Bob a Jobski

Being a Boy Scout was the making of me as a responsible citizen.

It made me appreciate the natural order of things. I became self sufficient and self reliant but importantly came to understand the benefits of working towards a common cause.

The recent release of information from the National Security Archives that the Scouting Movement was being spied on by the British Secret Service over fears of infiltration by Communists has caused me to reflect on my time in the 1st Brigg Cub Scouts and the 2nd Brigg Grammar School Scouts.

I now wonder as to whether I was in fact a political pawn being manipulated and indoctrinated in Soviet propaganda.

Yes, we did know how to take over a public building securing all of the entrances and to hold a spankingly good Jumble Sale for charitable purposes.

We could immediately establish a communications network as long as the string between the empty baked bean tins did not become overstretched and snap mid message.

Give anyone in Red Patrol a milk bottle and an old raggedy tea towel and they could within minutes and with their parents permission fill it up with paraffin and fashion quite an effective storm lantern. You had to be careful not to spill the contents when alight as they were extremely flammable. Imagine the damage that could be done if you threw the thing!

On our route marches around North Lincolnshire we could be heard in full and hearty voice singing campfire songs such as "On Ilkley Moor bah tat", "B.I.N.G.O", "Old MacDonald had a collective Farm", and "We'll Keep the Red Flag Flying Here" and other jolly anthems about equality and the onset of the death of Capitalism.

On occasion our night hikes would take us close to the local aerodrome and we were happy to spend hour upon hour in the darkness jotting down plane numbers and their manoeuvres for later writing up in our log books.

On Bob a Job Week we were keen to target, I mean call upon, the largest and most affluent residences in the town and do a very shoddy impression of gardening, car washing, running errands and tidying up as a bit of a protest about exploitation of the workers and championing a fair wage for a fair days work. We were sensitive to the possibility of transgressing on the division of labour and made sure that we did not upset any of the local tradesmen and tradeswomen by depriving them of bona fide employment.

I liked the Boy Scout uniform but was the first to defend accusations of para-militarism by pointing out that in a war zone there were distinct limitations in wearing woolly socks with garters, short trousers and a neckerchief held in place by a woggle. As for the little hat with piping it gave scant protection from a light shower let alone an artillery barrage.

We were a competitive bunch in Red Patrol but mindful and respectful of the hierarchy of seniority and experience. I started off as a mere sixer before rising through the ranks to assistant and then full Patrol Leader. The necessary qualifications to progress up the party, I mean Patrol, were gained through the badge winning process. Within a few months I had an armful of insignia from successful completion of such disciplines as Balalaika playing, fomenting revolution, palace storming, distribution of wealth and making tasty and nutritious meals out of a potato.

They were indeed heady days in my impressionable youth but as for the idea of being under surveillance from MI5 that is clearly ridiculous and that is my opinion and that of my Comrades.