Chapter 17 - France Once More
It was good to be back in France once more, even after only a fortnight's absence. The Guides here who endured so much, care tremendously about their Guiding, and through their courage and by their charm and their enthusiasm, have gained a very real grip on my heart.
Arriving at Lyons a small Guard of Honour greeted me at the station, and I was told that ' the others ' were waiting for me in the Town Hall, whither we hastened to find a little crowd of 4,000!
They all cheered and shouted and waved whatever they could find to wave, and then we all sang.
And here I heard some of the most beautiful singing that I have ever heard—in France or elsewhere—by a choir of Guides and Rangers.
During the war, when all around them life was so hard and bitter, these girls got together and asked a conductor to come and train them as a team, so that whatever happened to them they might keep up the music they loved and be able, too, to bring a little beauty- and light into the darkness of people around them, for whatever the Germans could try to prevent, they couldn't stop them singing.
Their tutor found them so eager and good that he became intensely interested in the Movement, and flung himself enthusiastically into the training of this choir which gave us so enchanting a performance.
I only had a few hours at Lyons, but in that time we were able to squeeze in quite a lot, visiting some Extension Guides in a hospital, a Jewish Orphans' Home, and ending with a jolly picnic lunch in the most charming old Chateau de la Boussiere at Oullins, built in 1550, and now a joint Scout and Guide headquarters.
A special lunch had been prepared for us, and whilst this was being served different Patrols entertained us.
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It was so typical of the way in which the French Guides throw themselves unaffectedly into doing Guiding realistically that when the Fox Patrol was to do its stunt the Fox Patrol Leader made her entry on to the scene by bounding out of a comer cupboard representing the fox's earth!
It was all such fun and we were enjoying ourselves so much that only the barest possible time was left in which to get to the station, which we were told was ' quite near,' in order to catch my southbound train.
At last, still clutching my last mouthful of food, I tore myself away, only to find that the car refused to budge.
No doubt the Guides would have pushed me, engineless, to the station if the car had been facing downhill, but it wasn't, and I had to sit with what patience I could muster trusting that the train would be delayed, until at last with a weak 'brrh brrh ' the engine did finally show signs of life and off we went.
At the station we found hundreds of, people milling round trying desperately to squeeze into an already tightly packed train, and as I had arrived late and was on the outside of this congested crowd, my chances of boarding the train looked very slender.
But luckily for me there was a Scouter standing hanging out of the train, and I saw also that he had seen me.
Encouraged by his cries and gestures I dived into the melee, and rudely pushed my way to the opening, landing breathlessly to sit on my suitcase at the end of a long carriage full of glum, overcrowded people who were obviously not too pleased to have it addition to the party! The general air of disapproval and discomfort continued to prevail for some time, but when we reached Orange for a five-minutes' halt there was a gay party of Scouts and Guides there to give a welcome with flags and flowers and songs and cheers.
Heads poked out of windows, people got on their seats to look at this demonstration with exclamations of Ah! Les Scoots,' and during the next lap of the journey I found that something of the infectious spirit of Scouting had thawed the hearts of my fellow passengers.
By the time we reached Avignon and passed on through Arles, where the same gay welcomes were awaiting the train's arrival, I found myself becoming quite a personage, and gaining some of the reflected glory from the good name held by Scouts and Guides in France.
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This Southem area of France, called ' Provence,' is quite unlike anything else, and has a charm and character quite its
own. The people are real country folk, who love the land, and tend their vineyards that have been held by their families from generation to generation, and they have kept alive much of their local tradition, folk lore and dances, and on high days and holidays they wear their attractive old-fashioned local national dress.
On arrival at Marseilles, I found hundreds of Scouts and Guides lining the wide flight of steps leading from the station to the street, and a very fine rally of about 3,000 of them was held in the Town Square later.
I had often before stopped for a few hours at Marseilles when passing by in ships bound for Africa, India, Australia, and Malta, and so on, and felt that I knew the place quite well, but I had never stayed there over night, nor had the chance of poking round and getting to know it thoroughly. So it was awfully nice to stay for these few days and to meet the Guides and Guiders more at leisure than any time before.
The housing problem is as acute there as anywhere,, and no hotel accommodation could be found for Mrs. Leigh-White and for me, but some kind friends allowed us the use of their unoccupied villa, and there we were most comfortably housed, our morning breakfasts being brought in by Guides from near by, and our other meals being taken with different groups of our Guide friends.
Food was in rather short supply in. Marseilles just then, and so instead of all sharing in a common feast, everybody brought their own ' nose-bag,' and that simplifies entertaining a lot.
The day before I left France there was a cheery little gathering of the Patrol Leaders of the Eclaireuses and Guides together, at which a priceless demonstration was given of scenes about the Knights of the Round Table, with no equipment other than a few blankets. In the middle of the proceedings, King Arthur was threatened with a collapse of his dignity, as his ' throne,' composed of two humped up Guides, huddled under a blanket, was suddenly smitten with a fit of the giggles! A 'rock' of the same substance figured in a later scene and was gaily kicked out of the way, a head poking from beneath the blanket like that of a tortoise!
We had supper that evening in a lovely terraced garden high up on a rocky hillside. It was a perfect spring evening, the distant hills pink tipped and growing grey in the twilight, the tall pine
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These illustrations are facing Page 66
8. Camp cooking in the park of the Villa Doria, June,1945
9. Our Chalet at Adelboden, Switzerland
trees with their tufted tops absolutely motionless in the still, clear air. Below us we could see the little, twinkling lights of the town, while towering above us acting as a landmark for sailors far out at sea, was the huge golden statue of Notre Dame de la Garde. And we talked until it grew dark, of how and why Guides began first in one country and then -in another, of the Guides' war services, of how and when and where we could still further spread the ideals for which we stand, and of the responsibility of an achieved position and new prestige which calls as a challenge for sturdy continuity of effort.
And next day, when I had left this keen and virile zone of Guiding again, I found in my pocket a little, grubby scrap of paper, and on it is written :
'Demain vous quitterez la France, mais vos Guides ne vous quittent pas. Nous avons confiance en notre Chef et avec vous nous irons jusqu'au bout du monde, portant a nos freres et soeurs ce bonheur que nous avons dans le Scoutisme.
Merci—merci—merci, Chef.
Votre Guide, Jeanine'
'Tomorrow you will leave France, but your Guides will not leave you. We trust our Chief and with you we will go to the end of the world, bringing to our brothers and sisters this happiness that we have in Scouting.
Thank you - thank you - thank you, Chief.
Your Guide, Jeanine '
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