This was not a play as you -think of a play, for it was all in dumbshow, the story was written by a friend, and she was there to declaim the story in blank verse. It was the tale of the origin of fire, written specially for this occasion.
The first scene was the world before fire had been discovered by man. Groups of Rangers roamed cringingly about, huddled shivering together, groping their way through the trees, moving unhappily searching for warmth.
They then approached a wall—depicted by stiff upstanding Rangers in a row—at the back of the ' stage,' and between the standing posts of the ' wall,' fire is seen flickering.
This was done by a Ranger sitting on the ground, with bunches of flaming scarlet paper in her hands, which she flung wildly up and down to represent the dancing flames.
The seekers push against the wall, and eventually break it down, bringing out the fire triumphantly, and seizing little bits of it, and take it away to warm themselves with it.
Scenes then follow showing humans finding the use of fire, for cooking, for warmth, for heating iron for forging tools and so on.
Later as the story unfolds, fire then grows unmanageable, and instead of being man's servant, it becomes his master ; it dashes about harming and destroying, and the distracted humans try and curb it and drive it again behind the wall.
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It does not take long to describe, but the scene lasted a good half an hour, every moment of which was a poetic delight ; the quiet voice of the speaker, and the dignified graceful poses of the actors so gripped one's attention and gave one such an artistic feast.
Then we sang again, and I could have listened to it and stayed there all night !
Could we say that I wonder, about our Camp Fires in Great Britain and the Empire ? Perhaps in some parts of it—in Wales and Yorkshire, perhaps ; and in Uganda—and in SOME other places —but not in all !
I have heard some very poor singing in the last few years, though I am told it is improving.
I think there are several points where we fail, which are quite easy to cure, even if we have not got musical voices or very musical talents.
One of the most important is the question of the words, which we don't seem to have the time to learn. The first verse goes with a swing ; the second one flags a bit, and some of the silent ' singers ' watch the other singers' mouths ; and the third verse is just an unknown quantity !
A second point is one that is far easier to cure than the first, and that is the question of the expression on your face when you are singing. I know Guides can smile and can look as ifs, they were enjoying themselves, and camp fire is one of the moments when we can feel cheery and happy, and let ourselves go !
Do you ? It doesn't matter whether you are an expert singer or not, we can all have a try at singing as if we meant it, singing as if we loved it ; and singing as if we wanted others to love it too !
Oh, and, in this chapter I have made a suggestion about sitting accommodation. Now may I go one stage further, and make something I would almost like to call a ` request,' though I never like asking for things !
But in this case I would ask you Guides to learn some words for ONE song, if it is a song that you ever sing.
It is a VERY JOLLY TUNE, and I have heard it sung in many different parts of the Empire, and I have always liked the song itself as it goes with such a good lilt and is easy to learn, and to keep going, and it leads you on and on.
It begins ' Come out you campers.' I can't print the tune, because it may be copyright, but you know how it goes.
But the words ! OH ! They are so utterly silly and meaningless.
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I longed to change them into something nicer, as really they don't make sense at all, and we want good words as well as good tunes for songs, don't we ?
So I sent my ideas to Miss Mary Chater, our Guide Commissioner for Music, and she and I between us have written these words. Will you leam them and sing them, and get them known for me, and let the other rubbish about 'rain barrels and cellar doors' die a natural death ?
Guides Camp Song.
Come out you Girl Guides
Come out to camp with me
Come where the air is free
By woodland, down, or sea.
Put up your tent here
Where clouds are passing by,
And make your happy home
Beneath the sky.
Come on you Girl Guides
And in your work and play
Show all the world to-day
That life can still be gay.
Come lend a hand here
To lift a heavy load
And sing your merry songs
Along the road.
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