THE SCOUT JAMBOREE BOOK
American Scouts at the 4th World Jamboree

Scouts of Egypt and Iraq

CHAPTER VII
IN WHICH WE TRAIL THE WILD PAPRIKA BIRD AND END OUR 'ROUND THE WORLD JOURNEY

WE set out again on our world journey we suddenly realized what an ambitious job we had undertaken.

It was early afternoon and we had seen but half of the world. We hoped for a moment that the Jamboree verse would come true:

"I wish I were a centipede Split up a hundred ways. Then he could see the Jamboree All through in fourteen days!"

But two tired feet were bad enough, how would a hundred feet?

As we pondered this deeply, we went toward the picturesque camp of the Japanese Scouts.

Over it waved two huge, bag-shaped banners

in the forms of fish, such as those displayed in Japan on the fifth of May. On that day, all families having boy members proudly hang out these banners. A lazy breeze tried to open them up to show their bright colors, but to no avail-they just hung.

We knocked at the bamboo door and were admitted by a boy in the bright white uniform of the Japanese Sea Scouts.

Again luck was with us. The other member of the contingent were seated under the dining fly, with cups of tea and almond cakes in front of them. They made room for us and we were served tea in this most attractive place. Colored lanterns and glass knickknacks hung from cacti corner of the fly and from cacti branch of the tree in front of it. The sides were shielded from the stares of the many visitors by beautifully decorated mats.

For a few moments we relaxed in this hospitable company, but shortly had to say adieu. We had far to travel before nightfall.

Our road to Egypt took its right through Iraq. The boys were breaking camp. Their time was up and they had to return to Baghdad, Najaf and the other towns of old Mesopotamia whence they had come. Sometime later, we found out that their leaving had been like a stroke of fate. They returned to their homeland almost on the very day that their royal protector, King Faysal, died.

Entering Egypt, we were suddenly grabbed by the arm by a smiling civilian and led toward the center of the camp. The maneuver was accompanied by a long explanatory outburst in Hungarian. We hadn't the faintest idea what it was all about, until we were placed next to an Egyptian boy with a little bald man between us and a number of girls and boys around its. The camera snapped and our civilian retired with a click of the heels, a bow and a grin.

"Just another attack of 'Photoritis,' " said our Egyptian brother Scout. "We haven't peace for two seconds all day long. One moment we are photographed alone, the next with a group of perfect strangers. The favorite idea seems to be to get several countries into each snap. And what can you do, they are all so nice about it and so grateful!"

But then the Egyptians were well worth photographing. They looked very exciting with their red tarbouches posing in front of their temple-like gateway, or their picturesque tents.

We wondered for a moment whether these boys hadn't the right idea about tents. The outsides were plain light colors, but the insides were gayly decorated with designs, such as you see on oriental wall tapestries. When you sat down in them, you immediately felt in a festive mood. But the really dangerous part of them was the trying to get out. In front of each tent was a mob of people, craning their necks to get a peek of the strange looking interiors. You couldn't blame them. That's what they bad come for-to see how the other parts of the world live.

Next on our route we crossed one of the big bridges which had been built over the road to Budapest to prevent traffic congestion and found ourselves facing a country idyll: a typical farmhouse from the plains of Hungary had been erected there.

A Typical Hungarian Peasant Home

Sunflowers were growing as a hedge around it and the light yellow of the straw-thatched roof, the whitewash on the clay walls and the bright blue trimmings shone in the still. In front of it, next to the pole well, was the outdoor fireplace, over which hung one of the peculiar goulash pots. This pot fitted into the round hole in the table in one of the rooms inside around which the family gathered to eat from the same dish.

There were many other fascinating things to see in the two rooms of the house. Brightly colored plates and platters were arranged on a shelf under the ceiling. A mighty bed decorated with flower designs and full of heavy feather quilts, stood in one corner, in another was a spinning wheel with the flax ready for spinning into thread. A baby's cradle was pushed up next to the big cone-shaped brick oven which was used for heating the house during the long winter.

Under the roof of the porch whole length of the house, were hung for drying, ears of corn, bulbs of garlic and stringed red paprikas.

It certainly was interesting to be able to open up, so to speak, a Hungarian peasant's home and see how it was working.

Next we strolled around Sub-camp Ten, where a number of small Hungarian and foreign camps were arranged in a semicircle displaying different shapes of tents.

Here was Siam, with dark-skinned boys busily at work preparing their supper. Portugal and Spain were having a friendly soccer match all over the campfire grounds. Greece was resting after having spent the afternoon performing their ancient folk dances at the camp theater.

Open as it was and exposed to the burning sun, the camp seemed more languid, more inactive and quiet than the other sub-camps which were erected among the trees of the park. But, then, these inhabitants were all accustomed to the strong sunshine in their own homelands.

The heat seemed to influence us, too, more than hitherto, so we were on our way again, this time over another bridge, through India, which was entirely deserted except for two guards with gold-embroidered kullahs showing under their imposing green turbans and so into the shades of the forests of Scotland.

A mass of visitors were gathered in this camp to see the Scottish lads dancing around in their swaying kilts.

The competition with their neighbors, the Irish, on the other side of the camp fire grounds, for the favor of the public was never ending. Often the Irish seemed to get the better of it, at least when the bagpipe orchestra which the Scouts of the Irish Free State had brought with them played a jig.

"They don't sound so good," we heard an American Scout say, "but they sure make a swell noise!"

Still smiling, we went next door, into one of the Hungarian Troop camps, where we got a real treat. Here was a group of Scouts, all dressed up in native costumes with a tzigane orchestra in full swing. Those gypsy tunes. And how they were played! When the violins, violas and cymbalos got going in a sweeping czardas, you felt yourself carried away from the camp's realities to a land of dreams.

The boys were dressed in festive peasant attire with gorgeous silk embroideries and full sleeves of finest lace and shiny coque feathers waving from their high black hats. They moved around surely and quickly in sweeping circles, not missing a step or a beat of the music.

We ran into more excitement in the next country we visited . . . Sweden.

The oldest son of the Swedish Crown Prince, Gustavus Adolphus and his young bride, Princess Sybille, had just left the camp after an extensive stay.

"I can't very well wash this hand for a couple of months, can I?" asked one of the youngest campers. "It has pressed the hand of a future king !"

The boys were buzzing around anxious to tell and show us plenty.

We had to see the signature of the Prince on the big calf skin stretched out between two trees, the Indian tepee in which he had been entertained and the flower-decorated Maypole which they had put up in honor of their royal visitors.

The most unique thing in their camp to us, at least, was a great map of Sweden, which had been laid out in the center of the grounds. To indicate every place of importance, the products of the locality were displayed on it — in miniature. Here was a small student's cap to mark the university town of Upsala, a sewing machine model showed where Husquarna was situated, a box of Swedish safety matches couldn't represent anything but Jonkoping and so on.

The Scouts of Czechoslovakia had been just as set upon showing how their people lived. They had brought with them and had set up, a complete village of diminutive peasant houses. It was loads of full to walk among them and to bend down and stare through the windows to see, if by chance, they were inhabited by small gnomes. We saw no evidences of them, though.

We saw plenty of evidence, however, of the handicraft skill of the Scouts. Their pyramid shaped tents were raised on walls of slabwood and within the tents, they had built beds, shelves, tables and chairs. Solid comfort for camping.

Boys from Palestine in "Hata" and "Ikal."

In comparison, the Palestine camp was primitive. But the boys camping in the Jordan valley, outside of Jerusalem or Jericho, don't have to bother about elaborate equipment. Their climate is easier on the camper.

We had plenty of difficulty getting into their camp. A wall of visitors were standing around the boys whose main job at The time was not only to look picturesque in abaia caftans, hata and ikal, the native headgears, but to write their autographs in Arabic letters in notebooks, camp programs and on post cards.

We slipped into the Australian camp to get a good look at the many boomerangs they had brought along to the delight of all the boys of other countries and found that we had arrived at the psychological moment. The cooks were yelling, "Come and get it" and we were invited to join them, an invitation we greatly appreciated. This sight-seeing sure does things to your appetite!

We were seated and the pots were brought around.

One of the fellows, with knitted brow, yelled in a stentorian voice:

"What!! No Paprika?"

Whereupon the rest of them broke into a loud chorus to a not entirely unfamiliar tune:

"Yes, we have no paprika,
We have no paprika today!
We've goulash and onions
And veal stew and bunions
And ten tons of bread and say—
We have Admiral Horthy tomatoes,
Baden Powell potatoes!
But, yes, we have no paprika,
WE HAVE NO PAPRIKA TODAY!"

That was a jolly meal, in real Boy Scout spirit, and we enjoyed ourselves immensely. We soon discovered that we were not the only strangers present. A Swede, an Austrian, a black boy from Jamaica, a brown from nearby Cairo and a New Zealander were in the party too.

During the meal, paprika had been on the tongue of every one, yet not literally, so it was no wonder that when the party was over, a few of us set out to hunt for the famous paprika bird, which we knew was supposed to be in hiding some place in the vicinity.

We stalked through half of England, where, everywhere, everything ended in -shire — Hampshire, Wiltshire, Berkshire, Lancashire, Devonshire, until we finally located our bird.

It was sitting there, perched in its cage, the only specimen in captivity. A mighty sign tinder it announced "DANGER! Don't feed the birdie." It didn't look very dangerous, though, but rather sad, with its green head, red body and a drooping, bushy tail. But then it was only man-made, of a green and a red paprika, put together by wires and provided with a tuft of Arvalanyhaj . . .

A short stop-over in Jugoslavia — just step-in and say-hello — and we arrived in Finland.

Three mighty white stags, executed with imagination and lots of skill, of rough birch logs in various thicknesses, formed an attractive center display in the camp. Small shields with inscriptions were fastened onto them. One said Suomi for Finland, another Eesti for Esthonia. The third wore the name of the host country, Magyarorszah, the Hungarian name for Hungary.

Behind the stags, in a big tent, was a display of various articles from Finland, among them the Finnish knives in rawhide sheaths, desired by every Scout in camp.

A big sign proclaimed, Finland, the land of sixty thousand lakes."

"Are there really that many?" we asked the Scout in charge.

He shook his head with a sad "No verstand!" and yelled an unpronounceable name in the direction of some boys who were busily washing dishes. One of them came running, but English availed nothing to him either, so since we knew no Finnish, we took refuge in German.

"Certainly!" he said when I repeated my question. He added with a smile, "You ought to come to Finland some day and count them. Especially if you like canoeing."

While discussing canoeing, we found out that two of the Finnish Scouts had arrived at the Jamboree in canoes.

The trip took them two months. They started in June from their home town up in the lake district and stopped in Helsingfors for a short while before they attempted the most dangerous part of the trip, the crossing of the Baltic from Finland to Esthonia. From here they continued along the Baltic shores to Danzig, shot up the Weizel River into Poland, then along the Waag into the Danube which finally brought them to Budapest.

They made the trip as real Scouts, camping on the way in a small tent, and making their own food.

The canoes they had presented to the Hungarian Sea Scouts since they themselves were returning with their contingent.

That wasn't the only display of pluck shown among the Scouts going to the Jamboree. We later heard of two French Scouts who also took an inland voyage by canoe, of three Norwegian Scouts bicycling from their homeland, and even of one of our own American Scouts who had undertaken a pre-Jamboree bicycle journey through Northern Europe.

But undoubtedly the Finnish adventure was the most difficult of them all.

After having heard the story we were taken around the camp by our Scout friend, especially to see the "sauna" of which we had heard even before starting out on our world excursion.

The "sauna" is the famous Finnish steam bath.

The boys had erected a fireplace of a great number of large stones. Under them a big fire was kept going until they sizzled when drops of water were sprinkled on them. Then the fire was extinguished and a square tent quickly put over them. The boys entered the tent after having undressed, poured water over the hot stones, and while the steam was rising from them and filling the tent with its heat they whipped themselves with fresh birch twigs tied together in bundles, to make the perspiration run from every pore on their body. Then out in a hurry, a pail of cold water over them, a heavy rub-down, and they felt like new beings.

We didn't try it on the spot, but we promised ourselves to attempt it some day in camp.

And so we were on our way again on weary feet. . . . We were truly beginning to feel that the day was long, and the world large.

Bulgaria was our next port of call. Just for a moment, though, because the big wind mill of the Hungarian Troop from Szentes had to be photographed before the last rays of day had disappeared.

Walking over to it we found ourselves stopping time and time again to admire the handiwork of the Hungarian Scouts and the patience with which they had spent all their spare time for months before the Jamboree in making it truly the show place of the world.

Here was the peasant hut of Szeged with its boy made furnishings in old Magyar style, here was the elaborate woodwork of the boys of Mako and the painted castle wall representing the town of Gyula.

And then suddenly we remembered many more of the gorgeous gateways and camp decorations of our hospitable Hungarian friends, which we had hardly stopped to look at on our quest through the world but which nevertheless had registered deeply in our minds.

The mighty straw hat—size four feet eight—which dominated the entrance to the camp of Troop 359, the fish net gateway to the Lake Balaton camp, and the enormous size honeycake man in front of still another. The ingenious gateway and fence of the "Rakoczi" Music Troop, the gateway made of two big flutes, and the fence consisting of five strands of wire with the first bars of the Rakoczi March in notes formed of thin, cross cut slices of a birch log for heads and small branches for steins. There was the gateway of folding boats made by a Sea Scout Crew, the chains of carved wood surrounding the camp of a Budapest Troop.

But it is impossible to describe all of the ingenious and beautiful work of the Hungarian Scouts. Suffice it to say that they had done their best-and that their best was excellent!

We got into Switzerland from the back door and came out through the front door. On each side of the entrance was a cut-out figure of a Scout, carrying a large umbrella. A sign in many languages told the legend:

"After our Birkenhead experience, we decided never again to attend a Jamboree without an umbrella. But it is a parasol in Godollo."

The Swiss Scouts were sad. They had already started their packing to go home.

School opens earlier in Switzerland, so the summer vacation is shorter.

Austria next.

We walked in under the mighty gateway and stopped for a peck into the big display tent with its well arranged exhibition of models, uniforms and literature. Darkness had started to fall, but in here Scouts were still occupied in bringing new display into position by the light of bright kerosene lamps.

Seven hundred Scouts of Austria had arrived at the Jamboree. But then they belonged to the nearest neighbor country to Hungary and only had to cross the border, or take the Danube boat from Vienna.

And so the world came to an end. And how appropriate that our last stop was the camp of the Russian Emigrant Scouts of Budapest and Bucharest. For them, the world had truly come to an end — the world that they used to know. Their Russia is no more. Their leader, all old Russian priest, invited us to come to see his Troop in Budapest after the Jamboree. We thanked him . . . but we couldn't have done it.

We walked slowly home past the shopping center, down the Ferenc Jozsef Ter.

There were still thousands of people around but we didn't notice them.

We had been around the world in one day. We had visited our Brother Scouts of all races.

It had been a wonderful experience, an inspiration. The greatness of our movement had been brought home to us more forcibly than ever before.

As we walked through the castle gate and through Denmark, a fairyland opened itself for us. A full moon was sailing over the camp, a light fog hung over the grass and all around us were the bright sparkles of many small fires. Somewhere, maybe from France, we heard the singing around one of the big camp fires.

Day was done . . . and tomorrow would be another glorious Jamboree day.

		The 1933 Scout Jamboree Book by James E. West & William Hillcourt
		Home Page of the 4th World Jamboree Gödöllö, Hungary, 1933
		Baden-Powell Photo Gallery Baden-Powell at the World Jamborees Links to the World Jamborees, 1920-1937
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Last Modified: 6:00 PM on October 11, 1998