Thursday
Sep242009
Few people ever dreamed of the existence of such places...
CommentsAlthough I’ve now been a leader in Scouting for nearly 40 years, I was with Abercorn for 30 of those and a further 10 as a boy. So I wasn’t a JNI Scout, but many of my school friends were. When I was an impressionable youth, aged between 14 and 18, I was really envious of them. Our Scouts had very enjoyable camps, learning to pitch tents, build pioneering bridges, cook and survive in such exotic places as Kircudbright, Dunoon and Pitlochry. But these guys in JNI Scouts travelled to places such as the High Tatra Mountains, visited ‘vampire country’, almost became stranded in mysterious East Berlin – all of this in the 1960s when few people ever dreamed of the existence of such places.
But later, when I was a teacher at Ian’s school, I was immensely privileged to get my opportunity for such adventure on 8 of his expeditions as a leader.
Magical recollections - the barren lunar landscape of the central plateau of Iceland, climbing high in the Pindus Mountains near the Albanian border, meeting and eating in the houses of the inhabitants of the inaccessible village of Bulnes high up in the Picos de Europa, watching shooting stars whilst leaning against a cliff 8000 feet up in the Pyrenees, warming ourselves at a campfire built high up on the rocks in the Maritime Alps.
Memorable insanities - being woken up and ridiculous amounts of money demanded of us on an East German train in the middle of the night to cross the border (which money, of course, we didn’t part with!)… drying soaking wet tents on station platforms… watching 15 year-old boys’ eyes pop out of their heads as nude Swedish blondes joined them in the hot springs in Iceland… ejecting American professors from their triple-booked train seats (which we could only do because we had pre-prepared a whole lot of official-looking fake documents with all sorts of fake official signatures, crests, and stamps (it didn’t matter what they said as long as they looked the part!)… rolling water-melons down a mountain village street, … numbering jokes so we didn’t have to actually say them – just say ‘number 43!’… organising birthday parties high up in remote mountain areas, including daft games, celebratory sardines, oatcakes covered in tubed cheese topped with a birthday candle, washed down with delicious Cremola Foam… discussing for days whether tadpoles have any concept of object-permanence… composing expedition songs which celebrated the particular characteristics and foibles of each expedition member…
Ian only really relaxed when we were at least 2 days away from civilisation. He was then in his natural habitat. The air was pure and unpolluted, it was very clear what was necessary for survival, we were in a ‘thin place’ where we were very close to nature. When we had completed the ‘mountain’ part of the expedition and were on the way home or camping near a town, Ian’s ‘town grumpiness’ would return – and we all know how infuriatingly grumpy he could be.
Yet those who knew him and were privileged to have gained his trust also know how outstandingly caring and concerned he could be. His true self, his soft-centre, was encased in this protective grumpy shell which ‘kept the tourists at bay’.
But later, when I was a teacher at Ian’s school, I was immensely privileged to get my opportunity for such adventure on 8 of his expeditions as a leader.
Magical recollections - the barren lunar landscape of the central plateau of Iceland, climbing high in the Pindus Mountains near the Albanian border, meeting and eating in the houses of the inhabitants of the inaccessible village of Bulnes high up in the Picos de Europa, watching shooting stars whilst leaning against a cliff 8000 feet up in the Pyrenees, warming ourselves at a campfire built high up on the rocks in the Maritime Alps.
Memorable insanities - being woken up and ridiculous amounts of money demanded of us on an East German train in the middle of the night to cross the border (which money, of course, we didn’t part with!)… drying soaking wet tents on station platforms… watching 15 year-old boys’ eyes pop out of their heads as nude Swedish blondes joined them in the hot springs in Iceland… ejecting American professors from their triple-booked train seats (which we could only do because we had pre-prepared a whole lot of official-looking fake documents with all sorts of fake official signatures, crests, and stamps (it didn’t matter what they said as long as they looked the part!)… rolling water-melons down a mountain village street, … numbering jokes so we didn’t have to actually say them – just say ‘number 43!’… organising birthday parties high up in remote mountain areas, including daft games, celebratory sardines, oatcakes covered in tubed cheese topped with a birthday candle, washed down with delicious Cremola Foam… discussing for days whether tadpoles have any concept of object-permanence… composing expedition songs which celebrated the particular characteristics and foibles of each expedition member…
Ian only really relaxed when we were at least 2 days away from civilisation. He was then in his natural habitat. The air was pure and unpolluted, it was very clear what was necessary for survival, we were in a ‘thin place’ where we were very close to nature. When we had completed the ‘mountain’ part of the expedition and were on the way home or camping near a town, Ian’s ‘town grumpiness’ would return – and we all know how infuriatingly grumpy he could be.
Yet those who knew him and were privileged to have gained his trust also know how outstandingly caring and concerned he could be. His true self, his soft-centre, was encased in this protective grumpy shell which ‘kept the tourists at bay’.
- Jack Winch
Reader Comments (1)
Errrr - If it was the same Iceland I remember - yes the hot springs were a sight to behold - never seen people clean the plates and pots so fast in my life to have a relaxing swim.... still see the I an with his Deer Stalker and pipe sitting and observing as usual but always making sure all was safe.