ALWAYS PREPARED

Ups and downs in Boy Scouts uniform

Elk Patrol camp at Lenesfjorden

Painting by Finn Bringsjord

We were 11 years old when we Easter day 1952 organized a major happening for the family. Small shows of various kinds were followed by open fundraising, and so did we collect enough money to buy scout uniforms.

That the twins to Thorvald would become scouts, aroused considerable opposition among grandmother in Newhouse, when she was convinced that uniform and youth were a legacy of the Hitler period and that Scouting was as unchristian as the Salvation Army.

In our time “Speiderhytta” (Scout-cabin) were located in Bergeheia; opposite the ski jump arena. The cabin was a one room barracks, probably built on the site during the war. That there had been military activity in the area, we quickly discovered, the Germans had blasted out long tunnels in the mountain next to the ski jump. It was pretty scary to make their way through these tunnels in the sparse light of a flickering torch, except the evenings we got lured with us some Alleen-girls and had to harsh ourselves as best we could.

We had regular meetings in Speiderhytta , where Scoutmaster Kåre Bekkerhus taught beginners the 10 Commandments of the Scout Law, and the Scout Promises requirements for chivalrous behavior in large and small. Kåre was a low spoken and gentle leader with a natural authority which was respected and appreciated.

After the Scout Promise was ceremoniously presented, we trained most of the requirements of the various scout ranks; such as knot tying and lifeline-throwing, and in "Kim's Game" was our powers of observation and recall sense put on stone hard specimens.

Lifeline was a 20 meter long, strong line which at one end was attached a leather bag filled with sand. We waved it around in a circle and threw. Both length and accuracy were important toss properties as a scout diligently to practice on. For those who would throw lifeline out to a panicked wretch, who in his distress cried for help and almost drowned, had to prevent sand bag lowered the destitute with a hit in foreheads. We rehearsed therefore to throw over a branch or through the opening of a suspended bicycle tires.

Eventually, we were also very familiar with the terrain round the cabin, which came in handy on gray days where rain poured down. Then we had out in the woods and find dry twigs and sprig and show that we could make a fire in any weather.

The requirement of "Today's good deed" hung always over us. A definite was the story that I had shouldered the yoke and carried water to the old grandmother in Newhouse. In this way she dropped that day to go to the well down at riverside, and so she eventually also got a better attitude to the scout movement.

All eight boys in scout patrol our (Elk Patrol) came from the same class at Å school, so we were a close-knit bunch who knew each other inside out. Trygve Vintland was the oldest and strongest and was elected patrol leader.

The first summer went the boyscout of Lyngdal on bike ride to Kvinesheia and set camp at Gluggen lake. After some trial and error, the four-man tents was set up and "sleeping bags" rolled out. Most of us had no full-fledged sleeping bags so we had to be content with staying in stitched Sjølingstad carpets.

As soon as the camp was established, we spread ourselves around the lake "fishing with box”, a fishing for those who could not afford to acquire expensive fishing gear that reel and rod. Our equipment was fairly simple; a liter large tin can with a woodhank nailed across the opening, nylon fishing line and lures. The 30-meter-long fishing line were wrapped around the box, and then we attached the lure on a swivel at the end of the line. We got lures and line to fly out of the water by the same general principle as throwing with lifeline.

The catch was lousy that night, and fish lasted not long. The reason was that we were badly plagued by mosquitoes. We sat in the smoke from green juniper branches that was burned at the camp fire while we grilled sausages on long birch sticks and ate thick slices of bread with margarine as backer Torger Torgersen had kindly taken up with "bread car." But neither harch smoke or mosquito repellent kept the kept the angry mosquitoes at bay, and I remember we discussed proper understanding of the scout law 6 commandment; "A scout is animal friend." I think Kåre concluded that such a relationship did not covered bloodsuckers like horseflies and mosquitoes.

The time 24.00 was blown taps, and in the light summer night we crept down in Sjølingstad carpets and could not sleep. Partly because we were in totally new surroundings, partly because the silence was broken by bloodthirsty mosquitoes circling zzZZzziiiiiéééiiizzzZZZzzz-end around inside the tent while we desperately lying prick ears and tried to locate where they sat down.

First toward morning we fell asleep, and when reveille was at. 8:00, had all been awarded more or less swollen eyelids in inflated "balloon faces" and resembled most of Genghis Khan warlike descendants. Brother Kjell later soberly and succinctly summarized it ends up like this: "We two twins came reasonably smoothly from the tour. When we got home, mother recognized us on stitches around Sjølingstad carpets - and with doubts she open and let us in through the back door. "

Summer -53 we cycled to Opsal-village and along the road that led down to Væmestad in Kvås. We camped by a lake there at the top of the heath; probably by Vatlandsvannet.

What I remember most from that trip is that I and another scout was asked to go and buy fresh milk of two elderly, visually impaired sisters who lived on a small farm where near. We followed the youngest sister when she went to milk the cows, and when we told that we were scouts from Elk patrol, she unfurled an elk at sundown used to wade knee-deep out in Vatlandsvannet, and as long should have been shot since he ate on pastures to cows.

It took a while before the two cows were emptied of precious milk drops, and afterwards poured her milk in trough a cloth which suspiciously resembled a well-worn undershirt of a type that might have been white once.
"I milks always so clean," she said, peering down into the bucket, "but if it should blaze a crunchy, then strain we clean it through this undershi ... ah ... cloth". All Scouts, except for two, drank milk with much delight that night, and some boasted glibly of it. Perhaps not surprising, because it is widely known in Lyngdal that milk from cows that go on forest grazing together with elg, has the best taste.

In late autumn -53 we were visiting the scouts in Farsund who had covered long tables with paper web in green color of scout, and we were entertained like counts with cocoa and raisin buns. It was a magnificent experience, roughly level with the annual Christmas party at Å school. I also think there was sweet Girl Scouts present who kept flitting around and mingled with us around the table. But when they do not know anything about lifeline casting or fishing with box, we had not so much to talk about.

In gratitude for the generous hospitality we met, we performed simple sketches and performances. Roald and I performed one of the two sketches ours. Roald played a young bully who despised anyone who had given the scout promise. I played other hand is a Boy Scout who in crisp scout uniform performed "the daily good deed" by going to the dairy store and buy 3 liters of milk to a neighboring wife. On the road I was stopped and bullied by the bully Roald, who teased me for being a "dimwitted, porridge-eating mom´s boy," and he underlined his contempt by kicking large dents in the milk pail. But I, the good boy scout, did not take this so heavily and smiled slightly indulgent of all the commerce.

"What are you standing and grinning for?" bellowed the bully angrily, "what do you think your mother say when you get home with dents in the brand new milk pail?" It tarried a little before the good boy scout replied, "I do not think my mother cares so much about it; it is for your mother I'll get the milk."

Our skit harvested faint praise, to say it nicely. The sketch dropped dead on the stage floor. In after tomorrow cut light we realized that the good point was completely destroyed by our lack of carried supplies. On Scout House in Farsund they did not have a metal pail. They had only a bucket made of canvas and it was difficult for Roald kicking dents in the canvas on a real rowdy manner; it narrowly somehow not just fluttered round the foot. It all ended with the Scoutmaster Kåre Bekkerhus stood up and began to explain the sketch, which in my view should have been completely unnecessary. But they have all little bit heavy for it - these Farsund folks?

Summer -54 arranged Lyngdal scouts county camp on Kvavik Moen. Recall that we some days in advance, in a clearing between the stunted pines, dogged out a long, deep trench in the sand and mounted a solid stick over the ditch to sit on. This latrine was so long that eight to ten Boy Scouts simultaneously could sit on it. Ideally, we should probably have rigged with two parallel sticks with fit opening in between, for a short legged scout from Birkenes was unfortunate and tipped backwards into the ditch. Otherwise it went well. And after an unannounced inspection of the chairman of Lyngdal health board on day 2, we filled daily fresh new sand in the ditch. Such kept hygiene in the camp on top throughout the warm summer days.

Other edifice where dominating too. A flock of rover scouts from Kristiansand built a small-scale Eiffel Tower using slender pines and ropes. At the top they attached a banner of tanned leather that told the world who was behind the masterpiece.

I think with great pleasure back on those summer days on the county camp. It was especially nice in the evenings when guests entertained at the provisional stage. But local forces contributed as well, and I remember well that Arne Fretheim from Outer Skomrak impressed greatly when he on his shiny trumpet played Louis Armstrong's 1949 version of "Blueberry Hill".

But it also came events that poured wormwood in the cup. One evening the squad from Vennesla got the responsibility for entertainment. They announced then that they were arranging large "drawing contest" and urged troops from Lillesand, Mandal and Lyngdal to pick out an accomplished artist who could get up on stage and compete for honor and dignity, and since I was considered the cleverest draftsman in Elk patrol, I was elected as representative of the host squad.

On stage we three selected artists sparse applause ... before a big poster with drawings of a huge pig was set up. The pig was quite nice, except that it lacked tail.

Our artistic mission was to compete in designing pig tail in the right place and as lifelike as possible. Phew ... I thought, who was raised with pigs at the farm; this should be easy to pull off.

"Lillesand" would first go into fire and were given blue felt pen. But then they tied in a dark bandage over his eyes to wretch and shook him around himself three times. The boy tottered on its way off the stage, but was taken care of and guided into place in front of the pig the chart. After some preliminary groping around on the chart, he drew a blue "rat tail" about the right place, but ... still with tail three or four centimeters outside the pink pig ham. Then blindfold was removed, he was pleased with the artwork and received great applause from Lillesand camp.

The next was 'Mandal'. Having been floundering with green felt tip pen in hand, he must have noticed that her clap from a group Mandal scouts rose and fell in pace and volume as he fumbled around over the chart. The Mandal guy must have been a real Albert, because he plotted a green "rat tail" exactly at the place where the applause of his owns, rose to crescendo.

It was in short, a hit, one home run, and when the mask fell, he received tumultuous applause from a gaping audience.

Ah-ha! I thought, this will be difficult, but ... with help from "the smart ones" in Moose Patrol is by no means an impossible task; for none of the "city boys' had drawn pigtail with curling. As a precaution, I turned to my buddies in Moose Patrol patting gently with my hands, like a small discreet sign of what they had to do, and they waved back encouraging.

Then I got a red pen in hand and blindfolded, I went around three times until I knew neither in or out. But fortunately I was ushered away to the chart, where I immediately set about the location of the point of the tail. Systematic I went forefinger back and forth across the chart, and stopped exactly on the point where the clap peaked. Then I drew a red pigtail with beautiful cadence and curling.

But disappointment was hard to hide when blindfold was removed and I saw a beautiful red pigtail was rooted directly in the middle of the ham to the pig. I fell straight down in last place and got neither honor nor glory, only a small marzipan pig comforting.

The loser had to run the gauntlet back to its place among the boys in Elk patrol and when I quite a bit disappointed asked brother Kjell why they had clapped crescendo when I pointed midst of pork ham, the answer was:

"Clapping? We did not clap! It was those sitting here next to us who clapped loudly; the Farsund-scouts."

Someone have little bit heavy ...