1933-4th World Jamboree-The Scout Jamboree Book: Chapter VIII

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

1933-wj4-legend-of-the-stag.jpg (49167 bytes)

The Legend of the Stag
From Magyar Czerkesz,
Newspaper of the Jamboree

CHAPTER VIII
IN WHICH WE GO SHOPPING, VISIT THE AIR SCOUTS AND SAY GOOD-BY TO B. P.

IMMEDIATELY after breakfast, we were out in the world again, still more exploring was to be done.

We had passed the shopping center the evening before and now we had an urge to return and do some shopping. We had to be thinking about souvenirs for any number of people at home, anyway. . . .

With that for an excuse, we were off, this time out through the Paris gate, across the street where policemen, with cock's feathers in their hats, were directing the confusing left-handed traffic, up the parkway and past the racket of typewriters which told us we were passing the editorial offices of the "Magyar Cserkesz."

Then a little past the main Red Cross station, we stopped short tinder a puzzling sign: "Camp Nursery."

We wondered what that could mean-surely not a place to put small, homesick Scouts to bed with lolly-pops in their mouths! We had to find out, so we stepped inside.

The house proved to be a parking place for babies, aged two years and up. Visitors wanting to be relieved of their care while seeing the camp, left them here, where "lost" children were also consoled.

A very clever checking system was used. The parents were given one-half of a heart and the other half dangled from the neck of their child on a string.

When the mother came back for her offspring, the two halves were put together. If they fitted, the identity was established with the pair could leave.

The nursery had bad only one case of real excitement. A small child was abandoned there. It had been left there early in the afternoon. Hours went by and no one came to claim it. Five o'clock, six, seven, eight — closing time, nine, ten. Frantic calls to police station and to hospital. No trace of the parent. Eleven, twelve-and in rushed a hysterical Mother. She had lost her way iii camp, had forgotten the way to the nursery and had stalked from one place to another for five hours before having sense enough to show her part of the heart to a Hungarian Scout, who immediately took her to her child. What a relief for all concerned.

Right in front of us were two towers with slender spires, marking the entrance to our destination . . . the shopping center of the world.

Very appropriately the batik was installed in the first building as we entered. The exchange of more currencies than we knew existed was displayed on a blackboard.

Then followed square upon square, passage Upon passage, with shop after shop. And what a wealth of articles of every color and every description.

In the Scout store, we could buy everything from cook books to metal badges and from pots to staves with ax-head handles. Large photographic shops provided us with films and photo service.

A great variety of wooden articles, embroideries, bags, scarfs, ties, all genuine Hungarian hand work, were for sale.

Book stores had books in all languages-the Hungarian artist, Lajos Marton, displayed in a studio his beautiful drawings and souvenir booklets of the Jamboree.

In one corner was a shop selling the famous Debrecen honey cakes, across from it a large counter where Hungarian "hot dogs," small fat sausages, were sold. Ice cream stands filled out all the empty corners.

We walked up and down, viewing the displays, unable to choose, until we went in for hand-painted wooden articles with a vengeance.

North of the shopping center, we passed the camp theater. No performance was taking place, it was still morning, but we heard the clatter of a piano and voices singing in a foreign language. A rehearsal was on.

theater was filled twice daily to capacity by an enthusiastic audience and rumor had it that a theatrical director from Budapest had been walking up and down in front of it and tragically wringing his bands, exclaiming:

"What a world, what a world! Capacity business here, in this heat-and every show in town a flop! If I had only thought of a jamboree before I went bankrupt!"

On the other side of theater was another large building. Large letters on it proclaimed it as the "Cserkesz Kiallitas." In spite of that, it proved to be the exhibition building.

Every contingent had been asked to bring to the jamboree pictures of their countries and their Scout activities, books on Scouting, uniforms, badges, camp handicraft and here the articles were gathered together in one grand display.

We walked around, looking over everything carefully and noting any new ideas.

We admired the Austrian paintings of the points of the Scout Law, the Polish camp model, the big Danish Scout badge-a wonderful, piece of wood carving-and the Latvian handiwork.

Belgium had a great number of excellent photos, France, a smart way of displaying their uniforms, Hungary, a large collection of paintings, models and Scout made furniture.

The American exhibition consisted of panels and trays, showing our badges, Scout literature and many types of camp crafts.

Great Britain, Norway, Switzerland, Lithuania and a host of other countries were represented.

It was particularly funny to pick tip the different Handbooks and peruse their pages. In most cases we could not read the printed part, but the illustrations showed its that practically the same subjects were used as in ours. That made us again feel the wide scope of our movement.

On our way home, as we passed through the Copenhagen gate, we met a group of Americans going the other way.

"Where are you going?" we asked.

"Want to come along? We're off to the flying field!"

My, we had almost forgotten! Yet every day we had seen the airplanes and gliders swooping over the camp. They had performed for us over the arena and we had been told that this was the first jamboree to include a group of flying Scouts.

We immediately turned around and joined the company.

The first part of the way, down the Lovarda Utca, wasn't so bad, but the rest of it . . . it finally dissolved into a track of deep sand, followed by a trail through tall grass which continued for more than two miles.

Yet the trip was worth the effort.

The flying camp itself was situated on a hillside, in a group of locust trees. Five wooden hangars faced down the slope to the flying field and near them, were the three big tents housing the gliders and the sail planes.

Altogether five Scout airplanes and sixteen gliders,-five Polish, one Austrian, the rest Hungarian, were here-the wings of the one hundred and fifty Scouts in this camp.

As we approached, a glider was being towed up into the air by a plane. When it gained sufficient height, it left its "parent" and set

out on its own. Daringly, it circled over the field, using every air current to raise itself even higher, then decided to return

to return and came down to the ground in a perfect, easy landing. The whole thing looked so simple.

"It is!" explained the Hungarian Scout who d just landed, as we went up to admire his aft.

We had no language difficulty with him, as had studied in England for two years.

"You have made paper gliders and model -planes yourself, I'm sure. Then you know at you can make one that just can't fall down its nose, but will always land flat on the ground. Well, that's how these gliders arc built. They are so balanced that they will naturally stay in a horizontal position. And as flying them-it is much easier to learn to de than to learn to ride a bicycle."

Our new friend took us around the field, wing us the "birds" and telling us more of technique.

'We use three methods of sending the glider in the air. The simplest one is by a Scout-pulled rubber rope attached to the nose the glider. When the tension is great ugh, they let go of the plane and it swoops ward and upward. Sometimes we pull it up with a speeding motor car, or we use an air plane as you have just seen.

"The best time for gliding is in the early morning. As the sun begins to heat the earth a lot of upward currents are created. And that's what you need. That's why it s practically impossible to stay up after the sun has set."

We had approached a big glider — its wingspread was more than twenty yards — which was being pushed into position. A Scout emblem was painted on it together with its name, "Karakan" — the brave.

"We are very proud of that plane and its master!" continued our friend. "It is entirely a Scout built plane and has already broken two Hungarian glider records!

"The previous records were a distance of 36 kilometers and a height of 1,139 meters. The first Monday of the jamboree, Rotter Lajos stayed up until he had flown 84 kilometers and had reached a height of 2,350 meters, almost a mile and a half!"

Meanwhile the airplane which had pulled up the glider of our friend, was attached to the Karakan," Rotter Lajos took his place at controls and he was on his way. It gave us a tremendous thrill to see him cast of his connection, circle, raise and disappear the jamboree camp, soaring like an eagle over the tree tops. . . .

We hurried back to camp to say good-by the Chief.

After having stayed in camp with us for a week, Baden Powell had to leave us to take more than six hundred British Scouters and Girl Guide Leaders on a good-will tour to Scandinavian and Baltic countries.

We were again gathered, the Scouts of the World, on the arena, as on the opening day. But the spirit was not the same. It was hard to say good-by. We had had so many happy hours since that first grand parade when we greeted our Chief. With him, we felt, something of the jamboree joy would leave Godollo.

As we looked around, it seemed as though there were even more visitors than on the first day.

Seated next to the Archduke Joseph of Hungary and the Archduchess Augusta, B. P. gave the signal and the arena was filled with a mass of active Scouts.

Hungarian Scouts erected signal flag masts, Swiss boys playing their flutes and drums, boomerangs were hurled through the air and caught with great skill as they descended, a couple of scores of Austrian boys amused us with an exciting dance on stilts, Norwegian boys broke out of the lines and rushed in arrow formation across the field and a hundred and twenty "hindu crinoline" players performed before us.

Every country got a great hand from the audience, but the greatest applause rose when about three hundred small Wolf Cubs-boys from nine to ten years of age — formed a great circle, squatted and waited for Akela, the old wolf, to enter their council ring.

He came, B. P. stepped down from the Royal box and stood in their midst and the many small voices rang out:

"A-ke-la!

"We'll do our BEST!!"

And all the while ten thousands of gas-filled balloons soared upwards over the Scout gathering, first trickling a few at a time, then in regular clouds.

All these balloons had been distributed among us, as we waited. We tied on to each of them a greeting in our own language with our names and sent them on their way skyward with our best wishes. It was like sending a message of friendship with the wind, out into he world..

As B. P. again mounted the platform, a Polish glider left its parent plane and swooped own toward the grandstand. An excited hush fell over the audience, as it rose again, majestically, slowly, while a Polish flag fluttered own from it and landed in front of the stand. Another signal and in a tremendous rush, the hole mighty army of us crossed the field and gathered in a big semicircle around our Chief. He started to speak to us, slowly, deliberately, thanking us for all the Scouting spirit we had displayed, thanking our hosts, the Regent and the jamboree staff.

But his thanks went still further.

"Let us pause for a moment, each of us, to silently thank God for bringing us together as a happy family at Godollo."

As we bent our heads, a moving silence fell over our gathering, the only sound was the soft flapping of our hundreds of flags and the hum of a far-away airplane.

Then the Chief continued. . . .

"My brothers. Those of you, who were at the last jamboree in England, will remember how the Golden Arrow was handed out to each country as a symbol of good-will, flying forth to all the ends of the earth through the Brotherhood of Scouting.

"Now at Godollo, we have another symbol. Each of you wears the badge of the White Stag of Hungary. I want you to treasure that badge when you go from here and to remember that, like the Golden Arrow, it also has its message and meaning for you.

"The Hungarian hunters of old pursued this miraculous stag, not because they expected to kill it, but because it led them on in the joy of the chase to new trails and fresh adventures and so to capture happiness.

"You can look on that White Stag as the pure spirit of Scouting, springing forward and, ever leading you onward and upward over difficulties, to face new adventures in active pursuit of the higher aims of Scouting — aims which bring you happiness.

Those aims are to do your duty whole-hearted to God, to your country and to your fellow-men by carrying out the Scout Law. That way you will, each one of you, be helping to bring about God's kingdom upon earth — the reign of peace and good-will.

— Therefore, before leaving. you, I ask you this question — Will you do your best to make friendship with others and peace in the world?"

There was no hesitation. Like a burst of thunder, the answer rang out as the White Stag was lifted high:

"Yes!—Igen!—Oui!—Si!—Ja!" In more score of different languages, the youth world pledged itself to carry on the ideal great movement. "Once a Scout always a Scout."

Then the Chief Scout turned and with the thanks of us all, he presented to Count Paul Teleki, the Jamboree Camp Chief and Dr. Antony Papp, the President of the Hungarian Scout Association, the highest honor in British Scouting — the Silver Wolf.

Deafening cheers greeted the new "Wolves."

The parade was over. We had said good-by . . . but in our hearts, it was not farewell . . . it was a "Till we meet again!"


		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
		Baden-Powell Photo Gallery
		The Baden-Powell Home Page

Return to the Pine Tree Web Home Page: A Collection of the Author's Links