THE SCOUT JAMBOREE BOOK
American Scouts at the 3rd World Jamboree

CHAPTER IV
AROUND THE WORLD IN ONE DAY

THE next morning soon after breakfast one of our crowd came bursting into our tent where we were trying to get everything in shipshape. In his hand he had the day's copy of the "Daily Arrowe." Every morning this newspaper was issued in the camp. It brought the reports of important happenings and the progress of activities besides a lot of pictures and stuff of general interest.

By the way, that wasn't our only camp newspaper. The American contingent had one all for itself. It was called SCOUTING and printed a lot of things of special interest to American boys.

"I've got a swell idea for spending the day!" announced our visitor. "What about a trip around the world?" That sounded like something. Around the world in one day! In any other place a suggestion like that would have been met with snickers. But not so here. Crazy as it sounded, the plan was really possible.

We glanced outside the tent. As it wasn't pouring at the moment the prospect was rather good for an extensive journey like the one suggested.

"All right!" we agreed. "Let's do it." Then the fellow who had come in opened up his copy of the "Daily Arrowe." On the second page was the thing that had inspired him to his idea. It was a complete map of the jamboree Camp.

We got hold of a pencil and started to make tip our itinerary. Starting on the map at America we drew a line north to Germany and Newfoundland. You see the map was quite different from the ones we use at school in the States. Then west through Chile and Czechoslovakia to Holland; and so forth zigzagging our way all over the page. We were occupied several minutes in making up the shortest possible route that would take us to the biggest possible number of foreign countries.

The next step was to ask for leave of absence. Fortunately we were off duty for the day, so we easily got permission to disappear until Taps.

When everything was set, we said "goodbye" to the good old U. S. A. and were on our way. First we went to Germany. We had merely to cross "Wildboar Alley" in order to get there. Two flags were waving over the German Camp. One red, white and black; the other black, red and gold. One was the old monarchistic symbol; the other was the new republican emblem. Those two flags told us in a soundless language of a nation building itself up anew.

In one corner of the camp our entertaining Camp-Fire friends were practicing songs. They waved for us to join the chorus, but we had to be off. We were on a hurried trip around the world. Some other day we would come back to stay a little longer.

Crossing "Elephant Lane" took us to Newfoundland, which seemed to be entirely deserted. We knocked at the door, but nobody was home. So we just had a peek inside before we continued in a westerly direction.

Kingsway had to be crossed next! We hesitated a minute on account of the bad going. Then we plunged into the sea of mud and slowly dragged ourselves across to Chile. We had been taught at school that Chile was a mountainous and almost inaccessible country; yet what did we find but a smiling garden full of smiling boys! This was one of our first surprises. There were many more to come.

Next our itinerary brought us to Czechoslovakia. Here we were greeted in fluent English at the entrance by a jovial fellow who kindly offered to show us the sights of his country. Their tents especially were fine. They were small, just with room for two boys; pyramidal in shape, with walls made of slabwood and space for a comfortable bed inside. We felt it fortunate that their really horrid looking totem poles with thin black whiskers didn't bite!

We were off again, this time to Holland, which was a whirl of tents and a spider's web of guy ropes. The Dutch boys had invented a special tractor for shoveling mud which they demonstrated for the benefit of all visitors. It was a clever device and certainly a greatly needed one. The boys had all their kitchen equipment concentrated in one spot. As we passed through, a great number of them were at work preparing the noon meal. It smelled so good that our mouths started watering and we had to flee to keep from inviting ourselves to dinner. Now we found ourselves surprisingly enough in Rhodesia. How we ever got to South Africa I do not know. But there we were surrounded by boys that looked considerably more peaceful than the war-painted Zulus which we had expected to find. In fact they did not look dangerous at all. They had native weapons and shields all over the place, but did not seem to make use of them for warlike purposes. They had antelope skins and antlers,

too; and brown bell tents that glistened in the sun.

Now the sun actually came out. For once, the thunder-clouds disappeared in the distance. It was great to see brilliant sunshine over crowds of happy boys.

Near the Rhodesian camp we found a couple of boys sitting on the ground clad in a picturesque costume of red turban, white robe and sandals on bare feet. Of course we thought they were South Africans, too. By the help of sign language we got them to pose for a couple of photographs with a background -of dangerous looking Zulu weapons. We saw in our mind's eye how interesting it would be to have a picture of some real South Africans for our collection.

After our job was over we hesitatingly started in on a conversation. To our astonishment our hosts spoke English fluently.

"From what part of South Africa do you come?" we asked.

They looked at us, just as surprised as we were. Then the answer came: "We aren't from South Africa. We are from Kent, south of London 1"

It was our turn to be surprised. "But that costume?"

"Oh, we are only training for tomorrow's pageant!"

You never can tell what you get on your film when you take a photograph!

We slipped into Denmark through the back door. That was an interesting camp! As we looked around we came to the conclusion that the Danes are a very ingenious people.' Out of next to nothing they had made themselves at home. Their dining rooms were in the ground. They had various forms of fireplaces and totems; and, hanging from their Troop flags, were brushes of red Danish foxes, the most esteemed trophies of Danish national rallies. Passing the exhibits marked as the birthplace of Hans Andersen, the fairy tale writer, and Elsinore of Hamlet fame, we arrived in their private parade ground.

There was a flutter of red and white above us and on a sign on the pole we read: "This flag is the identical Danish flag which flew over the 19-24 jamboree at Copenhagen."

As we were, looking up raindrops fell on our faces and a 'few minutes later we had another one of our jamboree downpours. We looked around for a shelter and were suddenly "surrounded" by a Danish Scout who dragged us into a teepee in one corner of the parade ground.

Inside a friendly fire was burning and a small party of Scouts from several nations were sitting around it.

"Meet Ferdinand," our Danish life-saver said.

We shook hands with Ferdinand. He seemed to be the most popular fellow in the Danish camp. No wonder. Before we knew a word about it he had made us sit down and was pouring out cups of scalding hot coffee for us. it hit the right spot, too. We needed it after our long walk.

We had a jolly time around the fire while the rain was dripping outside. But when the shower ceased we had to move along again.

Our friend followed us to the entrance. We gave him our names and asked him to come and visit us some other day. He promised with a smile and we were off.

Our next stop was India. We marched in through the main entrance. It was wonderful -a high arched portal in bold colors with jingling wooden bells. We were told it had been erected for the All-India delegation by a Maharajah visiting England during the jamboree.

Inside the gate a picturesque sight greeted our eyes. There were small tents with tiny gardens in front of them. Names of provinces were lettered on the ground by different colored sand or small green plants. In the center were two huts of bamboo covered by palm leaves. There was a fragrance of strange flowers in the air.

The boys were also very picturesque with their dark skin, gleaming white teeth and green and golden turbans. And they spoke English exceedingly well.

"Certainly," one of them told us, "we learn English in school."

He then told us about the selection of the boys that were here representing India and of their trip to England. One thing impressed us more than anything else. That was the story;, of Singh, a story of Scout pluck and perseverance.

Singh was a boy of seventeen from the Vangra valley in the southern Himalayas. He had heard of the jamboree and wanted to try for the representative team. So he walked in three days, ninety-five miles over the Himalayas to Simla, to compete against three thousand other Scouts from which group twenty-seven boys were to be chosen. At Simla, a rigid contest was held that lasted four days and included all kinds of Scouting events. At the end Singh was one of the group selected to go to Europe.

After the contest Singh walked home again the ninety-five miles to get his equipment in order and prepare himself to go. After another trip through the mountains he left Simla with the other fortunate Indian boys. Altogether he walked two hundred and eighty-five miles through dangerous mountain passes! He had many experiences en route. Once a leopard attacked him and it was only after a hard fight that he succeeded in driving away the beast with his Scout staff. Do you wonder that we were happy to meet Singh and to give him a real Scout handshake?

Crossing again the deep mud of, Kingsway we entered the Japanese camp. Two small windmills were whirling overhead and from the flagpole waved two huge flags, in the form of fish. Because of their bag shape the wind blew them out to an enormous size and their brilliant colors showed for a long distance. These fish were the Japanese symbols of strength and vigor. At the Japanese Boys' Festival in the spring each family that counts a boy among its members flies these flags over their home.

Around one of the tents we found a great crowd gathered. We pressed close to see what was going on and saw a Japanese Scoutmaster, streaming with perspiration, signing autographs for all he was worth.

He had hardly finished one before another autograph book was pressed in his hand and a wait went up:

"Sign, please!" "Sign here, please!" "Do sign this, please!"

"Poor fellow!" said one of our crowd sympathetically. just then someone spied his American lumberjack and for a couple of minutes he had to sympathize with himself until at last he tore himself out of the grip of the autograph seekers and fled from. the Japanese camp.

That autograph mania was terrible. We didn't mind writing our names and addresses in the notebooks of foreign Scouts whom we met and made friends with. But we certainly hated to sign in the books of people who were just trying to see how many signatures of different nationalities they could get hold of.

Yet it wasn't so easy always to refuse to sign when the yell started. We all tried to 'find a way out of it. But only three Scouts out of the whole bunch succeeded in skipping the job.

We saw them a few days later in the market street. First they presented a rather shocking sight to us. They all had their right arms in slings. We felt sorry for the poor fellows who had had the misfortune of injuring their arms on such a holiday. Then it struck us that it was a queer coincidence that they had all hurt their right arms. Suddenly it dawned upon us that that was their way of evading autograph collectors! They weren't bothered once while we watched them.

A little later we heard of a lady sending her notebook to the Chief Scout of the World asking him to have each boy at the Jamboree sign his name in it and then to return it to her. just imagine Baden-Powell walking around collecting the signatures of fifty thousand Scouts! People are funny, aren't they?

But back to our round-the-world tour. As we fled from the Japanese camp we arrived at Copenhagen Gate and sank to our ankles in mud. This was the muddiest part of the whole camp and that was saying something. According to camp gossip it was here that a British Scout found a hat the day before. He picked it up in order to bring it to the Lost and Found Department and discovered the head of a boy under it! Let us hasten to add, however, that there was also a body attached.

"What are you doing there?" he asked.

"I'm standing on a lorry!" the answer came.

Believe it or not-it was a good story anyway.

We passed the "business center of the world" which we had visited the night before and found ourselves in Poland a few minutes later. Here there were big brown wall-tents arranged into streets. The Polish boys wore square caps and multi-colored ties which gave them an interesting and gala appearance. Arriving at the city hall square we found the big Polish Headquarters building and next to it a tall altar extremely beautiful in its simplicity.

As we approached Jamaica somebody was whistling an old favorite, "Yes, We have No Bananas." It was anything but appropriate, for the whole place was decorated with bananas. Even the flagpoles carried bundles of them. Brown-skinned boys walked around eating them all the time, until one imagined that their neighbors, the Siamese, must have grown hungry through watching this performance.

Next came Armenia, Gibraltar and Lancashire. Then on to Belgium. Here were rows of tents, alleys of fireplaces, streets decorated with small totem poles, branches, patrol flags. A courteous priest took us along through the country, telling us about Scouting in Belgium and finished off by inviting us to lunch.

Breakfast in America-lunch in Europe! And in between we had trekked through Africa and Asia. Not so bad for a start!

As we left Belgium we saw the Tricolor nearby. France at last. We arrived at precisely the right moment, for the French Scouts were erecting an "Eiffel Tower." More than seven hundred staves had been lashed together to make the structure, which was a wonderful piece of pioneering. The Tower loomed far above the spectator, fifty feet tall. At its foot was Paris with painted tents, heads of Indians,

hieroglyphs and fierce animals in cold colors to greet you from the tent sides. The French certainly have an eye for striking effects!

Palestine and Egypt came next. Quite a hop from Paris! In the first country were boys wearing flowing Bedouin headdresses; in the other, stiff red fezzes. But all smiled at us in jolly Scout understanding.

We reached Switzerland half expecting to see the boys walking around with apples on their heads, William Tell style. Instead they wore brilliant red night caps, coquettishly hanging down over one ear. Their tents were arranged in small circles with council fire rings in the center, each little group representing a Swiss canton, and a tremendous flag waved over the camp.

As we passed by a camp in that same neighborhood we were stopped by an elderly Scouter. "Do come in and have a cup of tea," he said. By this we knew we were in England again, as you can easily imagine.

We accepted the kind invitation and were soon seated around a table, drinking our tea and discussing the affairs of the nearby countries, Australia, Greece, Spain and Iceland. We heard the thrumming of Spanish guitars not far away. From Greece came the thuds of a football being kicked by a strong boy's foot. From Iceland rose encouraging shouts to somebody engaged at "glima," the Icelandic wrestling.

After a refreshing cup of tea we got a fresh start and soon found ourselves in the Irish Free State. We were almost afraid to enter because at one side of the entrance was a gallows with a wooden figure of a man. We wondered if this were supposed to be a warning to curious visitors.

We collected all our courage and stepped forward-we even dared to touch the hanging figure. Then we found words written all over it: "Greed," "War," "Intemperance," "Hate," "Hypocrisy." Later we were told that at the opening of the jamboree the figure had been made to swing as a symbol that a new era of peace and good will had started between Ireland and England.

On the other side of the entrance we found an oil tank full of drinking water with a large inscription on it: "Fill up here with Irish Scout Spirit W Which we did and continued our travel.

Hungary came next!

As we entered its beautiful portals decorated with multi-colored ribbons, we were greeted by a flourish of the excellent Hungarian orchestra. The next minute, though, we found out that it wasn't meant for us in particular. The orchestra was just practicing; but even their practicing was wonderful. We just had to stay around while they played tune after tune. We sat quite still on a couple of wooden boxes and listened. Suddenly we found out that a Hungarian artist had used the opportunity to make a pencil drawing of us in his sketch book! A good one it was, too.

We got an opportunity to talk with a couple of the Hungarian Scouts and when we parted we had our secret wishes fulfilled. We were presented with some of the beautiful plumes which the Hungarians carry in their Scout hats. These plumes looked exactly like expensive ostrich feathers. But they weren't. They are a soft wavy, hair-like plant that is called "Arvalanyhaj," or, in English, "The Orphan Girl's Hair." To Hungarian boys it is not only an adornment but also a symbol of the Hungarian land and its history.