It was the summer of seventy-one, or was it seventy-two? “Chirpy, chirpy, cheap, cheap,” was top of the pops at the time; no matter it was one or the other.
Which
ever it was it was when the 6th Stevenage Scout Troup set off in a
beat up white Ford Transit heading for the wilds of Essex.
We
where camping for two weeks in a farmer’s field on Northey island in the Blackwater
estuary close to the town of Maldon.
It
was a time when life still held infinite possibilities for our motley crew, Del,
the Lawther brothers, Big Pete, Tiny Tears and a host of others whose names
have been lost in the mists of my mind.
We
were a mixed bunch, and we did all the normal scouty type stuff you know
digging latrines and that kind of thing.
We
had to make our own rudimentary cooker and each patrol took turns to be on
kitchen duty, which included cooking and scrubbing the burnt black saucepans.
One
bright spark in our patrol had the idea that if you mixed washing up liquid and
washing powder into a paste and spread liberally onto the base of the saucepans
it made then easier to clean afterwards. What a load of old tosh what it
actually did was make the job twice as difficult as you had to chisel off the
burnt remains of the washing paste as well as the normal blackness.
We
went off to Southend-on-Sea one day all of us pilling into the back of the
transit and sitting on wooden benches like the forms you get in school gyms.
Not a seatbelt in sight and not even the benches were secured. No one with half
a brain would dream of doing that today but at the time it seemed quite natural,
and we didn’t think twice about it.
We were a very unsophisticated bunch of lads, so we had a great time “kiss me quick” hats, amusement arcades and of course the Kursaal with the Rotor and the Crazy Mouse, very tame compared to today but we loved it.
In exchange for the farmer allowing us to camp in his field, which as I said was on an island, required us to plant rice grass in the mud banks around the island.
The Blackwater estuary was tidal water and when the tide was out there was just a great expanse of mud between the island and the mainland save for a narrow channel.
Unfortunately
for the farmer every time the tide went out it was taking some of his island
with it, hence the rice grass.
The
idea being that the grass would bind the mud together and therefore prevent the
island being slowly taken out to sea.
For
our part we had to wade out into the mud at low tide up to our knees and plant
the afore mentioned grass.
Of
course, the only problem with this plan was that when you put a group of under
sixteen’s up to their knees in mud the inevitable outcome is a mud fight.
At
the end of the fight, we were, without exception, all covered from head to toe
in thick black slimy mud, it was fantastic.
Then
we finished the task of planting the grass and waded back to shore looking like
a group of extras from “swamp thing”.
We
then had the problem of getting clean now we only had two options the first one
being to wait for the tide to come back in by which time the mud would have
set.
The
second option was to use water from the standpipe in the corner of the field by
the gate, which was used to water the animals.
This
we did to great effect taking it in turns to use a bucket filled from the tap
and dousing our selves down.
I
was the last one to go and after I had removed my trunks, I stood tipping
buckets of water over my head.
Then
as I was emptying the final bucket over me and with my hands still above my head,
I heard the sound of a vehicle and as I turned around to investigate, I saw a
minibus full of girl guides drive slowly past the gate.
I had no time to cover my embarrassment or anything else for that matter so I did the only thing a boy scout could do under the circumstances, which was to drop the bucket and give the scout salute.
Incidentally, I was not responsible for melting “Tiny Tears” plimsolls on the stovetop. I know I laughed at the time and it was very funny to see the two red rubber footprints on the hot plate, but it was not me.
