The Fifties, part 1

The Fifties started in 1953, when several things happened to my life.  I went to a new school, having passed the 11 plus when I must have been only just 11.  We moved house.  And I taught myself to ride a bike.  But before that, the Sea Scouts.

It was a law that boys had to join the scouts, so I did.  We were sea scouts, which meant that we had blue kerchiefs held round our necks by a toggle.  (I'm sure there was more uniform, but the toggle is the only bit I clearly remember.)

The scoutmaster was called Skip.  He was an old man, probably in his forties.  He made us boys strip to our underpants and do exercises.  Some time later I told my mother about this; she was quite sure that it was innocent, because she couldn’t imagine that a trusted person could be guilty of bad things.  Certainly he never made any physical advances, so perhaps she was right in her belief that Skip just liked watching small boys prancing around in their underpants.

My main scout memory, apart from that, is knots.  Skip certainly taught those well.  I can still, in my head, do a clove hitch, a reef knot and even a sheepshank.  But there wasn't much actual sea involved in being a Sea Scout.  We never went to sea, or particularly near it.  Most of the activity was in the All Saints church hall.

The assistant scoutmaster was an irresponsible thug in his early twenties.  One bonfire night, we were taken down to the meadow by the river at Tuckton, where a firework battle was orchestrated – we were issued with bangers and matches, and had to light the bangers and throw them at each other.  It was terrifyingly great fun. 

I was yanked out of the Sea Scouts not long after that.  But something must have rubbed off and stuck, because when i was enlisted into the CCF at Bournemouth School a year or two later, I didn't hesitate or even think - it had to be the Navy section.